Chunky Monkey ripped off Tootie Frootie...

[selfdefeatist]

I'm supposed to be mowing the lawn, which is incredibly overgrown, however, I have wasted most of the morning watching The Return of the King and thinking about how fat my legs are and how I need to get back to running. I will probably begin my most odious of chores during the heat of the day, and midway through I will pass out and be eaten by Oreo the amazing obese dog, who is usually a willing participant in mowing adventures but lately just lays around waiting for me to pass out so she can eat me. She really wants to eat Jim, but he's bigger and his pathetic attempt at growing a mustachio is a little off-putting in the tummy. It is for me at least. He's been weird lately...he volunteered at Glen Lake and VBS...also off-putting in the tummy. Better him than me, I say. I don't think either of us is fit to be an eight-year-old's spiritual leader, but at least when asked where he's seen God today, Jim doesn't respond, "Quick, over there by that tree, you just missed him!" like me and Robin at our last church camp extravaganza. There we also learned about the triangle of emotion and physical intimacy, as told by two boys who I hate to imagine in a sexual light. But that's besides the point. Anyway, their idea was that as you become closer emotionally, you should become closer physically...which makes sense sort of. At a certain point, your flesh would have to meld in order to continue the upwards climb, otherwise you'd have to admit to the finite nature of your emotions, and the apex of the triangle would probably also represent the end of your relationship. "Sorry honey, my emotions for you will never get any stronger, actually, they'll probably wane as your body degenerates with it's penchant towards entropy." Then again, what if your definition of intimacy is different from your partner's? I think falling asleep with someone would be primo. I think sex sounds grody. So where does that leave my triangle, especially if I'm paired with a horny boy? I really don't know, but that is my most vivid memory from church camp, besides the time I went by myself and ended up in a cabin with girls who all knew each other and had to hang out with the outcast Sara who made me call her Ray and all we did was swim in the lazy river and I'd tell her how much she looked like a lifeguard and then try to drown myself but the bitch wouldn't let me and then we'd follow the boy she liked who looked like a weasel so I cleverly dubbed him "weasel boy" and he accused ME of following him! It was Ray, I swear! He wore a floral hat too...
Anyway, this thing won't let me post comments on other people's journals, even though I don't really know too many people, except my favorite person who knows who she is. Well, I wanted to post on her journal and I think I will never have that capability, so I've become mildly depressed. Also the fact that the orks are kicking the crap out of the race of men isn't helping. Who builds their towers so crumbly? Not I said the cat who also happens to have a mustachio, as does Dasch. He looks like a little old man and Robin orders around this midget old man/dog. It really makes my day. Oh, the purple pants are "hot" <---the new catch-all adjective for anything superfluously good. I had to try on all of my new clothes for my parents. They thought everything I'd bought was ridiculously short until I put it on. My mom of course does not think the pink shirt fits appropriately, otherwise, I think her comment was something like, "You should where those clothes while your boobs hold out." Okey dokey...