I can't believe Jean ran over my fucking foot!

No, seriously, she ran over my goddamned foot. We were picking up her boyfriend from CityWalk (he works at the Hard Rock over there) after shopping at the Northridge mall and I'm getting out to let him sit in the front seat ('cause he *is* the boyfriend) and as I'm moving shit off the backseat, Jean starts driving! The door is open and she *somehow* thinks I'm already in. And I'm like, woah, WOAH! I *cannot* believe she drove over my freakin' foot! I mean, it only hurt for a little while (pretty much went away by the time we headed out to Burbank), but...she ran over my goddamned foot! I mean...whathefuck?

Anyway, it was just one of those things that only happens to Dan Aykroid in "Dragnet" and so I was sort of stunned. I dunno.

So, the day goes like this: Get a couple calls from the D-man, during which I'm almost completely asleep. The call I am expecting from PK never arrives. Then Jean calls and says "Hey," so I'm like, "Totally." I drag my ass outta bed 'round 14:00 an' we try and figure out where we're gonna go. I've already got it set so we hit Rockaway so I can replace the faux-BNL CD I bought Thursday with the *actual* one, then it's off to the Northridge mall 'cause she'd rather hit that than just stop at Glendale. Whatever; no skin off my ass, since it ain't my $$ in the tank. So we get there and first hit is Footlocker ('cuz I need shoes), which is crowded as fuck 'cause they're having a sale for some goddamned reason. So I pick up some black Converse All-Star's/Chuck Taylors and a two bags of sox (6 pairs each) 'cause the sale is buy one, get another for half price. $53 later, I've got some shoes and sox. Onward to Hot Topic, for whom Jean works corporate (40% discount), and where she has a (lesbian) friend/acquintance. Brief chat (sans intro de moi) and we shop. While she's eying this vinyl Chinese-style dress, I snag these pleather pants. Total impulse, s'right? But shit, the sale tag reads $40 and I've always wanted (p)leather/vinyl/whateverthefuck pants. So I try 'em on. They're a little long in the leg (felt like 32"er's), but I take it on faith that my scuffed-up, steel-toed, ugly-as-fuckin'-sin-above-the-ankle shitkicker boots can compensate. The total? Fuckin' $18! Like, half what my fuckin' Converse cost. Quality as HT has supposedly gone up, 'cause the company's a rising star, market-wise, so I figure as long as I don't wear 'em too often (no more'n once a week), they *should* last for more'n *few* seasons. We'll see. Anyway, Jeannie got herself a t-shirt with one of those loveable HT-type phrases; this one being "Roses are black, Violets are black." Ah, romance! So, we quick grub at the Tommy's in the mall and head off to the apartment, then to CityWalk, where she runs over my fuckin' foot.

*After* that, we deliberate on what movie to see. I was kinda hopin' we could catch "Ghost World" at the Laemmle (heard good things), but the kid's not convinced. I'm dead set against Rock Star (fuck Marky Mark!), so that pretty much leaves at Jeeper's Creepers as the only thing we agree on. Result...eh. Not hideous. Certainly could've been worse. Twenty times better than my baselines for shitty in the genre (Urban Legends: Final Cut & Scream 3), at least.

Oh, and just in case anyone cares: The Worst Movie Ever Fucking Made In Any Genre is...

...Eraserhead.

(I'll listen if you want to tell me there's a worse movie out there, but if you want to try and tell me 'Eraserhead' is actually any good, don't fuckin' bother. You're full of shit and have no taste.)

ANYWAY, that pretty much covers the day...aside from making a minor slice into my finger with Thea's dragon-head katana replica (a la the "Highlander" TV series) right before learning how to play the "Guillotine" and "Flux" card games. Sue me, I forgot the thing wasn't dull...

So...time for DVD's so I can stop hanging about online 'til 5am every goddamned night...