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You know Flickr has truly permeated your life and your brain when you see a handsome guy on the street and you immediately start looking for that little star in the upper left corner so you can add him to your faves.

I’ve got the flu. It always feels funny for a qu�b�cois francophone to say that publicly. It started with fever, muscle ache, sore throat and now it’s moving up and if you hear a strange sound as you read this, it’s because my head just exploded. Yawn. There’s nothing more boring than a sick post.

Things wouldn’t be so bad if I could just get that freakin song « It’s hard out here for a pimp » out of my head. God. Make it stop.

On other exciting news, I just looked out the window and saw The Mini eating the nuts I left out this morning for the squirrels. With the way he climbs trees and growls, I think he might have been raised by them.

Hey, that could make a nice screenplay! The mother of a little black kitten dies and a street gang of squirrels adopt him. He grows up amongst them but soon leaves the squirrels’ nest and finds a couple of human suckers to take him in.

The cross species relationship evolves well until the humans end up hunting down the leader of the squirrel gang because he is chewing on the cedar shingles (what he’s really trying to do is make a hole in the house to free the black cat from human oppression).

The movie would be touching and tragic and could be played by an ensemble cast of Hollywood stars in metaphorical squirrel and cat costumes, showing us how everybody should just get along, no matter the size and shape of their tails (kind of like Crash but without Sandra Bullock, please). What a tearjerker it would be. I’d probably win an Oscar and I’d dedicate it to all the SPCA workers who do their jobs without every getting the spotlight on them (though they do get a lot of fleas).

Forgive me. It must be the fever.

Journ�e productive aujourd’hui: j’ai fait le renouvellement de mon permis de conduire, de ma carte d’assurance-maladie et de mon passeport. J’ai l’impression d’avoir une toute nouvelle identit�, comme quelqu’un qui s’appr�te � entrer dans un « witness protection program ».

Le sc�nario semble tr�s plausible quand on voit ma nouvelle photo de passeport: j’ai tellement une sale gueule de criminelle que c’est �tonnant que le photographe n’ait pas mis les flics � mes trousses. Je vous jure, j’ai l’air de Charlize Theron dans Monster. En fait non, j’ai plut�t l’air de la fille � qui Charlize essaye de ressembler � grand renfort de proth�ses et de maquillage. Sauf que moi, je m’�tais maquill�e en esp�rant ne pas �tre trop moche sur la photo. Oh well.

Malgr� �a, je ne devrais pas avoir de probl�me aux douanes. Je n’ai pas vraiment l’air d’une terroriste: j’ai plut�t l’air de la fille qui est tellement convaincue que son avion va �tre attaqu� qu’elle a abandonn� toute joie de vivre et toute envie de se d�fendre.

Shoot me now.