It's a Cool Ranch Dorito Kinda Day

Oh dear, oh dear....looks as though, of late, this blog has taken a back seat to what I laughingly call "other business."
("Other business" being basically the job, the freelance job, home improvements, gardening, watching baseball...and becoming one of those angry, impatient Masshole drivers. Why, yes, thanks, I've been practicing. You set your goals and you get after 'em, is what I always say.)

I'm sitting here in my little office, with nothing to do (well, plenty to do, but none of it's close to deadline and I can't seem to focus on it), listening to the rain splatter on my window, wishing I could leave RIGHT FUCKING NOW, get liquored up and roll around the floor of my sitting room with a catnip toy.

I am in some serious emotional distress. Partly it's boredom and the dreary weather that's doing it, partly it's that my head just exploded at the sight of some little tartlet in Harvard Square, sporting a micro miniskirt, flip-flops...and leg warmers. Seems to me, bad taste aside, you must COMMIT to being cold - if you must delude yourself that it's not a raw, wet 40 degrees out there and dress for the beach - or COMMIT to dressing appropriately for the weather. You can't have it both ways. It's like the socks with sandals thing, really. If you must wear socks, then IT'S TOO COLD FOR SANDALS. If you must wear leg warmers...well, I would have said IT'S TOO COLD FOR SANDALS again, but really - if you must wear leg warmers, YOU ARE TOO STUPID TO BE LET OUT ON YOUR OWN.

Anyway, fashion rant aside (it was weak, I know, my heart's not really in it) it is Friday, and the clock ticks merrily toward beer o'clock. I'll be at John Brewer's by 5:30, and well trolleyed and beyond caring when tonight's ballgame is rained out.