Tranny Fierce

I don’t know where the weekend went, Internet. I know that there is sand in my ears and I look like a crack head (crackidad, if you’re nasty) but outside of that, I have no idea what happened this weekend. I can tell you that “Sex and the City” was worth every second and that Spliff and I smuggled a half pint of Captain Morgan into the theater with us and then we went home and exchanged boyfriend horror stories (which are always fun because we like to make fun of the morons that we’ve dated and then each other for dating them in the first place.) Turns out, we both dated guys who refused to take their shirts off during sex (WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! If you are going to do to me what you are doing, then you can take your fucking shirt off, you pansy.) After our girl-fest, we met up with Anthony and The Kid for some debauchery. Because, honestly, it wouldn’t be a Friday without getting hit on by 50-year-old men at the dive bar down the street from our apartment. Anthony ended up on our couch until I, in true Criz spirit, woke him up by screaming about breakfast and fishing.

By the time the four of us were done with our breakfast, it was time to head out. We traded Anthony in for Rackamonie and drove out to The Jetties for some fishing and it was a great idea until I saw how much climbing was involved. Then I thought I might die. It took Spliff and me each about ten minutes just to get close enough to the water where fishing was possible because we winced every time we took a step. Rack and The Kid went easy on us though, they barely even laughed at us while we were picturing our own bloody deaths. In fact, they held our hands and pulled us up onto the rocks where we could sit down. And I will be the first to tell you that I planted my happy ass down on a rock and I didn’t move until it was time to change locations. Of course I had the cooler with the beer in it within reach because, seriously, there was no way that I was going to risk falling and breaking my face in the name of beer.

Rack caught the ugliest fish known to man and it wasn’t even something edible so he threw it back after I took a bunch of pictures (which will be posted soon) but that was really the only success. Well, that isn’t entirely true. Spliff and I managed to get hammered, thrown into the ocean and thoroughly annoy Rack and The Kid by repeating “Fierce, fierce, hot mess, fierce” over and over again. (If you haven’t seen that Amy Poehler sketch where she is making fun of Christian from Project Runway, you really should, it is totally tranny fierce.”) Either way, we had a lot of fun. We swam in the ocean, drank a lot of beer (between me and Spliff, we managed to polish off an 18-pack) in the sun (probably not the best idea) and then had dinner on a deck overlooking the intracoastal (where we drank more beer). After dinner, we stumbled out to Rack’s new jeep and took the ferry back home where I spent 20 minutes trying to get rid of the giant dreadlock that was once my very straight, very long hair. (I tried to get Rack or The Kid to just cut it off, but they are bitches and they never do what I tell them.)

Yesterday we dragged our sunburned asses out for more booze and debauchery with D, Ad Rock, Clifftopher, and Anthony. I’d like to say that I don’t know how my house got into the state of disarray that it is in right now, but I would be a liar. I know exactly what happened. Booze for breakfast and too much testosterone. We spent a few hours playing Kings and everything after that is sort of a mystery. Spliff fell asleep before 6pm and I was left with the boys. Strangely enough, they kept multiplying. Before I knew it, Rack was gone and there were two guys named Larry in his place. The last of the beers ended up at the beach in plastic cups while I played drunken Frisbee with The Larrys and Clifftopher and The Kid went swimming. Then there was a lot of dancing to The Eagles (don’t ask. “I can’t tell you why”.) and guitar playing in my room and then, all of a sudden, it was morning and I had to come to work.

I learned a few things this weekend.

1. I suck at fishing and am way better at drinking beer and getting sunburned.
2. I have to start doing brunch on Saturday when it is more acceptable to stay up really late acting like an idiot with your friends.
3. I might be too old to do any of this in the first place because more and more, after a weekend like this, I feel like I was run over by a train.

That’s all I got. I just want to thank all of you who were involved in the debaucherous, sloppy mess that was my weekend. I couldn’t do it without you. (Well, I could, but I don’t think it would be nearly as much fun!)

