if you missed the memo

i've relocated.

teeneyteeney.wordpress.com

Last day of school

Today I got my ethnomusicology paper back. It turns out that in my bibliography when I was doing the entry for Robert Walser's Running with the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy Metal Music, I wrote that his name was Don Walser.

Probably the funniest thing I've done all year.

April 21

Whenever my life gets too serious, I watch this music video. It's sort of a happy version of West Side Story, but with Jermaine Jackson and some angry white "men." It's also sort of like The Lost Boys, but without the vampires.



In doing my research, I came across quite a few articles on Pia Zadora. Apparently, she had it all, except a music career: good looks, great style, and a rich husband.

April 8

Phi Beta Kappa.

It doesn't feel like anything.

April 4

I decided that I am going to move to San Antonio after I graduate, at least for a year, to continue researching this topic.

I foresee the next year of my life alone in an apartment with Tolstoy and Edwige, stuck in a town with nothing to do and knowing no one, with a super platinum Netflix account.

April 1: My new favorite person

Last night, while Tony and I were indulging our egos and flattering ourselves, he mentioned that his older brother had once taken a creative writing class. This class involved writing weekly, as well as reading, revising, and editing the papers that other students turned in during the same class. Tony's brother, indulging his ego and flattering himself, took to making these suggestions and revisions in a gold pen. From then on, he took to calling these corrections "The Gold Standard."

What a badass.

March 31

Apparently, when you graduate from UT, the CO-OP gives you a card that entitles you to 10% off all future purchases. This seems totally absurd to me. When you're a student, busy with things, disorganized, and completely lacking money, they expect you to keep track of receipts for an entire year, and then mail them in. But as soon as you have the time to be organized, or the money to spend on these things, the CO-OP gives you a discount card.

March 30

When I was still cool enough to listen to the radio and not old enough to drive, my mom would let me sit in the front seat and man the dial. Sometimes we liked the same songs, sometimes not, but I never listened to 101x in the car, since the language and lyrical content of many of the songs upset her (Uninvited's Too High for the Supermarket is one that comes to mind). Instead, I usually hung around the more commercial stations, 96.7 and 94.7, expertly maneuvering between the two.

(For those of you not from Austin, 104.3 was a very bad ass, commercial-free rock station for a while, as well. I think they ran out of money, since they had no commercials. Also, 93.3/99.7 used to be a ridiculous techno station. 102.3 used to be classic rock. Ooooh, back in the day.)

In 2001, Shaggy's version of Angel was released by Universal. My mother loved the original version of this song, and I thought that this new cover would be equally mother-friendly. I was completely wrong.

Shaggy's lyrical rewrite ran as following:

Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel
Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby
Shorty you're my angel, you're my darling angel
Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need
Lady

I remember sitting in the car, singing along a bit, getting my fourteen year-old groove going. My mom reached over and turned off the radio. "I don't like that song," she said. "What?!" I was shocked. It was harmless. "Why not?"

"I don't like that dirty thing he says," my mom replied. I couldn't figure out what she was talking about. She turned and faced me. "Christina, what do you think 'peeps' means?" she asked me, eyebrows raised. I tried to explain to her, "peeps" was people. "You know," I said, "Like, people. Peeps. Good friends, buddies."

She shook her head at me, and I could see how naive she thought I was. "Christina," she said, lowering her voice the way parents do when they're going to say something that makes them uncomfortable, "He's talking about breasts."

March 29 (2)

Today I received a spam email from a kid in one of my classes.

"This is an abuse of the UT email system and strictly forbidden by the UT Acceptable Use Policy," I wrote him back, copying and pasting the relevant part of the policy, and linking him to the entire thing. I almost threatened to report him, but then I realized he could be a super hacker spy.

March 29

When I was in high school, I dated a boy who never spent his change. Instead, he would put all of it in an empty drawer in his dresser. Once a month or so, he'd put all the change into a sock and give it to a homeless person.

I once lent him my favorite sweatshirt, because that's what you do when you date people. After we broke up, I asked for it back. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "You're wearing it in your photo on your band's website," I told him. "Oh." He said. "I lost it."

One of his fingers was too short; I guess he'd lost the tip in an accident, but he never told me about it. He'd also dropped out of high school, and when we met in a park--he chased me down after I had walked past and told me that I was beautiful--he had just gotten out of rehab.

