Ask, and you shall be ignored... at least until I can get through one uninterrupted episode of season 2 of Deadwood on OnDemand. I know I'm late to the party, but Ian Mcshane owns every last one of you, right down to your goldfish.
Back in Indy... again. Doing the employment dance... again. This is the starting line for my two-month dash of financial avarice and nest-egging in preparation for the importation of mah muffin from parts southeastern. Excitement and anticipation abound, however tempered by the humid sluggishness of reality. And in the meantime, at least I get to hang out with my dog, and by dog I mean canine, and though the razorsharp joys of having a cat cannot be duplicated lately, my dog is a less beligerantly testicle-inclined though perfectly acceptable substitute. There is no substitute for my jovia, though, and it is her absence that takes the color out of my paint by numbers routine. But I'm scouting apartments this week with my friend Mike, in hopes of securing a domicile for her extended northward tour later this summer. So until such time as she's back in my clutches, expect a heaping helping of emo with every furiously infrequent report.
And now I'm off to chop wood. For serious, like.
"Pain or damage don't end the world. Or Despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man... and give some back." -Al Swearengen
Back in Indy... again. Doing the employment dance... again. This is the starting line for my two-month dash of financial avarice and nest-egging in preparation for the importation of mah muffin from parts southeastern. Excitement and anticipation abound, however tempered by the humid sluggishness of reality. And in the meantime, at least I get to hang out with my dog, and by dog I mean canine, and though the razorsharp joys of having a cat cannot be duplicated lately, my dog is a less beligerantly testicle-inclined though perfectly acceptable substitute. There is no substitute for my jovia, though, and it is her absence that takes the color out of my paint by numbers routine. But I'm scouting apartments this week with my friend Mike, in hopes of securing a domicile for her extended northward tour later this summer. So until such time as she's back in my clutches, expect a heaping helping of emo with every furiously infrequent report.
And now I'm off to chop wood. For serious, like.
"Pain or damage don't end the world. Or Despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man... and give some back." -Al Swearengen
.Doghouse_Reilly said:
Back in Indy... again.
tell ya how i became the prince of a town called Bel Air.
back in 'polis? when i get back, i'll find some way to get up for a day or two.
jibe not the kool-aid. when i was 16 i felt it's ominous grip when i stayed up all night mixing purplesaurus rex with vodka.
take pictures!