Day Nineteen: A Song from Your Favorite Album

It should not come as a shock to you, internet, that my favorite album is “Heartbreaker” by Ryan Adams.  There is literally not ONE song on this record that I could not listen to over and over again. I am not sure if my goal here is to pick my favorite song from my favorite album or just a random one, so I am going to just wing it. (I can’t really pick a favorite anyway, this album is really THAT good.)

I had to go with “Come Pick Me Up” here because it is so excruciatingly beautiful.  It’s true, it has the ability to make a well-adjusted person slit their wrists, but really in the best possible way. This whole album really is a Heartbreaker. A perfectly orchestrated Heartbreaker.

When they call your name
Will you walk right up
With a smile on your face
Or will you cower in fear
In your favorite sweater
With an old love letter

I wish you would
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
They're all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
I wish you would

When you're walking downtown
Do you wish I was there
Do you wish it was me
With the windows clear and the mannequins eyes
Do they all look like mine

You know you could
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends behind my back
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
I wish you would

I wish you'd make up my bed
So I could make up my mind
Try it for sleeping instead
Maybe you'll rest sometime
I wish I could

Thirty Day Song Challenge

My friend L7 has been posting song titles and videos and stuff on Twitter all week and I finally just Googled this “Thirty Day Song Challenge”, found it here and here and decided to try it out on my blog. I haven’t done anything like this in a long time. So, what the hell, internet? Let’s get to it, shall we? (Feel free to join in, I am going to go ahead and tag my little friend Hespy over here so I am not playing alone!)

Day One: Your Favorite Song

This one, internet, is kind of a toughy. I hate being asked this question because there is no correct answer. This all depends on my mood. And generally speaking, my mood is not too…um…predictable. So, naturally, neither will my choice for “favorite song”. 

I think that the song that has held significance for me for the longest time and that I still absolutely LOVE, is “Black” by Pearl Jam. I remember the first time that I heard it and it attaches to some very fond and beautiful memories of someone who has now passed away. I remember the first time I saw it performed live and I remember the way that it made my whole body shudder. Say what you will, internet, but Eddie Vedder is a supremely talented guy (and I refuse to fault him for growing up and not sounding like he did in 1992. Grunge is over. You learn, you grow. Get over it, haters.) and the lyrics of “Black” are beautifully melancholic. I love it.

The List:
Day One: Your Favorite Song (see above)
Day Two: Your Least Favorite Song
Day Three: A Song that Makes You Happy
Day Four: A Song that Makes You Sad
Day Five: A Song that Reminds You of Someone
Day Six: A Song that Reminds You of Somewhere
Day Seven: A Song that Reminds You of a Certain Event
Day Eight: A Song that You Know All the Words To
Day Nine: A Song that You Often Hear on the Radio

FINALLY!

I am going to see RYAN ADAMS, ya'll!

You Wanna See Me Fall Down?

Before I get into this story, I would like to explain yesterday's bitter post.

If you know me, you know that there are three musicians that I would kill to know. Eddie Vedder being the number one, end all be all, love of my life. I think he is a genius. And he is beautiful. And I have been OBSESSED with Pearl Jam since I was 12. I have more Pearl Jam CDs and magazines and records and, well, you name it. I. LOVE. PEARL JAM. Because I love them this much, I found it really hard to be happy for my friends who were going to be at the show. Mostly, I was minutes away from making a full body costume out of Clifftopher so that everyone would think I was him. Because Clifftopher? Backstage passes. Brother is friends with Matt Cameron. And I? At home. Crying.

I didn't understand how someone who couldn't possibly care as much as I about this band could be standing next to my heros. How could this happen? It should have been me! I was enraged.

So, I was upset yesterday because this was the first time since I was 14 that I haven't been able to see them when they were touring in the state of Florida (or Georgia for that matter). I was not bummed out. I was effing pissed. Naturally, when I left work yesterday, I had a few things on my mind: Cigarettes, wine and ice cream. Once I secured all of those things and made it home and tried to forget about the day. And then, I had gone outside on the porch to smoke (because I deserved it yesterday) and my phone rang and I saw that it was Clifftopher. I instantly remembered a drunken conversation of ours wherein I told him that if at any point he was close enough to Eddie to get his attention, to call me and ask him to say hello. I knew that this wasn't going to happen. But I put my phone on the loudest ringtone I have anyway.