He was a terrible money manager, and always broke. Sometimes we'd hang out at the halfway house, all those sad, middle-aged men around trying to put their lives back together.

We didn't date very long. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I think we should take a break." He got in his van and drove away. "I know what that really means," he said as he was walking away from me.

March 28

I just wanted to revisit the sheer genius of this article.

1.) It's Putin.
2.) It's Abba.
3.) It's Bjorn Again.

"'He [Putin] was dancing along in his seat to Super Trouper and raised his hands in the air during Mamma Mia when we asked the audience to,' she said."

March 25

Holy shit. This is like four times the calories I eat in a day. Although I do eat fewer than the government recommended 2k calories/day.

March 23

When I was young, my parents took our television up to the attic where it stayed for at least the next decade, nestled among cardboard boxes, home insulation, and Christmas decorations. I have very few memories of television--I remember my parents once watching Star Trek, I remember pretending I woke up early enough on Saturdays to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I remember watching a Disney movie one day with my mother as men replaced the shingles of our roof. But for the most part, I didn't remember anything about having a television, and I didn't miss that it was gone. I spent a lot of time outside.

One of the things I remember best about playing outside (besides the fact it enabled me to watch for and then greet the mail carrier, which was my life aspiration at that point), was the cicada shells. You would find them all sorts of places, where the cicada had decided it was now too big for its skin, and it was glorious for me as a child to find these relics. Sometimes they would be on our wood fence, sometimes the stone of our home, sometimes on a tree, but always magical. A dried, empty, hollow husk of bug, dull brown but, in my small eyes, a complete wonder. We would collect these empty bug shells, take them into our home to show our mother, proud as she was of her beaming children.

The most magical aspect of these skeletons, for us, was that we never saw the real insect. We could hear them alright, every night, but they were shy creatures, I guess, because the only bugs I could ever catch hold of were the big slow moths that clodded around light fixtures. One day my father showed me a picture of a cicada. "What's that?" I asked, staring at the picture. This creature was bright green, vibrant, with beautiful, clear wings. "That's a cicada," my father told me. Looking back I imagine him patting me on the head, but I doubt that happened. I was dumbstruck. How could such a beautiful creature leave such a dull, frightening shell behind?

These days, I don't find cicada shells any more. I don't know if it's because I've gone inside, or because the insects have gone somewhere else. I have a television now, but I still don't have any channels. I'm fairly certain I still wouldn't wake up to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. But I've never resented that my parents took away the television's monsters so that I could invent better ones in my own backyard.

Maech 22--DUDE

Okay. Blind people in movies and TV? Total gimmick. Who's going to tell them if they do it wrong? DUH. No one. The only people that know can't *see* them.

March 21.2

I have been watching a lot of TV on the computer the last few days in a valiant effort to procrastinate writing my thesis. I have also over-indulged on coffee, which makes me frenetic and obsessive when I have an empty stomach.

TV intrigues me. I guess this is because I grew up without one, but why isn't really so important. Because I have, in the past, had friends who were really into Grey's Anatomy, it's a show I'm more likely to watch than others, since I'm somewhat familiar with the characters.

I guess what really amazes me about these shows is how obsessive people are over them. I mean, all of the major characters have decent-length Wikipedia pages. That's insane.

But what intrigues me most is how much of them are simply the writers playing with the people in the audience. People watch these shows uncritically! Take for example, what I gather has happened in this season of Grey's Anatomy:

Izzy, who is dating Alex begins having hallucinations of the heart disease-ridden fiance that she accidently killed, but the slutty, bi-sexual bitch intern fucked up the charts, so she didn't find out as soon as she should have. Then Grey's boyfriend got in a fist-fight with his best friend who previously had slept with his previous wife but is now dating Grey's younger half sister, and then he went out to this trailer he has and got drunk a whole bunch of days in a row. And this bone doctor in the meantime has discovered she's lesbian and her first female lover left and now she's totally into this obnoxiously happy hot blond doctor who kissed her in a bar bathroom, but this is all after she ran away to Vegas and married a former intern who later divorced her for the girl that has cancer that is now dating someone else.

What the fuck. Life is not like this. It's such an intentional trainwreck all the time. And all of these fake things have wikipedia pages.

