Ah...Tuesdays. Tuesday, followed by the Wednesday morning after-glow, has to be the finest part of my week.

Oh yes, my spending spree went just splendidly, thank you. I high-tailed it to Best Buy immediately upon slinking out of work, early and (hopefully) unnoticed, and brought home some new precioussss-nesses. This week I of course picked up Social Distortion's new one (sounds great, more thoughts later), Marilyn Manson"s greatest hits (guilty pleasure), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (loved it), and because I couldn't find the first season of Mad TV that was just released, I finally picked up the first season of Dead Like Me. Interpol will have to wait until next week, when I finally get me some Cake.

Happy with my purchases, I sequestered myself indoors for the remainder of the evening, interrupting my frenzy only every hour or so to walk my frazzled beagle, Zeus, who is on steroids and has to pee every fifteen minutes or so. He's eating like a hog as well, and I'm only now considering taking him off the pills and trying the vet's alternative suggestion for dealing with his severe contact allergies, daily bathing. If you've ever seen my bathe this dog, you would not wonder that I opted for the steroids.

Had a fun talk with BJ last night as well, spurred by my completion of Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and Damned, about Rockefeller and antitrust economics. Add this conversation to our mutual excitement at the approach of Halloween and he had me all but convinced to go to Lakeview (?) cemetery to see Rockefeller's grave after dark for some adolescent-type fun. Apparently there is also a large dam somewhere in that neighborhood that can be climbed upon, which had me of course thinking we should take some rappelling equipment with us for even more excitement. But of course, it was a Tuesday night, and, well, I had CD's to listen to and DVD's to watch. And even though it was a beautiful autumn evening, and the moon was high and bright, and I probably would have had a great time, I didn't answer the phone when he called back at the appointed hour. I'm sure if the idea had come from someone else I would've jumped at the chance.

And, wonder of wonder, I have no plans tonight or Thursday night, and I therefore intend to continue my slothful existence. That is, of course, unless I plan to finally de-wallpaper my kitchen tonight. And I need to stop at my parents' for some IRS mail (apparently they don't give a s**t that I've contacted them repeatedly to change my address these past 4.5 years and will continue to send my mail any damn place they want to). And there are the Zeus bath sessions to contend with. And LJ and I will probably hang out tomorrow when he returns from Chicago. And I need to go to F's to get my car fixed. And I want to finish Main Street before my next shipment from Amazon (Wolfe! Yippee!) arrives. Not sure this all counts as slothful or not, but anything removed from running myself into the ground making sure people who can't differentiate between SERVANT and SERVER have enough lemon for their water and ranch dressing for their filet mignon (I know, blasphemy) feels pretty damn slothful to me.