Well formulated, coherent thoughts escape me lately. It's like the metal in my leg is fucking with my brain frequencies like it does with the reception on my neighbor's TV. But I would like it to be known that I don't understand Chloe Sevigny. I like her, I think. I just don't have the hard on for her that every twenty-something fashionista blogger whose site I frequent seem to have. I mean, sure she can act, but she's horsey looking, and most of the time she dresses like a complete wackadoo. And i don't know how to pronounce her last name. Sigh. That is all.
I now return to my search for swimwear that is well accessorized by the knee high velcro moonboot my doctor is insistent on me wearing. FML.