Things...and Gnomes

Okay...I realize that I used to blog every day and everything but evidently, I am a huge slacker and cannot stop myself from blog neglect. I don't mean it. It doesn't mean that I don't love you, Internet, it just means that I am...not busy at all and really have nothing to say. However, some interesting things have happened lately...and they have probably been blog-worthy, but I have either been working or drinking...so...I obviously haven't had time for the actual blogging of such events...but I will provide you, here, with a short list of things that have occurred.

MP came back from the Great White North because she couldn't handle the cold.

MP, Party Boy and I witnessed a hit and run outside of a bar.

I saw Eric Lindell at Springing in the Blues.
*
Spliff got laid off.

We got a new neighbor (in place of Rad Neighbor, who got out of the Navy and went home to NOLA) and she looks and (evidently) acts like she is 9.

I am thinking about finding a new job and quitting the nursing home gig...(not because I don't like it but because I don't like the fucking skank that I work with.)

I have downloaded too many New Kids on the Block songs to my iPod.

A guy from my high school died in Iraq last week.

A 20-year-old at work is admittedly in love with me (which would be awesome if he weren't a CHILD.)

*Our gnome got stolen from our front yard. (Which really IS ironic if you remember the "gnome-napping of 2002").

That really is about all I got, ya'll. I swear there was something that I felt I should blog about...and then I forgot what it was...so...this is what you get.

*Okay, for those of you who DON'T know about the "gnome-napping...", it went like this...and this might be sort of long-winded...but...whatever. MY STORY, MY WIND.

Spliff, Jennijawhore, Rick and I had gone to St. Augustine one day and had many, many margaritas when we decided that what was really missing from our lives was some...thievery. So, naturally, we concocted a plan involving the theft of Ad Rock and D's garden gnome. But, we also needed a ransom. So we spent hours clipping single letters from fashion magazines and formed a ransom note demanding the following:
A pink lawn flamingo
guava jelly
a copy of swank magazine
Rainbow toe-socks
and several other ridiculous items...

We arrived at Ad Rock and D's apartment, wearing all black (Jen in ski-pants) and ski masks, stoned and ready for action. We had the video camera and the polaroid camera and we intended to video the theft and take a photo of the gnome for...dramatic effect and leave at the scene of the crime along with the ransom. However, when we got there, the gnome was gone. SO, we video-taped us coming up to the door all ninja-style and then NOT finding the gnome, we snapped a picture of the ground where the gnome SHOULD have been and then used a knife to stab through the photo and the ransom and into the ground where the gnome (was SUPPOSED TO) had been. (I am a little hammered so my grammar is BAD.) Anyway...we left with no gnome...BUT...it was a really funny video.

Later that week, after being questioned repeatedly by the owners of the gnome, D finally got me to fess up. We were at Starbucks, where we spent most afternoons, when she said, "Seriously, if you did it, tell me. I won't tell Ad Rock." And she didn't. In fact, she gave me a key to their apartment and let us come in and turn it (quite literally) upside-down. The kicker, of course, was the fact that we had Mark Brunell (formerly of the Jacksonville Jaguars, who we regularly saw at Starbucks) jot down on a piece of stationery, "I stole your gnome" and then sign it and then we (after breaking into their apartment) stuck it on the refrigerator with magnetic poetry...(there was some creative message here too...but I can't remember...)

Anyway...that was the short version of the Gnome-Napping...and now we are not only nappers...but VICTIMS. Damn you, karma, damn you.

I will...

Come pick you up...



Ryan Adams touches something in me that I don't think anyone else ever has. Yes, I love me some Eddie Vedder (because he makes me feel like jello) and some Shannon Hoon (R.I.P.) but it isn't the same. I want to pick Ryan up. I do. I want to pick him up and I want to be that bitch in his life that he sings about. I don't particularly want to screw his friends or fuck him up...but I want to be the chick that he feels so passionate about. I want to be the chick that someone wants to be with so badly that they don't care if I steal their records. Even if I wouldn't do that.

I am Annoyed

Okay, first let me just say that I HATE the VMAs...

