last night i dreamt of laundry- of needing to do it, though it had already been done. i awoke sweating.

on friday j and i saw 'it is fine! everything is fine', and you should too. it was written by a man with severe cerebral palsy- his fantasy life come real, wherein he is articulate and understandable and sexually bombastic (and judging from the full-frontal nudity, colossally endowed). he died a month after it finished filming. produced by crispin glover, who introduced the film and answered questions afterward. "he asked us from his hospital bed if we had enough footage to complete the movie" he said.
crispin glover came off as a bit of a douche. before the film he read from his books, the illustrated scratched-out-pasted-over nightmare-victorian images illuminated on the screen. that was cool (though after an hour i was getting restless). but the q&a session was simply an opportunity for him to ignore the question being asked and go off on a self-absorbed tangent about his career. he revealed that he is pissed off at his agent right now, and that some financial deals fell through, and that he funded this project with his earnings from 'charlie's angels.' he was cuter than i expected: instead of the waxen willard look i was anticipating, he had shoulder-length hair and a nice suit and looked like he should be wearing tevas and trying to shtup underage hippie girls. but his demeanor: i remembered a story s told me about this one guy she dated, who would be found oiled up in some grotesque yoga position, surrounded by candles, to most likely look up with an "oh, you surprised me" fake-casual expression, as if he always just lounges around like a pretentious greasy pretzel. i laughed very hard when she told me that. "that is so fucking disgusting" i probably said.
i like my men hedonistic and unshaven- self-aware and indifferent at once. that is: i want them to bathe in the morning but, say, not realize they have toothpaste on their face because they haven't bothered to examine their appearance since. and when it's pointed out, they say something smartass like "at least i fucking brushed them" and still don't bother to wipe it off.
i do not think this would be the case with crispin hellion glover.
we had an egg-bound tortoise at work today. her cloaca was tearing from the distention. the doctor lanced the egg with a 14g needle and sucked the contents out through a syringe. i have seen this done with birds as well. it is fascinating as fuck. i was the one holding the tortoise. everyone else was gathered behind the doctor, watching. "you all have the exact same facial expression" i said, which was: horror, lips parted. after i rinsed the tiny egg bits off and saved them in a pill vial for the owner. i would want them if it was my tortoise, anyhow.
it is valentine conversation heart season! i love them so! my favorite this year: "I'M ME", seconded by "GO AWAY."