Thursday, August 10, 2006

If you know the words, feel free to sing along.

Yesterday was the kind of day that we all have. You know, the kind of day where you get off the train and you think, ow, my toe hurts. Which is weird, because you've been walking around all day, and it didn't hurt before, but now, after you've been sitting for a half an hour, it suddenly feels all stabby. But you move on.

You're walking around; it's after 10 pm and you haven't had dinner. You just got off of work and you decide you should probably get food before you get on the next train to go home. So you're walking around, and one of your heels has worn down so that the nail attaching the heel to the bottom of the shoe is exposed. So you're making a very uneven and annoying click CLACK sound as you walk. Click CLACK, click CLACK, click CLACK. You are way too fucking tired to deal with this. So you try to walk lighter on your left foot, which has the worn down shoe. Problem is, that makes you put more weight on your right foot, which has the stabby nail. So you start doing this weird kind of limp that makes you look like you were born without knees, and the crazy part? Is that there's a guy walking toward you who is doing the exact same walk you're doing--except it just looks like his balls hurt. Then you worry that it looks like your balls hurt, which of course, brings up the concern of whether or not it looks like you have balls that could be hurting. It's a very awkward situation.

So you're looking for food, but nothing looks appealing at all. Except a pretzel. Pretzels are simple; it's hard to go wrong. So you turn toward the pretzel place, and in the same motion turn away from it, because there's a crackhead in front asking for change and you cannot DEAL with a crackhead right now because you were born WITHOUT KNEES.

So instead, you get some frozen yogurt, which you quickly get bored with, so you throw the rest of it away. The train comes, and as you're sitting down, some 40-year-old straw hat-wearing, LaFours-looking motherfucker with a Mick Jagger pout that makes you want to slap his mouth with your book gets onto the train and sits next to you. And then, the existence of God is confirmed because as he's bending over to sit down, his stupid fucking hat falls onto the festering subway floor. And instead of just snickering to yourself like you normally would, you openly start to giggle and you sit on the train for the rest of the ride with a goofy-ass grin on your face.

So then you're home. You take off the heels that you've been wearing for the past 16 or so hours and see that the last two toes on your right foot are covered in blood. You feel kind of hardcore, but mostly just tired and annoyed.

But then, your annoyance is tempered by happiness as you realize that today is Wednesday, which means that Project Runway has made a cozy little home for itself on your Tivo, just waiting for you to bask in its glory. As you settle in bed, listening Heidi Klum's comforting and familiar lack of "R's," everything seems like it's going to be okay. Then Michael comes on. Dear, sweet, hot (neck tattoo!) if not for the fucked up grill, Michael. He's doing his first interview of the episode, in which he says, "I'm not trying to be 'Captain Save-a-Ho.'" And with that, an inner peace washes over you and you don't care that you've been home for less than an hour and you have to get up in six. You've got 35 more minutes of Captain (Not)Save-a-Ho.

That's just the kind of day it was.

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