But trainwrecks make me think of The Great Collision by Scott Joplin, and that's something without a wikipedia page. But the event it was written about did. Why not try enjoying a little bit of Texas history.

March 22

Another SXSW is over. All said and done, this year was rather harmless--No blistering, all-day hangovers, no sunburns, nothing said or done that I wish I hadn't. Just things I didn't do that I wish I had.

March 21

Holy Moly. Spring break is almost over. I'm bleary-eyed and blinky, squinting at the screen in front of me, the researched microfilm pages splayed across the table. I'm watching my coffee get cold, nursing the inexplicable goosebumps that are sneaking their way down my arms. I am tired. Last night's make up is smeared across my heavy-lidded eyes.

I think I might take a long bath.

March 10

The only thing I've done well all day is spill my coffee.

I finally pumped up my bicycle tires. Yay for pinch flat prevention.

March 8

Today I washed my hair.

March 5!

Today is March 5th. It is a Thursday, and I am currently occupying a position in the glorious coffee haus Cafe Medici. I am procrastinating.

Yesterday I spent all day in the San Antonio library before driving home and losing my phone. For two hours. I also took photos of Tolstoy inside a beer box. Yes, overwhelming cuteness will be coming your way soon. What could be better than beer and bunnies?

I'm going to go to physics at 2:00 and turn in my half completed homework. What a load of crap. I hate that class. Every day I think about the biting honesty with which I will write end-of-semester Course Instructor Survey. It will likely be the highlight of my year.

Last week was the first week in a long while that I haven't picked up the Onion. I always do, and while I don't always complete the crossword, I always put some time into it. The Onion is my favorite crossword. Fuck you, New York Times. Where are your sexual references and inappropriate slang? I'll do the crossword that's written in my language, thank you.

That said, I think I'd be much more likely to read the Chronicle if it had a crossword in it. Actually, I think the Chronicle is much better reading than the Onion. I like to read the fake news headlines, but the fake news stories bore me. Instead, I read my fake horoscope and Dan Savage's fabulous sex column. In the Chronicle, I generally read the editorials and occasionally some other stuff. But editorials are the best part.

This is Teeney, signing off.

March 1

Goodness, dear readers! (Ha! Get it? I said that I had readers!) I've fallen way behind in the realm of blog lately. It's been busy in my life.

I've had insane dreams lately. Friday I dreamed that I went to Leah's apartment, and there was this insaaaane get together going on where everyone was doing drugs and doing other illegal things, which, in the dream, I slept through (which was very Teeney of me). Anyways, one of the guys there had a dad who had a lot of money or something, I'm a little bit fuzzy on this point, but he sent everyone who had been at the mini-drug fest an email with some sort of attachment that tracked your computer (GASP! DREAM SPYWARE!). The email stated that if any of us closed the email, he'd take our illegal behavior to the DA. Well, I didn't really think the whole thing made sense anyway, and I hadn't even done anything since I'd been asleep (and I don't do drugs anyways), so I just closed it. And then the dude got all up on my ass, telling me he was going to put me in jail, etc., etc., and everyone was just like SHE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! And then, I was so kind to his asshole son that I "broke" him, and he became a nice person too. Which is probably the weirdest part of the dream, since I'm totally impatient.

I then dreamed another dream that I had three (?!) bunnies and a pet parakeet. That is waaaay too many animals to keep up with. Although I now believe the new bunny is a boy bunny, and have decided to call him Tolstoy.

Last night I had part II of a new series of dreams that I've been having lately. In this dream, I replied to a Craig's List ad to help teach a woman's kids at home. When I show up, she tells me that her husband has invented a time travel machine (No! Really! she tells me) and that they use this time travel as an excellent way to teach their children about history and the like. Anyways, last night my dream continued from this; I went over to her house and met the other teachers (there is like, a team of young people who do this), and it turned out that they had covered all the Lessons, except Lesson 3, which it would be my job to teach the kids. Then the mom went into the time machine with me to show me how to use it. Really, it was like a not very good video game that I was horrible at.

February 26--Letter to Yellowbook.com

Hi! I received your Yellowbook directory outside my door a few days ago, and although I appreciate that your company considered me, I do not use a phone book and would like it to go to someone less privileged! I have temporarily brought it inside to prevent any unnecessary wear from the weather, but please let me know when your company will available to pick it up and I will give you my address and place it outside my door.

