Big things are on the way

I can feel it coming in the air tonight.


Pray for Mojo

My brother is coming to spend the night. He and his homies will be going to a basketball game in Sapulpa, but mine is the designated crash pad. The details are sketchy. As far as I know this weekend involves travelling in a Sexterra with someone named Tate, the promise of getting krunk, and the knowledge that if they fuck with me or my cats somone's going home cut. Honestly, I'm not too worried about their behavior, I told my brother that I'd strike them down like a viper and I'm fairly certain he believes me. I am worried about feeling fat, acting like my mom, and getting so trashed that I embarrass myself in front of the sophomore class.

Class of '94 RULES!!!


Can't stop staring

Ok guys. Someone needs to send me something good to read while I'm at work. Now, I know that many of you regular readers are filthy, filthy people just dying to send me more info about shaved asian sluts (U. Ninja, I'm looking at you). And don't just send me a link to your site, unless, of course, you're really fucking funny. As you might've figured out I can't do shit with a computer, ergo I'm lost as to how to set up that automatic "click here and send me an email" shit.

I'm having a hard time. I haven't had a haircut in three months and I'm beginning to look like Heatmiser. I've got PMS so bad that this morning I seriously contemplated eating sour cream for breakfast. Last night's Top Model was a fucking clip show and we don't get new OC for three weeks. I just want something fun to read when I'm at work and Fametracker has worn out it's welcome. I need something that's updated quite often and doesn't have naked pictures because, as we all know, naked pictures make the baby Jesus cry.


Loves music, loves to dance

I might’ve used that title before, but I’m ok with it. Anyway. Internet, we’ve been seeing one another for quite a while now and I think it’s time we open up a little more. I know, I know. There are times when I’m not as forthcoming with my feelings as you’d like, but that’s just because I need to protect the shy child within me. Last night I was watching Oz and thinking about our relationship. I’m ready to take it to the next level. In order to do that I’m going to ask you a series of questions and I’d like you to give me the answers. That’s usually how it works. Ok, here goes:

Who would win in a fight between Count Dooku and Sauroman?

Who do you think will become America’s Next Top Model?

What book makes you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach?

Where did you get those shoes?

Who’s cuter Seth Cohen or a baby bunny?

Would you be willing to buy a hand made apron from a really classy girl?

That’s enough for right now. You know you can ask me whatever you want. I might not answer it, but you can certainly ask. Now, I’ve got to email Steve from Blue’s Clues.


Lost: One weekend

Man, did I sure not do a damn thing this weekend. Wait, I take that back! I did lots of stuff this weekend! There were naps and barbecue, multiple trips to the fabric store. I emptied the dishwasher and sustained a swingset injury. I watched Dirty Dancing AND Grease. All in all it was a pretty kick ass weekend. That is if you're a weighty, reclusive hermit with no friends, not even internet friends. Oh well, I've got to focus on building my hand made apron empire. Entrepreneurs have no time for fun.


God bless you, Gregger

I want to give mad props to my bosom chum Greg for cleaning up my mess. And for leaving me a picture of a hairy cowboy wearing a diaper. Now I'm off to watch Dirty Dancing with Dame Judy. She reccomended that we go into business together selling silkscreened aprons. I think I found a new lease on life.
Sex You Up

Somehow, I need to figure out how to hook these two up :


I don't know what the fuck happened here. I was simply trying to rid myself of my crap comments service and I managed to screw things up entirely. Needless to say I have no clue as to how to fix it. Stay with me holmes, I'll get it figured out eventually.



I read a lot, even if it’s trash. Especially if it’s trash. I’m not talking Jackie Collins trash. That’s too easy. It has to be a special kind of trash. An example of special trash is The Catch Trap by Marion Zimmer Bradley. A 400-page book about gay trapeze artists? Hell yeah, that’s special trash.

But I’m not here to talk about trash. I’m here to talk about a book that kicked my ass at the tender age of twelve: The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. There’s a dead millionaire who has a history of dressing up like Uncle Sam. Oh wait! He might not be dead! There’s an apartment building where the tenants are invited to live because they are all connected to the millionaire in some way or another, except one who is a mistake. Once they all move in, the tenants are invited to play this super complicated game that may or may not be a hoax. In the end, when the winner is revealed, I’m not even sure they actually won. There’s also a mad bomber, a wax dummy, a kid with cerebral palsy, and a crazy bum lady.

I’d read lots of books before The Westing Game, but I’m pretty sure it was this book that made me love reading. Never before had I gotten that punched in the stomach feeling you get when you read a good book. I wanted it to go on forever. I was so blown away the first time I read it that I had to immediately read it again to fully absorb what happened. Now, when I read I look for a book that makes me feel the way The Westing Game made me feel. It’s kind of hard to find and that pisses me off.

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