Limeworld.com

When one is editing old archives, one should also consider the fact that said posts are going to be cross-posted on Tumblr automatically. My apologies for the confusion.

I love this guy so much. I may offer to bear his children.

It is now my ambition to request this at a club or wedding. If YOU successfully request this at a club or wedding, take a short video and I will give you an awesome prize. Seriously.

Caution: this may take your day to 11.

I feel like I’ve posted this before, but really, it’s so good it should be posted more than once. It’s actually impossible for me to have a bad day after watching this video.

Embedding unavailable, click the link to watch on YouTube.


[Telephone Call]
Nigga this is the 15th muthafuckin time
That I called and left yo ass messages
I done text yo bitch ass,
And u ain’t respondin to nothin
What the fuck is you doing
Who the fuck is you out there with
You think I’m stupid,
My gurlz already done put me up on your ass tonight
When u get home I got some news for yo bitch ass

[Chorus]
Why you comin home 5 in the mornnn
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

Why u comin home 5 in the mornin
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

It’s 4 oclock and I’m sleepin
It’s late night and u creepin
You coulda told me, “I’m leaving”
Now I know your out there cheatin

Why you gotta do me like that
When I call u don’t call me back
I’m texting u, like nigga where u at
That’s fucked up, why u do me like that

I’m dead sleepin, u trickin
In the club with dirty foot bitches
My girl was there n she witness
She had a camera phone she took pictures

You was on the dance floor grindin
With a striper Ho named Diamond
You was flossin hard, u was shinnin
Everything she drank, u buying
Fuck nigga u need to stop lying

Before I get mad and pull out my Nine
U want a new bitch to fuck, then that’s fine
But don’t fuck hers, then try to fuck mine

U keep tellin me “u ain’t touch her”
But some keep tellin me u done fucked’er
And I ain’t that bitch, u want to play with
Nigga drop them boxers, lemme smell yo dick

[Chorus]
Why you comin home 5 in the mornnn
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

Why u comin home 5 in the mornin
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

Hey, hey
Smell my dick? Wait a minute hold up
See that’s how a bitch get’er eye swole’up
And I don’t give a damn wat your homegirl seen
When I was in the club, what the fuck u mean

They ain’t got no bisnuz, eyein’ me like dat
You ain’t got no bisnuz, tryin me like dat
I wan’t even feelin Diamond like dat
I was wildin’, but I wunt clownin like dat

That’s allright, that’s okay
Gon head believe wat your homegirl say
A nigga like me, drink alot of liquor
Meet alot bitches, take a lot of pictures

I might break bread, with one or two strippaz
But that don’t mean u gotta pull ma zippa
Thinking I dick down the whole town
Even though I got dick to go around (round… round)

[Chorus]
Why you comin home 5 in the mornnn
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

Why u comin home 5 in the mornin
Somethins goin on, can I smell yo dick
Don’t play me like a fool, cause that ain’t cool
So wat u need to do is lemme smell yo dick

[Music fade]

Image by James Provost.

How FUCKING AWESOME is this? This is going to become my mantra, particularly if I’m doing something creative, and especially if it’s something I get twitchy and insecure and intimidated by it. The only thing that matters is the Cult of Done. It’s not perfect? Fuck it. It doesn’t matter, and it interferes with being Done. Everything really is a draft, so just get it Done.

2.) Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done.

YES! Where was this list during my grade school days? Do you know how many reports and projects I either didn’t finish or procrastinated on because it wasn’t perfect? Fuck perfect. Done.

4.) Pretending you know what you’re doing is almost the same as knowing what you are doing, so just accept that you know what you’re doing even if you don’t and do it.

Do you know how many times this should have been stapled to my forehead so I wouldn’t freak out and bail on challenging activities? This list needs to be inscribed on my genetic code, as I’m 99% sure that any offspring I have down the road are going to be just as neurotic and obsessed with perfection as I am. Six year-olds shouldn’t have panic attacks over reports on dinosaurs.

8.) Laugh at perfection. It’s boring and keeps you from being done.

This needs to be painted on the wall over my drawing table and etched on my camera. Maybe even tattooed on my arm.

10.) Failure counts as done. So do mistakes.

Anytime I’m in school, this should be something I recite to myself daily. There have been so many times where I’ve made myself sick with worry over failure, and 99% of the time it was completely unnecessary. I still do it.

Okay, enough being excited about ideas. I’m off to get shit DONE.

Found via Brandon Stone.

I love this so much. A somewhat related question: why is that look so very Eastern European, and why does it not seem to change? This is a totally legitimate question, because I SWEAR TO GOD my Hungarian step-father actually dresses like that when not forced to wear dressier work clothes. Both outfits are totally part of his wardrobe. Athletic pants and strangely patterned sweater, or wife-beater and sweatpants are practically his casual uniform. I’m not even kidding. If he could get away with a mullet, I’m pretty sure he’d rock that too. I thought it would evolve into something more modern but equally tacky, but no, it never does.

I’ve decided that minimally displaced fractures of the radial head (elbow) are like the practical joke of broken bones. No splint, no cast . . . basically I have to spend the next month trying to claw back my range of motion regardless of pain or discomfort, as failing to do so would result in a locked elbow and surgery.

