I now have a new reason to love Oliver Platt. His character on Nip/Tuck is helping restore my faith in a show that was quickly turning from debauched and depraved to dismal and disappointing. Alliteration, you are my friend.
It's not just Olly that is sparking my mini-masms, no. The show has taken back its acerbically sexual undertone and tortured man-glam from one Dr. Christian Troy. The world, my friends, is once again as it should be.
Thanksgiving festivities have commenced a whole 48 hours in advance for me. Today was 'Potluck Day,' at the job and I left work feeling beyond satiated. I'm staring down the barrel of my worst fear right now - an excuse to overeat in a social setting. So what then is stopping me from completely losing my mind during all of this gluttony and gravy-based camaraderie? The fact that I am just breaths away from going four months without purging. This is the longest I have gone since I've been bulimic. I feel too triumphant at this point to let a little tryptophan high stand in the way of four-motherfucking-months (yep, I said it) of recovery. So fluff off cheesy potato casserole. Love don't live here no more.
And can someone puh-lease explain the rationale behind wearing denim miniskirts and Ugg boots at the same time? I hail from a region of the country that is battered by about eight solid months of winter. I mean snow, ice, more snow, bitter temperatures, icy roads, snow, wind-chill factors, and frost bite. Oh, and more snow. Wearing giant Eskimo boots with exposed ass cheeks is like a slap in the face with an ice scraper. Either it's winter or it's not. And we all know your feet are sweaty and smelly despite your attempt to look saucy. The gig is up.
I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
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