When I answered, Clifftopher was nonchalant. He made regular conversation for a minute while I almost exploded.

"Guess who I am standing next to."

"Who?" I was barely audible because I was busy swallowing my tongue.

"Who do you think?!"

"Eddie Vedder?!" Gulp.

"Yeah!" He clears his throat and pulls the phone away from his mouth, "Hey, Eddie. Would you mind saying hi to my friend Criz?"

Then I fell down.

No, I literally fell down.

"Hi, Criz" (I can't punctuate this, because how the hell do you punctuate Eddie Fucking Vedder.)

"Hi! GOEIHFLSDNLIEHLVNDSAL" I don't really know what came out of my mouth...but then Eddie actually sort of...giggled.

"Hi, Criz"

And then I died. I don't remember anything after that. I actually don't think that there is any moment after this that will matter to me. I fell down. And then I had a seizure. And I screamed for about two hours.

I hope that you all understand the gravity of this situation, Internet. Eddie Vedder is aware of my existence. He knows that, somewhere in the world, there is a girl named Criz who falls down when she is faced with the prospect of talking to him and says words like "JGHEOLHFKLSAJ". He said MY NAME, you guys.

Clearly, this means that we are getting married. We won't have a registry, so just donate to the surfrider foundation on our behalf. Criz Vedder. Beautiful.

Bitter Blogging

This has been one of those mornings when you wake up and you just know that your bed feels too good to get out of. But you do it anyway, because you need that cash. I unrolled myself out of the "burrito" (Jer's name for how I always have the covers wrapped around me, forming this inpenatrable cocoon), started the coffee (the working girl's crack) and then took a very long, very hot shower (another place that I didn't want to leave). I was in a pretty good mood despite the grogginess and the general distaste for any day of the week that I have to wake up to an alarm. I drove to work, I listened to Ryan Adams, and I sang along...

Then...it happened. When I pulled into my parking spot and looked down at my phone, I realized I had a voicemail. I looked at my missed calls and didn't recognize the last number, so I thought I would see what kind of retard would call me at 7:45 in the morning. The first thing I heard was a ukelele and I know from experience that if you have a voicemail that is comprised only of a song, there is a reason for it. I knew right away that it was going to be a Pearl Jam song. And I knew right away who left the message even though I haven't had his number in my phone for several years. But there it was, staring right back at me and playing "Soon Forget" on my fucking voicemail, turning me into a big, bitter, blubbering mess and ruining my fucking mascara. That's right, internet, I am not going to see Pearl Jam tonight and Boy to Avoid is. As is Clifftopher. And Jules. And I, will be sitting on the couch with Spliff, crying my face off and being generally PISSED THE HELL OFF.

I am really trying to maintain a level of sanity here, but I really just don't think I can do it for long. I want to beat bitches up. (And then I want to kidnap Eddie and do bad things to him...Oh. Did I just say that?)

I am warning you know, friends, it is going to be that kind of day. And if you want to stay ALIVE, don't mention Pearl Jam to me, unless you are bringing them to my house. In which case, I will have your babies. But if that is NOT the case, and you feel the need to leave a PJ song on my voicemail, you should wear a cup. And maybe a helmet.

Ankles and Basketball

Spliff likes basketball. And I really don’t like any sports. Not unless I am watching them in person. I really feel that you can’t get the true feel of the sport unless you are watching it from the court itself. Tonight, because there wasn’t anything else on, Spliff wanted to watch the NBA playoffs. I was not interested. So, knowing that TRN likes basketball, (because last week, we had to interrupt a game so that he could come upstairs and kill a bug), Spliff decided to go down and watch the playoffs with him. I started writing and drinking wine and by the time she came back up for the third time, I thought Mr. James was hot enough to watch. (I actually always think he is super hot, but I thought that I would join TRN and tell him how fat his ankles are.) And, as it turns out, TRN does NOT remember trying to take his pants off in my living room but does remember coming up to offer me champagne. So…ummm…I don’t really know what that means other than, he was really effing drunk. He doesn’t remember when I tucked him into his bed. He doesn’t remember that his knee was bleeding and he wouldn’t let me put a bandaid on it so as not to destroy his down comforter…but he does remember Sunday when I came over to ask him to come out with us to restart the beer challenge. He was…well…hungover and uninterested, but when Spliff informed him that he had interrogated me about his ankles, he just laughed. By the time I came down, he was ready to know what else he had done. And I was also ready to know what else he had done. I have never seen someone that drunk before. Not even me, which is a stretch. Why, just the other day, I cussed out the owner of a restaurant because he tried to make me do a shot of Rumplemintz…(and I don’t know how to spell it because it is disgusting and I only learn to spell things that I like to drink.)