This being said, you should know that Spliff loves awards shows and that I end up watching them any time they are on and they usually make me want to swallow my own head...BUT, I do it because I love her. And because she is a remote nazi. Either way, I watch them...and I hate them. And I can honestly say that I hate EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. that was on the VMAs tonight...ASIDE from Amy Winehouse and Dre.

First and foremost, I am not big on new music. It sucks. Almost all of it. Anything that is played on MTV and is VMA worthy anyway...But the fact that Amy Winehouse didn't win anything bothers me. She looks scary and evidently needs to go to rehab (but said "no, no, no") but her songs are fucking good. And she doesn't sound like Ashley Simpson. (Thank you, Amy, for not being a complete fucktard...) I don't love her. But I don't hate her and she was the only one nominated that I can say that about. So why the fuck didn't she win anything? She is unique and she wears bad eyeliner in a better way than Jared Leto. I hope she wins something better...like...Coolest fucked-up broad in the bidness.

Also...HOLY GOD. What happened to Dre?

I have always had an unhealthy crush on Dre. Always. But now, he is cut...CUT...and it brings my unhealthy crush to a whole new level. I didn't hear a word you said, Dre, because I was staring at your beautiful shoulders. Marry me. I know that I am white and whatever...but I have a big ass. And I swear...I am totally worth it.

And Common, although you are hot as hell, you are a bastard and a racist and I hate you. You shouldn't be allowed to play with Kanye. Fuck you.

That is all.

Picture Perfect

1. The age you will be on your next birthday?










2. your favorite color?








3.your middle name?










4. place you want to go to the most?









5. bad habit of yours?









6.favorite fruit?







7.name of town you were born in?






(And yes, this is the actual town. Yes, it still looks exactly like this. And no, I no longer live there, THANK GOD.)

8.name of your pet? Ummm...they don't have a picture for Ernge on Google. I could post one...but just picture Garfield, sans the lasagna.



9. a friends nickname?


minus the giggles part




10.your first name?



11. your last name?


I really don't know what this has to do with my last name but I figure, Hey, we like beer!

12. your dream job?


Because seriously, if I had any balls or any talent, I would be a pro surfer...And...well...My dream job could also be "Kelly Slater's sex slave"...it has a nice ring...

Warped

Tomorrow, for the first time since 1996, I am going to the Warped Tour. I feel too old to attend.

The first time I went, I was 16. I was accosted by the "girlfriends" of Limpbizkit (yes, I knew them before they got all...retarded...) and given a free ticket and an assload of pot. I spent the day smoking out of Fred's new "gravity bong" in the band room and listening to Magic Mike bitching at me about not bringing an extra joint, passing out from heat exhaustion, and having cold Zephyrhills poured on my face by both JB and John Otto. Yeah...but I got to see Pennywise. And 311. And Blink 182 before they sold out. I know...You're jealous.

LBG is not a common concert goer. In fact, she rarely goes to any shows. And the good ones that she has been to (TRICKY) were with me. Because I rock. Anyway, I feel like this: I don't have anything else to do...she is depressed, I am a mess. We will have a great time. We will be old enough to drink beer...(We will be the oldest bastards there.) But Pennywise will be there again. And...well...I may be old...but I sure do like Pennywise...

What in hell do 16 year olds like these days anyway? Jared Leto's lame-ass band?

Things of note...and ADD

Over the past two weeks, tons has happened. The problem is, every time I sit down to blog about it, a thousand other things run through my head. You know, I wonder if the mail is here yet and if my school books have arrived. I wonder if I have finished all of my homework or if I remembered to get everything I needed from the store. My ADD is in full-swing and I can barely complete a thought these days.

I haven’t been sleeping very well and am having weird dreams about gang fights and Vincent D’onofrio. (Which may well be a symptom of watching too much Law & Order, but you can’t stop me.) So, here are some of the things that I have neglected to tell you, internet.

Spliff fell down the stairs outside of our apartment, landing her unconscious at the bottom until Rad Neighbor found her and called 911. This meant a really long night in the Emergency Room for both of us and a whole lot of hysterics. She is okay, aside from a chipped tooth, a shiner, and a bunch of bruises. I hate the emergency room. It smells like pee.

