Listen! It's Hey Ya, if Outkast were Jewish and wanted to sing a song about Hanukah!
Thank my dad for the forward, yo. He's a mad rad dad.
Today was the antithesis of a roughie-toughie. I might go so far as to call it a smoothie-woothie -- no crises, no feugos, nothin' but net, as they used to say in that ol' Nike spot. A hearty schwoo was felt by all.
And then I spent the evening having sober heartfelt conversation with a new friend who's quite simply one of the raddest people on this planet. I can't remember the last time I let all my walls down enough to speak truthfully and plainly without the intoxicating effects of too much tequila or wine. Usually, my dreggiest dregs only come up at the end of the evening and nobody remembers them the next morning -- tonight was a much-needed change of pace. Not only that, but I learned a new word that I intend to use several times a day and on as much t-vision as I possibly can. Are we ready, class?
The word of the day is: "mofe." As in, "I sprained my ankle and it fucking hurts like a MOFE!"
And the lesson of the day is: it is awesome to spend lots of time on a swingset with an awwwwwesome person, and it is even more awesome not to attack/kiss said person and then worry about whether said person will ever return one's phone calls. By repressing one's desire-to-kiss, one perhaps gains great strides in the development of intrapersonal relationships. As the Lady Alanis once sang, "You live, you learn." And then she sang all this goopy business about never-feeling-this-healthy-before, that gives me a quickening when I'm in the right mood. But then, of course, she also sang, "It's a black fly in your chardonnay."
Q: Hey, what's that black fly doing in your chardonnay?
A: The backstroke.