Thanks!
Teeney

PS. I'm sorry I don't feel comfortable giving you my phone number! You *are* a phone book company and I just want to make sure my number stays unpublished. Please let me know if you *really* need it to contact me. Thanks again!

February 22--NEWS FLASH

IT IS PANCAKE WEEK.

February 20

I like the number twenty. It is not only a nice, round number, but it has many factors: 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, and 20. Additionally, it is exceedingly pleasant to type.

The word "sniveling" might be one of the most derogatory words in the English language. I have never heard it used in a positive manner, and it certainly gives a the impression of being pathetic, almost evil. Like one of the Hyena's in Disney's Lion King.

The number twenty will never snivel, not for you, and not for any God.

February 19: It's a trap.

I've spent my Thursday watching Star Wars episodes four and six. "What the fuck, Teeney?!" you're probably saying. "Everyone KNOWS the Empire Strikes Back is the good one." Yeah, I know. And if we ever watch Star Wars together, you'll make me watch that one. Anyways, I've always loved The Return of the Jedi, since I can remember. My parents may have saved my life by making sure I grew up without a TV (but with the internet!), but they were still certain to make sure that I'd seen the Star Wars trilogy (and 2001: A Space Odyssey).

I don't remember a whole lot about that first time I watched the movies. I remember Greedo getting shot, I remember Luke losing his hand, and I remember loving the Ewoks. Who cares that I was, at that time, the Ewoks target audience? I also remember playing that Star Wars computer game about ten years ago on the family's aging Mac. I thought that game was the shit; computer game historians remember it differently.

In any case, I do enjoy seeing how much the characters have grown up from the fourth episode to the sixth. Luke has changes from a whiney little emo kid to an armed and capable whiney emo kid. Han is the same, except in love. Leia is the same, except she's in love and has a brother.

My mom likes to tell the story about episode six being released. Her enitre division at work took off to go see it. Her boss knew, but told them not to let anyone see them, as the other departments would have been upset. Coming out of the theatre was probably the only time anyone in my family has ever had to duck news cameras.

And what's this with Mandy Moore and Ryan Adams being engaged? I mean, WTF? I thought Mandy Moore was still all A Walk to Remember* and music videos with VW Bugs. But more importantly, I remember Ryan Adams--like Luke Skywalker--a whiney little bitch. I also remember his hair being this color. When did he go blond?

*WTF, IMDB?! 7.0!?

February 18

I looked silently at her lips. All women are lips, all lips. Some are pink and firmly round: a ring, a tender guardrail from the whole world. And then there are these ones: a second ago they weren't here, and just now--like a knife-slit--they are here, still dripping sweet blood.

Yevgeny Zamyatin
"We"

February 17

It's a rainy morning and for no reason I haven't been able to stop yawning. Also for no reason, I've been thinking a lot about pancakes. My coffee shop experience hasn't been great today. My "for here" coffee was served in a "to go" cup, and she left me an inch for the cream I don't take. I tipped anyway. I need a motherfucking job.

February 16

Yesterday was a big day. I learned how to drive standard. Well, I learned how to drive in first and second gears in a middle school parking lot. It's not exactly the same.

The new bunny is a-okay. I haven't decided what to do with it yet, but I think Corey and I decided to call it Luffa. You should feel free to come visit Luffa any time, and then imagine showering by rubbing a sudsy bunny all over your body.

I've finally started actually writing my thesis, which is a big step forward, but doesn't change the fact that I am entirely overwhelmed.

February 13

Happy early Valentine's Day! Corey and I celebrated by rescuing a lost bunny rabbit. Have you lost your bunny rabbit in Hyde Park? Because I probably have it. It's a totally sweet, sweet bunny. Hm.

February 12

This is a story about how my thesis is consuming my life.

When Black Sabbath broke up and Ozzy went out on his own in the early 1980's, his now-wife Sharon became his manager. He's a big name in the San Antonio scene because of the whole Alamo piss fiasco, so he gets a good amount of press in the the local papers in the 1980's.

I've done about 11 hours of micro-filming total at this point, and after looking at a couple months of newspapers on microfiche, you start training your brain to pick up on different words and phrases. Yesterday, about five hours into my microfilm session, I stopped scrolling and stared at the screen. What the fuck!? I wondered, blinking. Why the hell is Sharon in Israel?! Did Ozzy have a strong Jewish following?

