hoowah. craziness. craziness, baby.

I just finished this entry, actually, but then I got booted and it all went away. No loss, it was all fluff, but I figure I still need to update this thing and now I'm all punchy.

also: my dad sent me out for some headphones, which I got and am now using. So, Justin Timberlake is right in my ear. So close to my head. It's completely surreal.

In Islam, it is said that God is closer to you than your arteroid, which is your jugular vein. Islam is defined as the art of submitting. "Muslim" means "one who submits".

You can tell by the way I walk I'm a woman's man. No time to talk!

I have a brief lesson in biography (tm) for you. Meatloaf. He was a very overweight teenager, whose mother died when he was about twelve. His father was an alcoholic, and used to tease him about his weight and call him "Meat".

When Meat was seventeen, his father tried to kill him with a knife, so he ran away to LA. He was trying to get a job there answering phones at a movie production place-- where they had a sudden, gotta-fill-right-now need for someone to play a sax-playing rock-n-roller in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They saw him in the waiting room and said, hey! do you rock? And he said, um. I guess so.

So he got the job. And that led to a singing career, and he was huge. He rode the top of the charts for about a year, and then one day he went out on stage . . and he couldn't sing. He opend his mouth and nothing came out.

It took three years of therapy for him to be able to sing again. By that time he had a wife and three children, and he started at the bottom again, reclimbed the ladder, and ended up the lovable sometimes-host of The List that we know today. Meatloaf.

*cough*

Like I said. Punchy.

Punchy.

I'm gonna go finish my major cleaning spree, in preparation for my sister's birthday in three days. She's gonna be eight. I used to be eight. kind of.

I was eleven in sixth grade. So . . ten in fifth, nine in fourth, eight in third. Third grade. Third grade was a good grade.

Distinct memory from third grade:

Ms.Kerr says, "where is your punctuation?" I say, "I thought it was supposed to be a _story_." Ms.Kerr says, "Stories have punctuation. Just like sentences." I say, "--oh." It was the beginning of a long line of disillusionments in my writing career.

I'm sure that you remember I was weird in school.

Oh my fucking god. I just downloaded something called "Star Trek: The Lost Gay Episode". It's the best thing I've ever heard. Get it get it get it.

I gotta get to cleaning now, baby.

You take care.

punchy.

Alestar,
radio won't even play my jam.