Yada yada, cha cha cha, state of the Cotillion and all that

Okay, so perhaps my vow to end my vow of silence was premature.

Honestly, I've had a lot happen lately, but most of it is angst-drenched crap that you really don't want to hear. Last time I started spilling my guts on here, I killed the party, so I'm wary of doing that again. Don't worry, I won't be harshing your mellow tonight. Well, no more than usual.

So, yeah...no more girlfriend. Truthfully, I was never completely sure where I stood with her anyway. I'll miss her, but I won't miss the never-ending cascade of mixed signals. In the meantime, Eeyore is spending a lot more time in the suitcase these days.

After a couple of weeks of unseasonably, delightfully balmy weather, Motherfucker Nature has now decided to make it look like January in Michigan out there. As I was shoveling my driveway today, easily exhausted because I'm so out of shape, I thought that perhaps someone should take my picture and title it Invitation to a Heart Attack.

You can tell I'm single now, as my dinner last night consisted of homemade soup heavily laden with lima beans, hard-boiled egg sandwiches (also known as Mickey Mouse sandwiches, but that's another post), and beer. Who cares if it makes me toxic? Only the cats and I will know.

Who else here is watching Project Runway? I love the show, but miss having someone to watch it with me. Tardist and Squirl would probably like to club me over the head for my unwanted updates on the show, although Squirl does a pretty decent Tim Gunn impersonation, just because I always have Bravo on when she gets here for our General Hospital marathons. Anyhow, on PR, I was tore down when Kit Pistol was eliminated last week; I will miss her OC cheekiness and funky designs. And she was mighty cute, too...not that I noticed. This week, though, I was here by myself cheering (and breaking wind; see dinner notes) when Victorya was eliminated. Her outfits always left me cold and she had a tendency toward...hmm, how shall I say this daintily? She tended toward cuntiness. That's the nicest way I can think to put it. Ricky gets on my nerves with his ought-to-be-burned hats and his proclivity for on-camera tears, but his winning outfit this week kicked everyone's collective asses. I don't see Ricky in the final three for this season, but it was nice to see him win once. I think tiny "Fierce!" Christian will be at Bryant Park. Probably Jillian, too. To round out my predictions, I'll place Rami in the finals as well. Sweet P, Ricky, and Chris are just in trouble too much to make it there, in my overblown opinion. I know it's kind of a gutless call when there are only six contestants left, but to be fair, I picked Rami as a finalist after the first episode. So there, fuckers.

I've now caught up with all the episodes of Heroes that are online for season two. More, please.

Sorry I don't have anything of real interest to say, unless you'd like a recap of the movies I saw last weekend. In short:

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was a movie that really got the "I've taken too many drugs and now I'm taking another fistful" feeling right. And how can you really go wrong with Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro sharing the screen? The only thing better would be a sock monkey with nipples.

Beauty Shop: Queen Latifah rocks. Need I say more?

The Godfather: I've seen it lots of times and will see it many times more. Why I don't own a copy of this movie is beyond me. Also, why Michael married Kay is always puzzling to me. Couldn't a man like him have found someone, I don't know, with a personality? Discuss.

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: I was mildly disappointed; I guess I just expected more belly laughs from a movie populated with unattractive drag queens (well, Guy Pearce was a pretty nice transformation, but Hugo Weaving should never, ever put on lipstick again). It had its moments, to be sure, but I think one viewing was plenty for me.

Alright, I can't pull anything else, useless or not, from my brain at this time. I'm going back to my painting, which doesn't require me to think; I just have to hang on to the brush and twitch my hands in time to the music. Good times!