... Yeah.

February 11

I spoke too soon about yesterday. It did have rain. Lots of it. While I was on the highway, driving 35 miles an hour.

I am currently on the sixth floor of the San Antonio Public Library. I have been looking at microfilm for four hours. My eyes hurt, my tummy is hungry, and I need to use the restroom. It amazes me how many articles the newspapers published in the 1980's on dieting. Seriously. You'd think women would want to read about nothing but how Nancy Reagan and Princess Di stayed thin. There was also a great article published in 1982 about keeping lettuce crisp.

My research has not been very productive today.

What a great day.

February 10

Well, it's a brand new day, once again, just like yesterday but without the rain. I skipped class to do this phone interview, and now I'm sitting at home waiting for the guy to call me back. Such is life.

I'm planning on heading back down to San Antonio for more microfishing tomorrow, but it'll kind of be a disappointment because I doubt the incredibly nice, friendly Ira will be volunteering tomorrow. I'm going to try and get a few more interviews done, and I have to start writing this weekend. I'm excited about it. Writing is the best part.

February 9

It's that time of year again! You're either planning something entirely stupid for Saturday or you're planning on pretending nothing happens on Saturday.

Corey and I have briefly discussed going to the gun range.

It's also easy crossword day, so go pick up a Texan while I finish my coffee.

February 8

Women can come into their own only when men see them as equals, not as property. Then a woman loves a man as he loves her; then he has no rights over her and she none over him. This is the source of women's greatest charm. Without equality, the love of women as objects of beauty is evil. But as yet, her kingdom is small, and it will reach its fullness only in the future.

Nikolai Chernyshevsky
1862

February 7

It was one of those shit nights, when almost nothing works out. I went with Fidel to see the Reverand Glasseye preform. My plan was to then meet up with Darlene, who had gone home feeling ill. Fidel went to meet up with people I have nothing in common with, so I called Corey, to meet up with him. He was on the other side of town, but headed back to the side of town I was at... in forty minutes.

So now it's midnight and I'm getting ready to watch a movie by myself. It's too late to buy beer at the store and my neighborhood bar is really a neighborhood bar, and closes at midnight.

Fuck weekends.

February 6

Welcome to the weekend. I have done nothing today except drink coffee and eat my parents' food. Today's San Antonio trip will be tomorrow. It's a beautiful day. My newest new experience is this, and I liked it.

February 5

Andy is now 21, and the world can breathe a sigh of relief. He has escaped from the Barton Springs Saloon, and can now drink margaritas anywhere he pleases. He can even purchase his own beer for drinking during D&D. I have decided that the apex of passive aggressive pleasure is in pulling up to a car with its windows down at a stoplight, turning your own music up and rolling down your own windows, and then smirking at your neighbor as you watch them rolling their windows up out of the corner of your eye. I don't know what they're running away from. My music's better anyway.

February 4

Tea is good, but it's no coffee. Today is the best I've felt all week, in spite of making Corey coffee at 7:45 this morning. Today I spoke with a very nice woman at the San Antonio Office of the City Clerk about obtaining records for the May, 1982 meeting in which Ozzy Osbourne was banned from the city. Apparently, immediately after this discussion, the council moved on to discuss the possible banishment of Pac-Man. Oh, those jokesters.

February 3

My allergies have been awful the last few days, which makes my asthma horrible. This means that when I ride my bicycle, not only do I feel like shit, but I also can't breath. And then snot drips out my nose. Today I took the bus, but it doesn't change the fact that I still feel like shit.

I was excited about the possibility of free Denny's breakfast, but under scrutiny, I realized since I do not like bacon and rarely like pancakes, decided it probably wasn't worth it. The Super Bowl is now over, and the loser was undoubtedly the people who watched it only for the commercials. These people are generally the guarenteed winners, but it was quite an upset this year. Then this lame kid ate my pizza and didn't even say, "Thank you."

January 30

This is not how you'd expect a band named "Hooray for Earth" to sound. Who would call their band "Hooray for Earth"? What a stupid name. You can't even say it without feeling dumber.

"Hey, Teeney, what are you listening?"

"Hooray for Earth."