Eppernepperhart came in to town for the 4^th of July, which was nice. I got to hang out with him more than I have in ages. We had a great time despite a little drama leaving me want to hit Magic Mike with my car. All is well now.

I started school again and am currently working on getting back into the swing of research papers and homework. It isn’t fun, but with any luck I will be out soon enough and I can finally start doing something that I like instead of working in hell.

I am slowly getting all of my music onto my iPod and realizing that 80gb is a whole lot of freaking space. I need more music. Damn.

Tonight, JM and I are going to see 311. I am only kind of excited about this because a) I have seen them before and b) I don’t really like them all that much anymore…but I am pretty stoked about going to a show. It has been a while.

So, that’s about it for now. I have to go and prepare to drink lots of overpriced beer with a whole lot of people who like 311.

Avoiding Vincent D'onofrio

In the days since I bought "Shabuta Jenkins 2.0" (the name of my new iPod), I have spent hours trying to import the 9 million CDs that reside in my apartment on to my iTunes so that I can finally feel at peace. It hasn't been an easy task. There have been bottles of wine and ridiculous amounts of frustration and I have all but decided that it is completely impossible to do this myself. For the sake of my sanity, I have considered paying someone to do it for me.

I have managed to spend over 1000 bucks this week at the Apple store alone and I am starting to feel a little bad about it. (Even though, it looks as though the iPhone will sell for MUCH more than I paid for it...) I was talking to D about this buyer's remorse and I realized that this all could have been prevented if I had just failed to open ONE simple email. It all started like this:

A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with JGJ discussing the unbridled sexiness of Vincent D'onofrio and how I have trouble sleeping if Law and Order isn't on because his voice lulls me to sleep. JGJ already knows all of this but I feel the need to discuss Vincent whenever possible. He then asks me if I have checked my email that he had sent the day before. I hadn't but he explained that he had found a blog in which the author spoke of how much she also loved Vincent's voice and could watch Detective Goran all day long. I feel the same way. Naturally, I checked my email promptly and read the post. This led to a little scrolling. When I saw a post about The State Season One being available on iTunes, two things occurred to me: 1) This chick rocks my face off and 2) I have to download it immediately. So, I downloaded it immediately. Once I got it though, I realized that, even though my computer is decent, it really doesn't like it when I download things like entire seasons of television shows...so I couldn't watch it. DRAT!

Anyway, this discovery led me to try and find a way that I would be able to watch The State without killing the lappy. There really wasn't a solution other than buying a video iPod. I wasn't going to do it. I spent a little time each day on the Apple website, admiring the shiny, black exterior of the toy of my dreams but I never actually thought I would buy one. Fast forward about a week.

I am sipping Columbian coffee and having my daily drool on the Apple site, when the phone rings. It is D.

"I have a proposition for you. Feel free to say no, I won't be offended."


Sentences that start like this are usually ones that I dread because they are commonly associated with a favor that I really don't want to do, but will feel bad about saying no to. Ad Rock had decided that he wanted an iPhone and couldn't leave work to stand in line and he had told D that if she stood in line for him, he would buy her one as well.

"Sure. Its not like I have a job or anything. It is coincidental that you should call about this now." I explained how I had been considering buying an iPod and she promptly convinced me that it was a fantastic idea and that I should get into my car right that instant and get my ass to the Apple store. And, because, I have no mind of my own, I totally did.

Obviously, by going with her to the store and waiting, I would not be getting the same deal, but I would be getting a full day with D and the ownership of her old phone (which may not seem like a lot, but a day with D is a pretty good day and I was gonna buy a new phone anyway). Long story short, I agreed and spent the entire day in line at the Apple Store. Once I was there, though, I was convinced that, not only was I going to buy an iPhone and sell it, but I also need a new laptop. It worked out pretty well, all in all, Ad Rock had paid someone to stand in line until we got there so we had time to have lunch and go to Target, where I decided to buy all sorts of accessories for Shabuta Jenkins 2.0 (none of which I would have needed had I not received that email.)

The moral of the story is, if you get an email from JGJ about Vincent D'onofrio, DO NOT open it. You will end up spending assloads of money on things that you don't need and then you will feel like an assface.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "The Traffic Jam" - Stephen Marley

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.

