Oh...hey...I'm feeling a little light-headed today, so please forgive me if I jaksld;fu zx nval;sdfsvu'alwelrkc la;/.

This past Saturday zero 3 helped run a teen collage-making workshop at UCLA. We didn't teach them collage. An actual collage artist did that. They enlisted us to help with their creative writing/performance part. Their goal is to have the students write/perform something about their piece, experience, etc. Man, teaching teenagers creative things is really COOL. They're at this age where they're starting to form opinions, feel all kinds of feelings, and actually want to express themselves. It was really, really fun and I can't wait to do it again.

So after all this wishing for Morning Job™ to get all exciting, what happened on Tuesday? Hmmm? Aren't you curious? Well, my friends, on Tuesday, I walk in and find out that one of the partners just UP AND QUIT. No warning, nothing. The night before, he left a note on the other partner's desk, saying, pretty much, "Thanks, and now I'm resigning." Huh? What? Where? How? See, your wishes do come true! But you have to be CAREFUL! BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR! Or, at least, BE VERY SPECIFIC WITH YOUR WISHES.

So now, the boss asks me if I can come in early tomorrow morning. Like incredibly early. Like inhumane conditions early. 9:30am to be exact. My initial reaction in my head was "Oh, hell no! You expect my ass to get up even EARLIER? No f***ing way, mister Man!!" But what came out was a smile and "Oh, sure thing!" What is that? All peppy and shit, too! Man, I'm gonna stand up for my lazy, procrastination rights someday.

For the safety of professional wrestlers, I think that metal folding chairs, garbage cans and ladders should not be anywhere near the ring. Folding chairs should be replaced by pillows or inflatable furniture, and all garbage cans should be rubber. There should also be two referees. I'm just looking out for the athletes.

On a completely different note...living alone means I can walk around my apartment naked. Which is cool, since I live on the second floor, and unless people get around via jetpack, I doubt anyone will see me.

If you're flipping through radio stations, and you hear Golden Earring's "Radar Love", and you DON'T stop and listen to enjoy the drum solo/brass section part, I don't care how cool you think your musical tastes are, YOU DO NOT ROCK.

Yes, this is immature, but...
One of the most fun things to do when you're bored and watching TV is to add the phrase "for your momma" after every commercial slogan.

On a completely different note: Why does Lone Justice's song, "Ways to be Wicked" get me all hot and bothered?

I was bored and eating toast
I just can't believe it's not butter. I can't. It's not possible. There is no freaking way this isn't butter. You cannot sit there and tell me that this shit ain't butter. I refuse to even entertain the idea that this isn't butter. No way.

Fuck you, it's butter.