Anyway, TRN doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t remember that this is the second time that I have had to put him to bed and he doesn’t remember trying to trap me in his room. And my theory about it is, when he is drunk, I am hot and he wants to steal me away and keep me in his room. I wish Taye Diggs felt the same way. Dammit. Now, if you will excuse me, “Brown Sugar” is on VH1.

Oops...

I think I may have just proposed to Zach Braff via MySpace. I can’t help it. Scrubs is so funny.

Omnium-Gatherum

I don’t want to pack my stuff. I want to wiggle my nose or something and make it all magically put itself into boxes. And while it is packing itself, I will wiggle my nose again and make Taye Diggs appear to massage my back. You know, because I will need to relax after all that hard work. And when Taye Diggs is done giving me a back massage, he will then give me 50 million dollars and then he will finally realize that Idina is kind of frightening looking (albeit amazing, but he will forget about that, because he will be blinded by love and adoration for me) and he will propose to me instead. Yep.

Also, Pete Yorn is coming to Freebird on November 4th. If this whole damn move weren’t bleeding me dry, I would totally be going. Feel free to donate to the “Criz hearts Pete Yorn” Fund. (I prefer large bills, but if you can produce Taye Diggs, all will be forgiven.)

I actually did speak with D for about two and a half hours last night. It went very, very well. As much as I like hearing the news about her family (seriously, it is like a soap opera!) and everything, I think my favorite part of the conversation was this:

D: And I think you’ll be happy to know that I am no longer a Rebulican.
Me: OH! You can tip strippers now?! That’s awesome!
D: Yeah!

Because everyone knows that tipping is essential.

So, for the second night in a row, I have gotten about four hours of sleep and I am starting to feel delirious. Not to mention that the coffee that I got from the café this morning tastes like they have been using the same coffee filter for a week and this is the last bit that they could get out of it (and still get away with calling it coffee) before changing it. That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna drink it. That just means, I will bitch about it until someone goes to Starbucks and comes back with something acceptable for me. (I won’t hold my breath on that one.)

“Boy to Avoid circa 2001-2005” has been emailing me for the last few days too. Which is not only a bit irritating, but also disturbing. He insists on talking to me about the new Red Hot Chili Peppers album. I keep telling him that, although Anthony Kiedis holds a special place in my heart for that whole “Under the Bridge” hotness, I haven’t been able to get into the Peppers since Blood Sugar Sex Magik. Dave Navarro killed the band. He did. His runny eyeliner and lack of talent sucked the soul out of the band. I mean really, remember “Rollercoaster”? What the hell WAS that?

Okay...that's really all I got.

Damian Marley and Ben Harper 'Get Up Stand Up'

Mmmmm...

The View

Best. Night. Ever.

Friday night, as I said before, Spliff and I drove to Atlanta for what could quite possibly been the best show I will ever see in my lifetime (Ben Harper and Damian Marley, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention.) One of the downfalls of being so intensely moved by a concert, I find, is that I can never really do it justice when trying to explain it. So, I am going to list some highlights and hope that the gravity this experience will somehow be conveyed.

I am going to start with things that pissed me off, because even though I still remember them, they had little to NO impact on the night at all. Which, if you know me, you will notice, IS HIGHLY UNNATURAL.

