I am so fucking bored I could kill myself.

(I promise I won't...)

7am: shower, shampoo
a pink towel wrapped around
my hair. Back in bed, I stare,
sleepily mind you [I'm still half
awake] at the TV. In half an hour
I will rise for real, make eggs,
toast with chese melted onto it, have
cereal drowning in a mug. That's
for later, though. Right now, I think:
I love good commentaries
and follow with: and beautiful ( Read more... )

"DO NOT EAT" reads the
packet of silica gel
sitting on my desk.

I marvel: even
preservatives want us to
lose weight nowadays!

( I get so sick of his crap sometimes. )

this chump on the TV, wearing his hat backwards, keeps telling me: "Sunday night is football night!"

I wonder: "Who are you trying to convince?"

( Read more... )

So.

In addition to the red, permanent numbers scrawled across the back of my left forearm, I also have a gigantic hickey on my neck.

Curiouser and curiouser...

(I think I need to stop drinking whiskey.)

What do you do when you wake up with a random phone number written on your arm and want to find out who and where it came from?

The logical answer would be to call it and ask.

I'm still debating what to do. Suggestions?

It struck me walking home with Evan last night: I have letters after my name.

It's no PhD or MD but, still, I have credentials!

Kayt Bognar, RMT ...there's a whole new world out there for you, baby!

(okay...I'm done being a dork now ^^; )

I wrote a poem today. I call it "A Vegetarian Dilemma"

I have a crush on
the boy at the meat counter,
but I don't eat meat.