thinkin' about my doorbell

When you gonna ring it, when you gonna ring it?

Dizzam. I love the White Stripes, but that is the most persistent earworm ever.

Oh, and Christ on a cracker, this week’s episode of “Rescue Me” was just a Russian nesting doll of brutality and tragedy. I love the show, but man…more shirtless shots of Franco and snide banter, less lesbian domestic violence and fewer dead children and slit throats, please.

But on a much cheerier note, ponies! Icelandic ponies, to be exact:





Again, I must direct you to gaze upon that magnificent beast and its Farrah-like mane! I love horses (though not in the same way as that poor dead pervert in Enumclaw, Washington), and I can’t wait for the sunrise horseback lava tour.

Five quirks I have:

QUIRK NUMERO UNO: I have to eat all of one item before continuing to the next, and I’ll usually save the entrée for last.

QUIRK #2, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: When a song I like comes on, I’ll point at the radio.

LE TROISIEME QUIRK: If I’m walking with someone and we’re separated momentarily by someone coming in the opposite direction, a lightpole, or whatnot, I have to say or think “Bread and butter”. I have absolutely no idea how or why this quirk came about.

FOUR ON THE FLOOR: I will always look at the clock at exactly 3:33PM (or AM, if I happen to be up). I don’t even try to do it; it just happens.

HAPPY QUIRK 5 GO GO!: When I go to Borders and select my ginormous stack of magazines to read, I have to read them in alphabetical order.

Uh…yeah. Rereading my quirks, I think it’s safe to say that I’m more than a little OCD.

And rereading this whole entry, I retract the “poor” adjective referring to the dead dude in Enumclaw. I hate to sound unsympathetic and all, but if you let a horse screw you in the ass, I find it a little hard to feel sorry for you when you, like, die. Did you learn NOTHING from Catherine the Great?