This calls for an underwear weekend...

I don't think I've ever been as busy as I have been lately. Oddly, the crushing amount of work isn't stressing me out. I wonder sometimes if I'm in denial about how bad things are or if I've reached that passive-agressive stage of acceptance. In any event, my blogging - both here and on HomoMojo has suffered and so has my ability to return phone calls, emails, etc. I opened my Inbox this morning to find that I had 130 new messages waiting for me. Luckily, about half were junk (why does everyone think I need Viagara? I'm on enough pills as it is...) and the other half were non-pressing emails that I could glance over. Like my sleep, I have a mantra: I'll catch up eventually.

And "eventually" finally has a target date: this weekend. My roommate is in Vegas until Sunday evening and I have only one concrete set of plans - to hit the Rose Bowl Flea Market (anyone remember when FB and I got burnt to a crisp last year? Good times...) on Sunday. With the apartment empty, the refrigerator stocked, and no obligations to speak of, you can bet your ass that I will be eating Girl Scout cookies (the unholy trinity of Thin Mints, Trefoils, & Tagalongs), watching reality TV (here's hoping to a Real World/Road Rules challenge and/or Project Runway marathon. Also, Boomerang is showing a bunch of Batman cartoons these weekend. And I don't plan to change out of my pajamas (aka known as a t-shirt and my undies) unless I feel the need to make a trip to the gym at some point. I suppose that's a possibility, but I can't really see myself waking up in time for 10am Pilates class on Saturday. Still, a boy needs his cardio, especially when he's put on 7-8lbs in the last month.

So why am I telling you this on Wednesday, instead of Friday, when this magical lost weekend will begin in earnest? Duh! Cause I need a reason to get up and go to work tomorrow. The sooner I get Thursday done, the sooner Friday comes and sooner I get to that beautiful moment of underwear-only bliss. I've even picked out the pair. See Exhibit U. And no, there will be no pictures of me wearing these. I leave that to bodies more ripped than mine. If you want dirty pictures, I have some screenshots of the Colin Farrell sex video and I even managed to find those scandalous webcam pictures of Clay Aiken trying to entice a guy to his hotel room - allegedly, of course. Email me.

Other than that, I've got nothin'. Sorry - visit Tottyland if you want to see the hotties. We mostly do screwball pseudo- intellectual humor 'round these parts.

Nighty!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the No, I Will Not Be Dancing To Bob Seger! Committee.