Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes

Well, actually, Baby just needs to get out of the freakin' house.

It's January, peeps. And while it's currently 73 degrees with the sweet sweet sunshine, it's 40 below in my bored old soul. And February. The wise and philosophizin' GWSF say this: fuck February! February can suck my dick! Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Henry Rollins is coming to Knoxville. Tix are reasonable until one starts adding in the ticketbastard charges, the dinner out and, worst of all, the intangible cost of Taking The Husband. I'm quite sure he would hate it, him being a little more Red State (and redneck) than I. But could I go with someone - say, my daughter? - who might actually enjoy it? Nooooooooooo. It would either (in his imagination) be a) some kind of Girls Gone Wild hooternanny or b) be oodles of fun that he missed out on. Maybe that's the same thing. But anyway, he'd insist on coming and I'd have to listen to him bitch.

But look! Metro Pulse is having a contest!

And I'm feeling lucky.