Things that made me want to cut people:
1. We got lost in Atlanta. For those of you who have driven in Atlanta, you can testify that this is THE WORST city EVER to get lost in.
2. The whore that was standing beside us who might as well been giving head to all of the security guys standing in front of the stage.
3. The other dumb bitch who pushed her way up to the first row (beside me) who evidently didn’t deem the whole thing worthy enough to get there early and EARN a front row spot but instead, decided to push her way in right before Ben started and breathe on my goddamn neck for the entirety of his set.
4. The fact that no one in the whole city of Atlanta knows where the Gallaway Center is, which happened to be where we put the car. THE CAR.
5. This “no buying beer after 11:45pm business”. What the hell IS that? Like, how am I supposed to remember every time that you can’t buy beer at NORMAL times like 11:45pm?!
6. Ben didn’t really play anything of his own that I would have been excited to hear. Just the generic stuff that everyone screams about. (I don’t mind this stuff, but I could have done with some…shit that gives me chills.)

Things that made me squeal with joy:
1. Damian Marley did not look nearly as much like a crack head as he has recently in pictures. Obviously, Bobby Brown got his claws in, but guess what Bobby! Damian is still a smokin’ hot rasta…and you are married to a washed out psycho crack head. HA.
2. He played “War”. One of my favorite songs of all time. And…he brought Julian and Stephen out to sing with him. Holy crap. Marley overload.
3. So many dreadlocks.
4. Stephen sang directly to me and Spliff during their version of “Get up, Stand up”, which he sang with his brothers AND Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals.
5. Leon Mobley blew kisses at us during “Steal my Kisses” and while he is…ummm…Leon Mobley…it was still adorable. (And oddly, I think this is not the first time this has happened.)
6. Ben looked like a god. (Duh.)
7. AND HE TOUCHED MY HAND.
8. And played "Heart of Gold" which I have only seen on YouTube and never in person.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.


I could go on and on…and on. But I won’t. Because I am sure that you are all jealous and bitter and well…I would just be rubbing it in. So…lets just say, that I came home after the best night ever with my best girl ever and am…

There are no words.

Today...

Really. What is WITH people?

I think I once described something as “wearing a wetsuit lined with sandpaper”…and that’s what today was.

Obviously, today was my punishment for having a headache for a week and finally breaking down and calling in sick yesterday. Today was hell. Because honestly, every single numbskull on the planet called me today. Okay, I’m sure that there are a few that were too busy, like, trying all day to push open a door that clearly states to PULL, but still…

The weekend was pretty good though, consisting of cocktails and vulgar pianists (my favorite kind) and the ever-crazy Jennigiraffe (Jenn, Jennajawhore…whatever…) and JGJ. All things I never seem to tire of. All things that seem to keep me pretty well entertained. Most of which will again be present next weekend.

Speaking of next weekend…

Spliff and I are preparing for the long-awaited Ben Harper/Damian Marley show in Atlanta. I can’t wait. Actually, that is the worst understatement. In fact, at this very moment, just talking about it, butterflies are flitting around in my stomach so much that…well…I might just vomit. Anyway, I may not come back. Assuming, (and I know that I have said this before) that I can somehow convince Ben that his wife is really a talking horse. Hmmmm…I don’t see how he could not know already. Damn that Laura Dern. Damn her.

In the meantime though, I have spent the evening drinking many a rum and coke, taking retarded pictures with my LBG and talking shit about our jobs…and watching Nip/Tuck while LBG ate corn in various forms. Corn. I know. I open the freezer to get ice, and she is awestruck by…corn. I really should marry her. So easy to please. And so good at cutting my hair. Oh yeah, I made her do that in return for the corn. Our friendship, its an exchange. I give her corn, she cuts my hair.

And now, because I have a fresh haircut and a belly full of corn and rum…(mmm…), I am going to bed.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Butterflies" - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Tags: bitching , beautiful people , life , celebrities I hate

Thanks to FIFA and a Busy Weekend

Because I have cared so much in the past about the World Cup, I decided that I would humor Jay and Spliff and try to watch on Saturday after arriving in Hoe-Town. And I wasn’t disappointed. Even though Spliff enjoys watching sports on occasion, she is still able to look past the actual sport of the game and take notice of things like this. Holy Hot Frenchman, Batman.

Thank you, FIFA, for exposing me to such hotness. I mean…excellent sportsmanship.

When Spliff and I weren’t critiquing uniform colors and checking out the hotties of the World Cup, we spent most of the weekend sipping rum and cokes, talking about bad roommates, playing trivia games and clogging our arteries with fried food.

I was not at all surprised when on Sunday, JGJ and Spliff started the “You should stay another night” dance with me. After they boozed me up, I gave in. I know, I’m terribly easy…(wink, wink.)

