This Shit is Bananas

I can't get that new Gwen Stefani jam out of my head. (And yeah, it's "new" to me. I never claimed to be on the cutting edge of pop radio; recall I've got "Ultimate Dirty Dancing" on my iPod and I don't skip over "Kellerman's Anthem." Don't cry for me, I'm already dead.)

So let's join in just one last chorus, visitors, staff and guests...

I have one of those zits that hurts. Nice. Gosh, what else can I disclose that's totally dag? Ah yes, I had doughnut holes for breakfast this morning. Cold, stale doughnut holes. And some Gummi Savers, also improperly stored and hardening from exposure. I had to eat them quickly, because my dog appeared at my knee and began begging aggressively. Ah, canis domesticus, eater of gummi treats, soiler of futon covers, feline rimjob enthusiast!

(Seriously, my cat's asshole hasn't been this clean since he was slender enough to wash himself. Thank God for that dog and her insatiable appetite for Fatty's neglected colorectal area.)

Hm, what else? I'm going to post some pictures soon. I know it's been a while, and there's nothing quite so bleak as a photo-less blog. I've been living kind of ascetically, in terms of vanity. I only went to MAC once in the past week (for electric-blue eyeshadow and beige spackle for my ruddy drunk-uncle complexion) and I haven't changed my hair color in, like, three months. I think this is the longest I've ever been blonde, and I sense the fun I'm having is unrelated to peroxide.

Informal survey: If you believe in God, raise your hand.

Hollaback: dcody@citypages.com