Work and Dancing

I am here on, what will most likely be, my last hour at my current job. I won't get into the details just yet, but I will say that I started thinking about how miserable this company has made me for more than half of the time I have been here and how, even though it looks good on paper, it isn't really doing wonders for my sanity. I kept thinking that the grass would be greener one department over or in another position, but the truth is, politics are politics and hell is hell. Having been unhappy and stressed out for so long, I am not sure what this feeling is in the pit of my stomach, but from what I remember, it could be relief.

I am going to try my hand back in the bartending game again (where obviously, I could make more money and would not dream about medical terms and punctuation or have nightmares about insane patients or getting yelled at by doctors…) I have always enjoyed being able to interact with people and it will be nice to be able to do so on not such a pretentious and painful level. Aside from that, the extra time during the day that I will have will make school an easier feat…and when that is all over (18 months), I will be able to get a job wherever I want…paying much more than I am making now. It really is about time I got my ass in gear. Now I just have to worry about finding a gig that will be able to support Monday Martinis and well…all that other shit I have to pay for.

On a lighter note, I have never been fan of "Dancing with the Stars" and until about 2 weeks ago, had never even bothered to watch it. Spliff really likes it, so I have been humoring her and managing to catch only the episodes where people get kicked off. I have a couple things to say about this.

1. Although I have never been a big fan of N'Sync…(Okay, at ALL a fan of N'Sync)…I am starting to fall madly in love with "My Big Fat Greek Joey" and…I am disturbed by this. But holy crap, he dances like big italian angel. That's all I'm gonna say about that…because really, seriously, I am so ashamed.

2. Ian Ziering…is there some reason that you irritated the bejesus out of me on my favorite show, "Beverly Hills, 90210" and now you are uber-adorable? What is happening to me? Have I overlooked your cuteness for all these years? Or has someone planted a chip in my brain that makes me attracted to people who once made me want to vomit?

3. To all the professional dancer chicks on that show…I effing hate you. Your bodies are perfect. I know what you're going to say, "If you danced for 18 hours a day, then your body might look like this too…" but the fact is, ladies…I want YOUR bodies, but I want to sit on my ass and WATCH you dance with "My Big Fat Greek Joey" and Ian. I don't want to have to DO it. So…you suck.

On that note, I suppose I should do something constructive before I walk out of here forever…not that…blogging isn't completely important…umm…yeah.

I do, Zach Braff, I do

Some of you might remember a couple of months ago when I watched Garden State for the thirty seven thousandth time and then promptly logged on to myspace to propose to Zach Braff. You might also remember that I then blogged about it. Naturally, with Zach being a busy guy and everything, he didn’t answer me and I became a little worried that he did not want to marry me. But then today, I was reading his blog and he answered a few questions that people have asked him lately one of them being “will you marry me?” and it has been confirmed. Zach Braff and I are engaged. I am thinking about a Spring wedding, but you know, that will depend on his schedule since he is like, only the funniest, brilliant, most adorable guy EVER…but I am thinking April of 2008. (Jazz, if you are reading this, don’t get mad at me about stealing your thunder, surely you understand that I can only marry Zach Braff when he is available. Duh.)

The moral of the story: Don’t be afraid to send celebrities myspace marriage proposals. Sometimes they say yes and make you the happiest girl alive.

I would really love to chat, but I have a wedding to plan. I wonder if I can get a super snazzy dress made by some fancy celebrity designer or something. OOOOH! I wonder if Natalie Portman will be my maid of honor!

The Hitchhiker in the Frozen Foods Section

Yesterday, I ran into the Hitchhiker. Almost very literally. Spliff and I were picking up a few items at the grocery store that we have been going to for years. I was mid-sentence while trying to push our broken cart out of the frozen foods aisle and there he was. A little more real than I remember him ever being before. That could have been because I was sober. Or it could have been because as soon as I saw his face, all I could think was, “Oh God, he saw me naked.”

