To Infinity...and Neil Young

I'm on a Neil Young kick, it just won't stop. He's kind of a scary looking dude to put a picture of on the blog, but I'm not going for aesthetics here, if I were I'd figure out html or something, so I give you, Neil Young:

It might have something to do with this lyric that hit me the other day

Old man look at my life,

Twenty four

and there's so much more

I'm into poignant-age/lyrics related to recent birthdays. For example, on my twentieth birthday I spent half the night crying because the last verse of The Circle Game is  So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty. It just ends there, like that's the oldest he can be. Great, thanks Joni. I've been thinking lately about getting Circle Game lyrics tattooed on my person. The current idea is we can't return/we can only look behind from where we came , but that might be too depressing to have tattooed on one's rib cage, so the royal we is still in negotiations here.

Anyway, I'm blogging at 3:30 am because I just got back from seeing Toy Story 3. Which was...fucking bomb. Like da bomb, not a bomb. Like awesome. 

I didn't even know that I missed Buzz Lightyear and Woody, but apparently I did. Oh, and it totally made me cry. Pixar are a bunch of assholes, that's all I have to say. How do they keep making movies rated "G" that make every adult I know cry? They're like made out of fairy dust and hired puppeteers to tug at our heartstrings (what in the name of Christ/Allah/Moses/L. Ron Hubbard am I talking about? "puppeteers to tug at our heartstrings"? It must be 3 am because that was purely nightmarish writing.)

Birthday weekend was a huge success! I had really low expectations and as a result, had a really great time. I made so much food yesterday that I didn't know I could ever pull off, so for that I am proud. The zucchini tarts were fucking magnificent. I'm serious, if there were any left I'd be lying here with them all over my chest, pie crust in my belly button. It's too hot for human contact, but I'd take contact with a pie crust tart. I'm not going to lie to you people, I'd take it.

In other news, the race between myself and The South is still pending, tied 1-1. There was a close call today where I pronounced cottage cheese COT-age cheese, and there was discussion of it sounding Southern, but I wasn't sure if that meant that I was winning, or The South was, so we called it a draw and I had a spoonful of 1% with pineapple. Unless something dramatic happens between now and Thursday night I'm pretty sure that the competition will remain tied until I actually arrive in The South, when we can resume the tally. Not sure if I'll be blogging from down there, mostly because my boyfriend makes fun of me when I talk about my blog. He's just jealous that 14 people like me on the internet. 

I think its bedtime, the Neil Young playlist is about to end and I've got very few words left in me that don't pertain to the baubles of sweat forming under my knees and dripping down my legs right now. With that image, I bid you adieu.

A