Mekka-lekka-hai, mekka hiney ho

People, The Dailey Method is not a workout. 

I'm not saying it's not hard, or it's not work, but it isn't a workout. I think I'd actually like it (if they'd let me in, despite my lack of an Acura MDX to get there, and Lululemon outfits to wear during it) -- I'm into Pilates, and ballet, and all that stuff, and it is really pretty awesome. But it doesn't really make you sweat, and if you're looking to lose weight or burn calories or get some cardio? This is not your jam. Therefore: The Dailey Method is not a workout. It is an activity. 

Don't lean on me, man, cause you can't afford the ticket

How come every time I go to Michael's, the place is filled with legit demented people?

I don't mean Pinterest Moms -- they're quietly demented, in a way that I can actually understand, because goddammit I do like crafts and if I had a sexually-uninteresting husband, I could see falling down that rabbit hole in a big way. No, I mean serious, genuine, criggity-craggity-cray folk, like the lady who kept trying to talk to me about whether aqua was a good color for her and whether this or that was "too much" as she tried on bead jewelry and laughed inappropriately and I tried to figure out how many of these fucking favor bags I have to buy for Kid Gleemonex's upcoming birthday party. I AM MATHING HERE. I CANNOT MATH THIS WITH THINGS FALLING OUT OF YOUR BLAB-HOLE INTO MY EAR. Or the one with no bra who followed me down the aisle of $1 wooden boxes/birdhouses/picture frames asking me what I was going to do with "all them tiny birdhouses." (In her defense, the 20 of them I bought must have seemed a lot for someone who didn't already smell of bird droppings.)* OR the lady with one fully-bandaged arm and zero shoes upon her feet, who appeared to be trying to run some sort of returning-items-for-cash scam, at absolutely glacial speed, on a teenage cashier who clearly did not have English as her first language but was trying heroically hard to be fair and pleasant.

Where did they come from, where do they go? Don't look now, it's crazy-eyed joe!

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*If you must know, it's a birthday party craft I found on, um. Pinterest. They're fairy houses. Or will be, when they're painted and have a bunch of glittery stickers and shit all over them.

She's the reason I know who the Replacements are, although that's a point neither for nor against her.

I guess Winona Ryder is just going to be magickal for me, forever. This is her in Show Me a Hero (a six-episode miniseries about public housing in Yonkers, NY, in the 80s and 90s, by the Wire guy, which Mr. Gleemonex and I finished watching last week). I can never not with her. She is my everything.

I'm going to kiss you now, Gerald.

Workin' on my night cheese

Disgusting Food-Liquids That Are Supposedly Harmless: An Incomplete List

• The watery whey-milk that usually manages to crest the top of the waxed-paper inner barrier of my Fage yogurts. Pleh. 
• Tuna-can water. You can never ever not get that stuff on your hand. Everybody Loves Raymond did a bit about it that ran through an entire episode once, and throughout, I was like: Truth. 
• The gunk surrounding the weiners in a pack of turkey dogs. I mean, they're supposedly cooked and this stuff is -- what? Lube so you can get the GD dogs out of the package? 
• The oil on top of a fresh jar of Skippy Natural peanut butter. Why god why. 
• The bean-liquor that rises to the top of a can of pintos. For some reason, the same stuff in a can of black beans doesn't bother me as much, but the pintos -- uccch. 

And she's known in the darkest clubs for pushing ahead of the dames

Apropos of my most recent post, this is the only shirt I'm gonna wear from now on, and I mean every single day and night, forever and ever and ever because I love it SO HARD:

Hat tip to Adrien at the forever-wonderful Looks Good From the Back for finding it -- they do good work over there, and not just on the days they post pics of Idris Elba. Although that is really nice, when they do that; it's a public service provided at no cost to the viewer, like that bat-signal thing the networks run at noon on Tuesdays to make sure you know when we are or are not in a nuclear war.