I watched WWE wrestling on Sunday night... It was a "Royal Rumble." See, I used to be obsessed with wrestling, and everytime I revisit my old obsession I begin to appreciate wrestling even more. Some of my old obsessions, like large bangs, do seem "old" and "tired" and "ugly" as I get older. But not wrestling. I loved watching the freaky big men head-butt the little men. But it isn't really an obsession you can really, like, obsess, over. Noone will know what the fuck you are talking about. Shawn Williams? Khali? Crack? I don't care. I can handle it. It's better than being obsessed with Corey Haim, who won't even reply to my Myspace friend request. [And I FUCKING PURCHASED "BLOWN AWAY"!]

I love Thursdays... especially those without homework aka marking 'n shit.

I am planning my summer vacation already. It will go as planned: finish work on June 15th. Sleep for 5 days. Go to Vegas with my very very very best friends in the whole entire world for 4 short nights. Hop on a plane to Yellowknife to visit bro; hopefully, joined by sister sometime thereafter. Maybe camping, canoeing, basically need/want to be outdoors for most of the time. Fly home and weep at the imminent and impossibly unavoidable new semester ahead of me. Too much going on...

AND
there may be another "spa weekend" coming up in March. See, a bunch of us went away last November to a spa and, for the most part, all had embarrassing and awkward massages.... mine was a "lymphatic drainage" massage.

I knew what lymph was and that it carried toxins to your colon, so I thought, giver. Drain my lymph. Tell that shit which way to roll. Make it say momma, etc., etc.,... I ended up basically feeling like I needed therapy in order to re-enter the general domain of 'real life' again.

It was a pretty awful massage and there was inappropriateness written all over my 'rubbers' face. Pretty scary, considering only weeks previous to that I had a shiatsu massage gone wrong. See, shiatsu is the most harmless thing, since you're fully clothed - I mean, what could go wrong? Well, first off, they put me in flannel pajama pants. I don't know why. I mean, they didn't speak English. After that I was prodded (painfully - and I had this done before and knew how painful it was supposed to be) and I realized the pajama pants provided more of an authentic surface for one lonely shiatsu massage therapist attempting, successfully, to cop a feel.

Remember Evie?:



How about Vicki?:




I loved them both as pre-teens, for the following reasons: One girl -- a beautiful blonde half-alien with the power to stop time by simply pressing her fingers together; the other - a cute, super-strong robot who always kept her cool and made the bully-bad-boys go running till they could run no more.

Not only are there no more positive pre-teen role models nowadays, but we've completely gone the other way. To be crass and rude and pantiless is considered "daring" or "fun" or "extravagant" or "what slutty rich role models do."

When did Classy=Flashy=Whorey? I remeber when Flashy equalled Flashdance and that was cool because Alexandra didn't "strippy-dance" like her friend, the fallen figure skater. Oh no, back then, Flashy=Ultimate.Coolness. the end.

oh yeah. this was taken right before I attacked that vamp-hating bitch.

Kidding, love the buff.

More on Madame Tussaud's and all the "waxy-but-kindareallooking celebrities".... after the jump!





Okay, so I like totally hit it off (wink wink) with this random dude, who I met in the line up for the roller coaster at New York New York:



and these nice gentlemen gave me directions to the Burger King:




and then that blasted tiger got all bitey and shit and they took off (typical!).