"What? I can't hear you. It sounded like you said "Hooray for Earth" or something stupid like that, but I know you're not that dumb."

"... Oh."

Yesterday I sent my Popular Music in World Cultures professor a frantic email. "I've been looking for next Tuesday's reading for twenty minutes and I can't find it!" She wrote back, tiredly, that I shouldn't have any problem finding it because it was mapped out in the syllabus. It turns out that the exceptionally long article that I'd read all of for Thursday's class was broken into multiple readings. Tuesday's reading is a subset of this article--which explained why I couldn't find any articles with that as the mainn title. Boy did I feel silly, but at least I'd finished my homework early.

Hegemony

Today one of my professors defined hegemony in a way that made it sound identical to social contract.

I find this very unsettling. It might now be a big deal to her, but she is raising demonoids who will justify diminishing individual rights because they were "given up."

I think it is worthwhile to blame the societal collapse on her.

Today's thoughts.

Few people are comfortable talking about--or thinking about--their parents having sex with one another (or with anyone, for that matter).

This afternoon, I was waiting for my mother at my parents' house, and, not having brought anything with me to do, I turned on daytime TV just in time to watch a thrilling episode of Casino. In this particular episode, besides a murder occurring, an employee being mistaken for a prostitute, and a bikini contest being sabotaged by a contestant from the Mid-West, one of the main character's wives has a fit because she's pregnant, and her husband has too much work to do and is too stressed to have time to sleep with her. Wah, wah, wah.

But this got me to thinking--ugh, parents having sex. But it went further--dad poking mom while I'm the bun in the oven.

Dear God.

Here is some great stop-motion.

And an okay song.

Today I found the COOLEST thing on the whole internet.

It involves bunnies, music, AND it's in Italian.

You can find it HERE!

Hurt

The worst moments in life are the ones you don't expect. It just takes one horrible, early morning phone call to ensure that you will answer any early morning phone call that you ever receive. And every time you wake, blinking sleep into your tired eyes to stare at the resounding phone, you'll relive that first phone call, just a little bit. It gets easier the longer you're around, the more phone calls you receive. But that sinking feeling, the voice coming over the line that first time, the hurt in your stomach when you turn to face the wall, to curl your legs into your stomach and wash your face in salty tears, that feeling never goes away.

Early morning phone calls are the worst. The absolute worst. You never recover from them, and they hurt so badly. They're horrible. They become a metaphor for everything that comes afterward, everything you can never forget, and everything that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

I am making the decisions of the rest of my life, and the only sound I'll remember forever is the first shovel-full of dirt falling on the coffin of an eighteen year-old boy.

How can you trust a God after that?

Selling Sex

Vice Magazine. Perhaps the glossiest magazine ever. Shiny pages cramped with indulgent hipsterism, selling glorified prepackaged scene cred. American Apparel appropriately owns the back cover. It screams. "Go directly to Scenedom. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200." But the best thing about both of these pandemics--Vice Magazine and American Apparel--is that both are fabulous simply because they are filled with sex.

I know that this is what makes them fabulous, because this is why my father judges me for them. One day, about to drive off my parents' home, I paused to chat with him through the open passenger side window. He eyed the facedown Vice Magazine in the seat, picked it up, humphed at the raunchiness of the ad, and turned it over as if to verify whether or not I was browsing porn. He scowled, dropped it back on the seat, and went into the house.

But that has nothing on the disdain the time that he caught be reading The Story of the Eye in church.

More on "crack addiction"

One of the girls I work with on Monday morning asked me this past Monday if they'd told me about our Yelp review. "Yeah!" I said, "I even wore makeup that day."

"I think about it all the time now," she replied. "I looked in the mirror and was like, how many colors am I wearing? Is my hair alright?"*

So I guess I'm not the only one.

*This is not verbatim. We had this conversation around 7:00 AM. I cannot remember it that clearly.

More good news.

Fidel has been in contact with the good people at Playboy, they should be figuring out why I haven't been getting my subscription. This means, of course, that I should start getting my subscription... and I will finally have the necessary amount of smut in my life.

Yelp!

Apparently, we got a negative Yelp review on Monday morning, while I was working, that said we looked like "recovering crack addicts."

And I actually put on make up on Monday morning.

Good news!

I have a working computer once more!

I now give you permission to kiss my feet and rub shoulders. Commence!