What does that mean? It means busting my ass to do the everyday things that I used to do without thinking. Typing, brushing my hair, feeding myself . . . these have all become part of the grueling rehabilitation process. Ordinarily I would prefer to be a lazy git and let other people take care of me, but my fear of losing full use of my elbow and surgery has prompted me to show an unusual amount of initiative. In fact, so much initiative and determination that I think some people are having trouble believing that it’s actually broken. Yes, it’s still broken. Yes, it still hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER sometimes. Yes, I still need painkillers, and no, I really can’t carry as much as you think I can. I have to keep reminding Seuss that despite my progress, I am still in no position to jump back into using my arm to cook, clean and what-have-you. I’m contemplating painting it a different colour just so he remembers that it’s STILL BROKEN. Perhaps I’ll vary the shade by pain level.

This experience has also given me a renewed appreciation for the work that my mother has done as an occupational therapist. I’ve seen her work with patients in the past, and I’ve seen firsthand the incredible progress they make under her care, but I never understood the patient’s side of the experience. I never realized how much it hurts, how much it sucks, how fucking irritable you get from the combination of pain and slow progress. It never occurred to me how much of a difference a caregiver can make in the rehabilitation process. Sometimes, particularly if the condition is slow to show improvement, the caregiver’s interest and enthusiasm can be the only thing that carries the patient through a difficult time in their therapy. I thought I understood rehabilitation on a basic level, but I’m only just starting to get a glimpse of what is actually involved.

I’m also full of awe and admiration for my mother’s clinical knowledge and bedside manner with patients. It’s a shame she doesn’t have a clinical practice anymore, because she has a real gift for it. There is a magic to how she approaches the rehabilitation process, and a boundless enthusiasm that is just the antidote for the frustrated and demoralized patient. I wish more people could experience that from the healthcare providers they encounter.

It seems only natural, being risk-averse as I am, that the moment I engage in a physically demanding task, I break myself. I’ve been working with Seuss doing landscape construction, which is a huge departure from my otherwise office-dominated work history, but I’ve always liked a good challenge. Things were going well until Friday, when I got both feet caught in some wire mesh and went face-first into some sidewalk blocks.

I managed to crack my incisor in half and fracture the radial head in my elbow, nevermind the grotesquely swollen upper lip and nasty-looking abrasion. I racked up a lovely dentist bill before proceeding down to the emergency room for an eight-hour visit. I’ve gained some insight from the experience, which I will now share.

1 – Those calcium-magnesium supplements ARE actually important
In spite of doing a face plant into one of the most unyielding substances around, I managed to knock out ZERO teeth, required no root canals and sustained the tiniest of fractures. Some of this can be attributed to genetics, but I think a good bit of it also has to do with taking those supplements. I met a woman that day who also broke her right arm in a fall, but rather than a small fracture, she shattered her humerus (the large bone in your upper arm) in four places. Take those supplements – you won’t care until your arm looks like a sack of potatoes and you need surgery just to line the pieces back up.

2 – My vanity far exceeds my pain threshold
As I lay on the ground staring at the fragment from my tooth, my first thought wasn’t about pain, but instead about how horribly disfigured I would now be. Visions of me missing my front teeth flashed before my eyes, and yes, that was what made me cry. Me as meth-addict. Me as hockey player. That was one of my top ten least shining moments as a human being – discovering that I care more about how I look than how much pain I’m in. Thankfully, I also discovered that my mind was quickly put at ease once I knew that my tooth could be filled and made to look like a normal tooth, and I was completely unselfconscious about have a giant, swollen and bloodied lip that made me look like a parrot. Go figure.

3 – I need my right arm for just about everything
Take typing, for example. Writing this has taken me at least 3x as long as it normally would have. In fact, everything takes three times as long: showering, brushing my hair, making a sandwich, eating . . . I can’t play video games for very long because my arm gets tired and sore from trying to hold the controller at an awkward angle. I can barely put a bra on, and I definitely can’t put my hair in a ponytail. One tiny crack, and I can’t perform 90% of my activities of daily living.

4 – Being at home with nothing to do isn’t as fun as I would have imagined
It’s only been a few days, and I’m bored as fuck. I can’t play video games for very long, there’s nothing on TV, I’m too handicapped to clean the house, I shouldn’t drive unless I absolutely have to, and everyone I know is either working or in school during the day. Even using the computer is physically awkward and draining. I take a lot of Advil, read and sleep. Thrilling.

5 – It’s really easy to take things for granted
I sustained no head injuries, no internal injuries, contracted no communicable diseases – in other words, I got off really, really easy. As much as having a broken elbow is uncomfortable and a nuisance, it will heal, and quite quickly at that. My tooth is patched up, my lip is healing, and I don’t require anything stronger than Advil. I saw people in emergency who looked like they would gladly take a broken arm over the pain they were in, people who were white as a sheet and nauseous, others struggling to breathe, still others doubled over and dreaming of lying down on a bed. My pain is minimal and transient, and I think I owe it to myself and the people who never get relief from their pain to revel in all that my body allows me to do everyday. More dancing, more running, more feeling the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. Life is short.

Until I’m mended, however, I will probably continue to swear when I can’t spread the peanut butter without dropping the knife. And when I can’t reach something mere inches away because my arm won’t bend. And pretty much every time I try to dress myself.

I know what you’re thinking, “R. Kelly and Broken Social Scene? Are you mad?” but it WORKS. Just try to ignore the fly-compound-eye-vajazzled glasses that R. Kelly is wearing. They consumed at least half of my mental space as I was watching this.