I don’t think it’s the dreaded metatarsal but my ankle is hurting like mad now. I could only do about 12 minutes before my legs began shaking and I had to stop. I feel rotten. I have an appointment with my GP on Wednesday to see about it. There are some other things falling or rotting off me I need to see him about. I’m glad my appointment’s just before lunch.
Still can’t figure out this inner tube thing on the coffee machine; it seems to suck the milk up which is kinda not what I’d expect; it then spits milk out. I’m going to have to ask around and try to figure out what to do. I think the Capresso is far superior for steaming milk. Oh, well.
On the other hand, glad to report that the plug issue with the enormous TV is working and the DVD player thingy is now even as I type this making odd pulsing sounds while C walks a microphone around the media room so it can calibrate itself. Very high tech.
Work is blah
Isn’t it? I just sat there staring at all I had to do wondering how I could get away with not doing it. Right at the end of the day, Chad comes ambling over and wants to talk – about Monika Lewinski, Bill Clinton, and blow jobs, of all things. I didn’t know where to look. I feel sorry for him though; his plan to attract a lady is to get a cigar, go to a singles bar, and play Billy Boy to some unsuspecting girl’s Monica. I said “I give it a million to one you’ll not meet anyone.” He said “well, it only takes one.” Strange; he seems lonely but if he’d just cross to my side of the street, as it were, a military triathlete Iron Man? He’d never have to be alone of a weekend night. Just call him Trixie. Straight women have very self-defeating standards. Perhaps it’s that pregnancy thing.
This is Not Blah
But it is the only video I’ve found with this week’s mini-obsession, surfer dude Rafael Branciforti. It’s the ‘making of’ video (aka camera man indulging himself) from his ‘The Boy’ photoshoot. I hope you enjoy it. More photos to come, to make up for the flubbed links from yesterday. But it’s a bit late and I’ve got a messy kitchen to clean up.
Oh, I’ve a soft spot for my readers; here’s one more, of Mr. B enjoying his reflection in a glass door. We can enjoy his reflection, too…does he have a soft spot for us?
(Being shy’s such a waste of time, he seems to be saying.)