As I tried to speed-shop and get the hell out of the grocery store, he was always only an aisle away. He was at the next register when it was time to check out, he was in the next row in the parking lot. He was The Hitchhiker and he’d seen me naked. I fought off a little panic attack and considered packing all of my things and moving to Yemen. And then I settled for drinking a bottle of wine and watching “Growing Pains” with Spliff. (Turns out, she is having her own personal crisis. One that puts my little freak out to shame.) So, we sat on the couch, drinking our wine, singing the theme song very seriously at the beginning and then giggling because we were singing the woman’s part in the duet, even though she wasn’t there yet. (In the earlier episodes, it was only the dude.) Then I was able to revert back to my childhood and ooze about how cute Kirk Cameron is (pre-bible thumper guy who only makes religious movies and appears on that creepy channel with the lady with the scary makeup).

Thank you, Kirk Cameron, for making me forget about how fucking stupid I am if only for a few thirty minute increments.

Honestly, I think the whole world has gone insane. I can’t believe that there are actually people in this country who are planning to vote for W. That makes me want to move to France. Go, Johnny Depp, Go!
Seriously though, Kerry isn’t my favorite…definitely not my first choice…but geez…atleast he speaks on an adult level.

Speaking of stupid people. The person that my job (and my college for that matter) has hired to teach medical transcription is as dumb as a box of rocks…and I am NOT kidding. Last night, I all but told her that. Where do they find these people? I have had so many inarticulate, moronic teachers and professors in my lifetime! Maybe if they paid the people who are in charge of teaching our children a little bit more and worried about gay marriages a little less, we would have smart enough Americans that our country wouldn’t be in the state that it is in now. I am sorry, but this is just silly. I feel bad for the children now who have to go through public schools not getting the education that they deserve. Yeah, it is FREE education but the kids didn’t do anything to deserve this pathetic excuse for an educational system. Aside from the fact that, in the past year, two of the best professors I have had, have left because Florida is so terrible on an educational level in comparison to the rest of the US.

That was an editorial, by the way.

I am at home AND I am on the internet. And I am so excited...of course the cable people haven't been here yet to hook me up with the high speed, but...in due time...in due time...so it is just dial up for now...

Last night...we had some people over...probably like 7 or something...and around midnight I hear the front door open and someone clopping up the steps...Tiff is in the kitchen...I hear her talking, so I go to the top of the stairs and guess what! Two people in their fifties, a woman and a man. The man, dragging a cooler with wheels up the steps and the woman, standing directly in front of me with a half empty bottle of Chardonnay...what the hell?
The woman looks at us and says, "Alright, which one of you was sitting on the porch with the infectious laugh?"
"Ummmm...Me?" I said...still wondering who the hell these people are...turns out, they are neighbors, heard me laughing, thought, "They sound like they're having fun!" so they came on over...ONLY ME...
It gets better...THEN she wants me to smoke with her! She actually carried her stuff in her pocket TO MY HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT along with a cooler full of Miller Light and a bottle of wine! What the hell??? I swear............Only me.

Kanye happens tonight! I hope Jeanne doesn't happen tomorrow...I really don't want to have to do all this hurricane shit again...WHY ARE THERE SO MANY?!

I am sad about Cat Stevens...

I am also sad about homework...I still can't find anyone who wants to do it for me...sons of bitches.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the day: The Wind- Cat Stevens

WOOHOO!!!

OOOOH! "Hi, my name is Gwen and I'm here to waaaash your vagina."

Donnie? Is that you?

I totally forgot too...I had this dream about a week ago that I was hanging out with Marky Mark...and we were sitting on a picnic table with a bunch of "our" friends (because apparently Marky Mark and I go way back) and we were talking...Anyway, he was being really quiet and I kept trying to get him involved in the conversation...so I would say, "Donnie!" and hit him on the arm...
I swear I was in this dream forever...and I couldn't figure out why "Donnie" wouldn't talk to me...well, it turns out, kids, that Marky Mark takes offense to being called by his brother's name. Keep that in mind...because now, because of THIS instance, I have lost Marky Mark forever...
He ended up telling me that he never wanted to speak to me again. Woe is me.