Okay, so blogging is going to be light this week because I'm bound to be drugged within an inch of incoherence. That's what kept me from my Random Ten on Friday; most of the day was spent in the doctor's office (and unless I'm just woefully ignorant of the newest patient care techniques, one hour spent on a hard wooden chair in the waiting room seems like a right lousy way to address back spasms), and the rest was spent doped up on enough Flexeril to make my eyes cross.
Doped up and incoherent, however, is a great way to be on a morning like this, 'cause the weekend held absolutely nothing more redeeming than two really impressive shots in pool and a Sunday night SNL retrospective. I'll send you over to Hey Jenny Slater for the complete recap, 'cause I don't feel like remembering it all myself, but here's the Cliffs Notes version:
1. Friday. Like, the whole day.
2. $80 + 1 faux football ticket = listening to the game from a table outside Between The Hedges
3. Fourth and long, comma, inability to defend
4. Third and long, comma, inability to convert
5. Sunday morning steak burrito, comma, inability to digest
6. Tampa Bay over Washington, 36-35
7. Green Bay over Atlanta, 33-25
8. Global warming
9. Man's inhumanity to man
For the record, ladies, those pants aren't flattering on anyone. You could be built like Paris Hilton, but you're still going to look like a wayward cast member from Pirates of the Caribbean in those stupid-ass pants. And while I can't exactly call them a style, since that would indicate that they're in some way stylish, I can say that they're a trend that's guaranteed to last no longer than one season. So if you've dropped $60 on a pair of pirate pants, you'd better wear 'em like they're going out of style, because they are. And if you've got a pair hanging in your closet with the tags still on them, hurry and trade them in for a pair of real pants that would never be worn by a waiter at a Brazilian steak house.
But I digress.
My point, and I do have one, is... Hold on. I was just saying that... No. Hold on. Back spasms, fake tickets, humiliating football loss, indigestion, more football losses, gauchos... Whatever. Just don't look for me to be blogging like mad for a coupla days. And would someone please tell that monkey to get out of my coffee cup. Damn tiny monkey. What are you doing in there anyway?