So, the weekend lasted longer than I thought and resulted in my driving like a bat out of hell on Monday morning to try and make it home, into the shower and to the office by noon. And, it worked. And to show that I move at warp speed, I threw in a lunch run. I am so quick, I even scare myself.

Yesterday, being the fourth, and being that I like to skip out on any sort of mandatory celebration, was spent mostly reading. There could have been a viewing of “Nacho Libre”, but instead there were two giant sandwiches, some black and tans, stolen glasses, and some toothless guys begging for money. But the beauty of the whole thing was, from our table, JGJ and I could see the fireworks from downtown. And although I find myself less and less interested in watching them every year, they turned out beautifully and I kind of wished that, like every other year, I had been watching them explode over a body of water where they seem to come from above and below all at the same time.

Nonetheless, the weekend contained all of the ingredients for a great time. Rum, good beer, great company, brunch and mimosas, fried food, gossip, trivia and fireworks. So now, I am just waiting until Saturday, when I will start all over again.

I Heart France

Over the weekend, I watched a sport on television. And I wasn’t bored. And no one had to tie me up and pull a “Clockwork Orange” move on my eyelids or anything. And it’s all thanks to France. Or…

beautiful people

Death by YouTube

Swoon. Drool. Sigh.

JARED LETO IS GAY?!

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Yippee!

I’m going to see Ben Harper with Damian Marley!!! (repeat x 3)

(Insert little dance.)

(Insert drooling.)

(Insert incapacitating joy and childlike glee.)

(Insert fainting.)


Okay…I’m done. (Insert giggle and look that says “I totally lied just then”.)

I’m going to see Ben Harper with Damian Marley!!! (repeat x 3)

The Blues

The weekend, even though it involved sleeping sideways three to a bed while listening to a dog and a cat take turns whining (yeah, I took turns too), went well. Actually, I couldn’t have asked for better weather in which to Spring in the Blues. It was a great time (although not quite as debauchery filled as I thought it would be).

We got to see Jerms, Corey Harris, and the oh-so-sexy Eric Lindell. De.Lish.Us. I am pretty sure Spliff and I drooled through the entire show (I think that JGJ might have too, I mean, how could he not?). We barhopped TO the festival, which…you know, being a whopping eight blocks from where we parked, took about three or four hours and a mere seven or eight beers. In any event, we watched the festival for almost ten minutes on Saturday before walking Jerms back to his gig and then having another beer and…Umm…I guess we got lost?

Yesterday though, we actually spent some time sitting Indian style in the grass drinking beer and listening to some great blues before we consumed the giant margaritas of death. If there is one negative thing I can say about where I live, its that I can’t walk to the beach whenever I want. And although the drive is short, if you have to drive at all, it isn’t short enough. (Seriously taking JGJ’s advice and starting a paypal account to fund my beachy slackage, by the way. Look for it. And give me money. I am a lovely person. Really.)

We didn’t run into the squid, the Ethiopian, the one whose name is a sound, the one with the twin, or the hitchhiker. So, I think we had a pretty good run. (And we didn’t steal any giant stuffed toys. Always a plus.)

Also, JUST SO YOU KNOW, I am not avoiding phone calls (unless you are PLP), my phone has decided that it will not work unless it is a) on speakerphone b) plugged into the headset that feels like tiny knives stabbing my inner ear, or c) anywhere but in my apartment (AKA “The Fortress”). So…quitcherbitchin.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: “Lochloosa” - Mofro

What's the Buzz...

Well, I made it through Monday and I only had to deal with about seven crazies today. Dealing with crazy people is about 90% of my job. And it isn’t like in my last position where I had to babysit them in the Psych Department, now it is just, they want to call me all day and cry because they can’t get out of their bathtub or because their husbands are refusing to wear clothing. Things that I can do nothing about. Things that they should take up with a shrink. Not their doctor’s secretary. I can say though, there is never a dull moment in my office. Between the middle aged white lady rapper, the crazies, and the doctor who can’t figure out how to get a pen (IN AN OFFICE FULL OF PENS) without assistance, I am pretty busy these days. Busy and completely out of my mind by the end of the day.

