"it's really so much better if you take it up the ass."

In case you can’t tell from my lack of posting, I’m on vacation. Sort of.

Far be it for me to barrage you with the banalities of my moderate hibernation, but frankly, I’m bored. And I haven’t actually left my apartment today. Why, you may ask? Because, like Paris Hilton releasing an album, I had no good reason to.

A few things.

The already anorexic iPod Nano has lost weight. Why? Because thin is in, sweetie dahling. It now comes in a plethora of Easter-egg colors no self-respecting techno-gadget ever should.

In an effort to leave my apartment, I joined an athletic club. Because, really, who’s going to stare at my ass at home? Seriously though, athletic clubs bother me. I weigh less than 120 pounds, I’m fairly good at hiding any cellulite I may have and I own all the right curve-hugging-i-look-hot-when-i-sweat work-out clothes, but there’s just a vibe about chain fitness establishments that makes me feel like I’m thirteen years old and the last girl picked for dodgeball. It’s as if they bottle that vain you're-not-pretty-or-tan-enough vibe that Los Angeles emanates and filter it through the air conditioning vents.

Also:

Back on the topic of men’s magazines, I found a heartening copy of FHM in my mailbox last week bearing a mostly naked Janet Jackson on the cover next to the eminent pull-quote “I’ve never worn so little.” I always wonder how it is in an interview that women work in the phrase “I really like to garden naked. I enjoy being dirty,” when they’re promoting a movie or album. I’ll state here for the record that it is now my lifelong goal to get the pull-quote “The only thing I love more than Camus is some good old-fashioned anal” published on the cover of a men’s magazine, next to a picture of me in a thong with my breasts covered only by a cleverly placed inanimate object.