The Very Bearable Lightness of Being

I don't know what the fuck Kundera was on about; lightness of being fucking rules. See, I've been traveling under a cloud of vehicle registration snafus that prevented me from getting my car tag on time last month. I knew that it was only a matter of time until I found myself being served a Blue Light Special, so today was my designated day to get - as Acidman is fond of saying - all my shit in a sock. I did, my tag is now proudly affixed to the back of my rolling can of trash, and I am feeling incredibly relieved.

Also: tis the season of the balls-out retail slash-and-burn. What was light is now positively elevated; I just bought a king-size Ralph Lauren goose-down comforter with a 330-thread-count cover for $99.99, on sale at Stein Mart. Tomorrow? Off to Costco where I will finally be united with the object of a full year's near-sexual lust. Haven't seen one before? Let me tell you - the sucking power of this baby is beyond anything Orrick ever dreamed of. I've seen the, erm, demo. Trust me.

Yessss. We loveses it, preciousss.