So in order to celebrate the end of Monday, I bought a bottle of white wine, put my pajamas on, poured a glass and put on my new super cute shoes to break them in so that I don’t hate them tomorrow when I wear them to work. You don’t have to tell me how exciting my life is, I know already.

There has been a lot of chaos over the last couple of weeks and for some reason, when I have a lot to say, it never makes its way here. Again, I am sorry, internet. There have been reunions and questions and “power hours” and talk of the psycho rapist ex of mine, and even a fantastic Ben Harper show. But it has all been too much all at once. So I will try to give you the rundown.

I had drinks with a guy I had only seen once in the last eight years or so. The one that introduced me to the psycho rapist ex-boyfriend and then immediately regretted it. The one that I used to get high with about 3 times a day for a few years in high school. One that I never expected to hang out with again. But it was a good time. And when he wanted to play pool and I agreed, I immediately thought of how much anxiety there is in the game of pool for me. (Don’t ask, I am very neurotic about very strange things.) So, he said he would try and show me. It went like this. I got a ball in on the first try.

Me: Jumping up and down.
Him: “See? You can play.”
Me: “That will be the only time that happens.”
Him: Shakes head.
Me: Trying to take another shot. “OUCH!”
Him: Looking at my hand. “Did you get a splinter? How does someone get a splinter from a pool stick?
Me: “DUDE. A DEAD GUY hit me with a CAR.”
Him: “Oh…Right.” Laughing.

All in all, it was a good time. A little weird and sometimes a little too reminiscent of the olden days, but not bad. And I am certain that we could hang out again without any real issues. As long as he stays off the topic of restraining orders, the psycho rapist ex (who is now a preacher…oh yeah. Good stuff.), and all things “I used to have a crush on you” related, I think we will be okay.

The Ben show was fucking spectacular. I have to say, I miss seeing him outside in an amphitheater with the sun beating on my back and dancing around like a big hippie, but shit happens. And he still puts on a good show. Scratch that, not good, fantastic. And I didn’t even punch the guy who was practically standing on TOP of me during the encore. I just jumped up and down on his feet during Ben’s version of “Pressure Drop” and that made me feel a little better. But still not as good as elbowing the drunk chick square in her back made me feel. I get a little hostile when people are stupid at concerts. There is such a thing as personal space. There is such a thing as me, who pays good money to see Ben every time he is in my vicinity and would like to enjoy the effing show without being nearly knocked over every time the drunk bitch next to me starts swerving a little. If it had been her seat, fine. I could deal with that (for a minute), but the bitch SHOULD have been in the drunk bitch section where she belonged. I don’t fuck around when it comes to Ben. Don’t make me cut you.

Other stuff’s been going on…stuff that my outlet for is a little more personal. Well, a lot more personal. And one day, internet, I might share it with you…but for now…peace out.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Vernie" - Blind Melon

Rantastic!

Every week, I organize a lunch for the upcoming Monday for MY department. And every Monday, the other people who are not in my department eat all of the leftover food. They are pigs and I want to kick them. I never eat it…but still, it isn’t for you, assholes. I do not order food for you. I order it for MY people. Go away.

I was thinking yesterday, while watching “Say Anything”, that John Cusack is always in love and standing in the rain. Why is that? I mean, he does it well, I just don’t understand it. I mean, when people write these things, do they have him in mind? Because it seems to me that he is only chosen for parts where he is required to be mopey and soggy. (Again, no complaints here. I love you, John Cusack.)

Why is it that, the one time that the hot surgeon actually comes to my desk to talk with me, I have a mouthful of Chinese food? Why? That really pisses me off.

My fortune cookie said, “You will be advanced socially without any special effort…in bed” (For those of you who don’t know “in bed” is to be added to the end of any fortune cookie.)

I am tired of all this “War on Christmas” BS. Fuck, people, this is getting out of hand…Shut up already. Jesus.

I had a different physical terrorist this morning. He left his personality at home today.

It is cold and gloomy outside and I still do not have a digital camera. These two things have nothing to do with one another, but they are both kind of irritating.

Fish Head’s avatar on Yahoo Messenger has “monster teeth” and they freak me out. If she gets rid of them, I promise to invent something that will put her laundry away and/or blow her nose.

That’s all I got for now…I don’t even know what this post is about…