An Acute Fear Of Flying Couldn't Keep Her Away

So, I went to see Watchmen over the weekend. I've not read the graphic novel but I am doing so now. And I only mention this because everybody else is and I think it's a requirement that everyone mention Watchmen this week. So there you go. I've met the requirement.

I wasn't going to mention the giant blue penis, but I think I will. Because last night as I'm reading the book I take note that his penis is smaller in the book and his balls are present. In the movie, it was just giant blue penis and no blue balls. And I'm only spelling this out so I could use the phrase blue balls.

After Chuck was over I turned my TV over to see what was going on with Dancing With The Stars. The band seemed different. And that prevented me from enjoying anything else that was going on. Because I was too concerned with the way the band sounded and how I wasn't enjoying it.

I bought a shirt the other day. It's a nice shirt. Very pretty. Kinda girly. I was going to wear it today. Until I put it on. I then instantly realized that I have no idea how to wear this shirt. And it's not one of those twisty tie around type shirts either that get all sorts of confusing. But it has elastic around the bottom and then some ruffly frilly part after that. So, do I pull it all the way down? Do I bunch it up? None of it looks right. Who does this? What is wrong with me? I can't figure out a shirt! Come on!

There was a woman at the post office today pulled over to the side in her car with the blinker on waiting for a spot to come open. This, naturally, made me believe I was going to have trouble finding a spot. But no. There were a lot of free spots. Lots of them. It was not raining. So, clearly she has a injury or something that made her need a closer spot, right? Nope. No broken leg. No sling. Nothing. Just a big case of lazy.

Scapegoat. Not escape goat. Make a note.

I saw a commercial yesterday for Vagisil or something of the sort. And they said something about how it helps the burning and itching go away. So you can rejoin your life. Erm...women with itchy crotches have to remove themselves from society until that shit goes away? What the fuck is this? I've seen men everywhere scratchin' their junk. Readjusting the balls. Switching sides. Just, full on scratching. But according to Vagisil women who have a minor itch need to keep that shit at home. Weird.

This was all very disjointed. Welcome to my brain.