Wads and Wads of Soggy Kleenex
And those punk rock boys, alas, are rather toothsome. But in the end, it didn't matter. X rocked hard, as least as hard as they did in the years of my misspent youth.
But in those days, I was inhibited, and in these days I don't really give a flying fuck. So if my compatriots in rock knocked three drinks out of my hands, I doubled my losses, and if I slipped in my shiny boots and landed ass flat on the dance floor, it's a lark. All those toothsome punk rock boys are still doing a variation of the Dead Head Shuffle, but with less arm flailing, and I am concerned about maximizing my fun quotient. I came home drenched in other people's liquor, on a seventeen year old's adrenaline rush, full of big, loud chord deliciousness.
fait accompli.
Saturday was dedicated the consumption of sparkly, sparkly bubbles in honor of my dear friend P.
And then midway through the holiday yesterday a sneeze erupted and a great gout of snot was ejected and oh fuck, thought I. Sure enough there was the telltale tickle in my throat, and by the end of the business day I think I would like to be trussed and spun on a spit to put me out -- sorry, gigantic sneeze -- of my misery. My eyes are twitchy and buggy and Pantagruel is parked on my back, I am going to eat some vicodin and sit in the bath. I have a big week, and I am off to NYC next week, where it is seriously cold and I don't own any fucking gloves...
And I spent most of the day, besides evacuating the sloppy and vastly irritating gouts of snot becoming increasingly irritated with the misdeeds of our fine govt. for I fine head exploding read I suggest a visit to Salon, check out the 34 scandals of the first four years... and feeling like stink on shit I just want a warm house. Naturally my fickle heatereater has blown itself out and I am hungry and no one is answering my calls and I heat up some soup, but I can't taste it, and that is one of the shitty things about being alone, I don't want to be the ideal patient, because I am not, but if the house were warm, if I had thirty seconds of commiseration and a cup of tea brought to me, I might feel a whole lot better.
As it stands, hello bath, hello vicodin.
P.S. I know I have said it before, blogger spell check bites big balls, how is it their spell check can't spell "snot"
And those punk rock boys, alas, are rather toothsome. But in the end, it didn't matter. X rocked hard, as least as hard as they did in the years of my misspent youth.
But in those days, I was inhibited, and in these days I don't really give a flying fuck. So if my compatriots in rock knocked three drinks out of my hands, I doubled my losses, and if I slipped in my shiny boots and landed ass flat on the dance floor, it's a lark. All those toothsome punk rock boys are still doing a variation of the Dead Head Shuffle, but with less arm flailing, and I am concerned about maximizing my fun quotient. I came home drenched in other people's liquor, on a seventeen year old's adrenaline rush, full of big, loud chord deliciousness.
fait accompli.
Saturday was dedicated the consumption of sparkly, sparkly bubbles in honor of my dear friend P.
And then midway through the holiday yesterday a sneeze erupted and a great gout of snot was ejected and oh fuck, thought I. Sure enough there was the telltale tickle in my throat, and by the end of the business day I think I would like to be trussed and spun on a spit to put me out -- sorry, gigantic sneeze -- of my misery. My eyes are twitchy and buggy and Pantagruel is parked on my back, I am going to eat some vicodin and sit in the bath. I have a big week, and I am off to NYC next week, where it is seriously cold and I don't own any fucking gloves...
And I spent most of the day, besides evacuating the sloppy and vastly irritating gouts of snot becoming increasingly irritated with the misdeeds of our fine govt. for I fine head exploding read I suggest a visit to Salon, check out the 34 scandals of the first four years... and feeling like stink on shit I just want a warm house. Naturally my fickle heatereater has blown itself out and I am hungry and no one is answering my calls and I heat up some soup, but I can't taste it, and that is one of the shitty things about being alone, I don't want to be the ideal patient, because I am not, but if the house were warm, if I had thirty seconds of commiseration and a cup of tea brought to me, I might feel a whole lot better.
As it stands, hello bath, hello vicodin.
P.S. I know I have said it before, blogger spell check bites big balls, how is it their spell check can't spell "snot"
posted by emma at
10:15 PM
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