- Buh-jee-zus is it just me or is it haling in Arizona?

- Minimum wage can be awful. I wouldn’t know though.

- I have not had hair this soft in perhaps, ever. That would be just a guess, perhaps.

- I need a t-shirt that says “You are my next picasso.” Why? Just because.

- It is funny how a hand full of tattoos on a certain guy can be so extremely attractive it makes one forget to even use his/her brain. Tis’ personal experience.

- I have decided to visit Norway at some point in my life. There is no certain reason.
Except maybe for the pudding. They have pudding in Norway?

- I must not give in.

- So math is the calculation of numbers all together, apart, next to each other, up and down and all
around? Then can letters be numbers? And if so, can you calculate A + B + C = Alphabet? Which
further equals eight divided by three? Or maybe eight times three? Which is twenty-four. Only two
letters off and it would be as many letters as there are in the alphabet. I now doubt X and Z as letters.
Damn you, X and Z.
Damn you.

- My ipod’s official name is “Funky Boob Monkey.” Now that is a name right there.

-”The world I know, is a world much too slow” is something I always sing about especially on my
way home.

- I think Paul Coelho found some ancient book of mayan stories, transformed it, and uses it every now and then for inspiration. But thats just me.

- Will somebody please define what acid jazz means? Perhaps I am asking the wrong crowd. Perhaps,
I am wrong and they are right. Lil Wayne rocks socks? Maybe not…

- Sarcasm and Irony have always worked as a great hollywood couple for me.

- I always enjoy piano on Mondays. This is a complete lie. I do not have the luxury of enjoying piano
every monday. Possibly getting a job may remedy this, that or a musician as a husband. Both of the two are highly unlikely.

- Dasani is product of the Coca-Cola Company. Sometimes I feel like Coca-Cola even makes my
 underwear. Must they own quite everything? Its spiteful.

- By the time a one world government is created, I will have at least discovered how many licks it truly does take to get to the creamy filling.

- Mud. Mud is great. Mud is awesome.

- If you’re going to have sexual intercourse in the library, be sure do it in the fiction section. It is
more realistic? Or not.

- Being chubby has its advantages. I just haven’t found them yet.

- Doopie Doo I sing all day. Doopie doop. Doop Doop Doop.
Yes. One sometimes finds the need to doop doop doop continuously.  

- Doop freaking doop.

Till next time, my onion bottoms.

Her dress spins lightly across the kitchen, humming softly, she drops a trickle of salt into the pan.

Her shirt is a 1970′s beauty. Colorful, light dances upon the silk pink of her cheeks.

A smile is such a joy when it is accompanied with the thought of someone close, dear, loved.

The hum flows to his ears and to his heart strings.

As a butterfly on a freshly rained leaf, he lays back and savors the voice of his beauty, his joy,
his sweetness.

Her sweetness could send him into a diabetic disease.

His intelligence finds her each and every time, true to admire, she can never get enough of him.

Does the rest around them matter? Oh but no, it does not.

Indeed, it does not.

She ruffles over to him, kisses his nose quickly, and runs away giggling girlishly.

Its these little things that she does that make him superbly adore her every particle.

She is the epitome of all his needs and wants.

Perfection wrapped in so many layers it is impossible to complete in one life.

They complete each other, she is like the melt to his chocolate.

The sharp to his cut, and the swipe to his slide.

She sways her hair back and forth, sunlight touching but only the tips of her brown hair, further detailing the pure excellence in which it sits.

His hands comes up her neck as she turns, her eyes glistening in front of him, she giggles and says
“you smell like tapioca pudding, dear”

Continuing to giggle, she continues preparing dinner with a slight dance in her walk.

He simply adores her.

Simply adores. 

- I have to wake up in X hours. I am so annoyed.

- I would smoke a cigarette, but then again, I haven’t smoked one in a while. Like a week.

- I can’t sleep, apparently neither can the neighbor.

- Cats, Teddy bears, who gives a fuck?

- 5 out of 8 pills lay on my desk, guess which kind. No, not vitamins.

- I should not be writing this late, go to bed, no, you go to bed!
(And then took place a violent frustrated imitation of hair-pulling scenario.)

- I like water, its the taste that messes with me. Damn confusing.

- Rolling your eyes is one of the minimal joys in life, its like fresh orange juice on a sweaty day.
Or maybe not.

- Comma, splice, my, ass.

- You know you are popular, when….nobody calls?

- Writing can be such a hassle at some times, but then again, who loves watching Six Feet Under more than I do aye?

- The fact that there were only seven dwarfs has always bothered me.

- I truly believe we will be intelligent beings when we know our lip is bleeding without having to touch it.

- A song called Gyspy Rain is not going to sooth my nerves, no matter how marvelous it is.

- Hmm. So. We have all this fucking technology yet the clinking of a keyboard can’t be eliminated? Or at least reduced? Come on.

- I math hate. No. Let me rephrase that. I hate math. 

- I would love to wipe dust, but this is just not time or place for that.

- Las Vegas sure is pretty at night, but I am not impressed with it in the day.

- I can’t stand myself, or this red lamp. They are both sucking the life out of me. Well, I suppose just the lamp, the likeliness of me sucking the life out of, well, me, is just not likely. Both the grammar and errors in these sentences delight me.

- I am quite sure, at some point most people feel the taste of blood in their mouths. Most of the time its ours. I suppose something like 99.9% of the time? Maybe less. I wouldn’t know.
I am not “most people”.

- Is it just me or is irony not a <insert bad word here> when it comes to not being tired, staying up, and twenty minutes before you should be waking up, the exhaustion gets to you, and you are sleepy?

- There is this CD, it says “Recorded in England”. I wish I was “Recorded in England”.

- There once was this girl in my 8th grade class, I really did think she would turn out to be beautiful, but then I met her years later, and she was uglier than I had imagined.

- Why the hell is “house” music called “techno” in the U.S? And what the hell is “house” anyway? Electronica has always seemed to suit my vocabulary anyway. I just learned the word last week.

- Doink.

- Why must my knuckles have wrinkles? Isn’t it enough that I must deal with some day looking like a pipe bag? Must I see it on my knuckles too?

- And then I flew to Amsterdam.

- Tyra Banks annoys the living beh-jee-zus out of me. So does spelling things out like you pronounce them.

- Traxdata is a CD Company, I suppose international, now that I brought them to the U.S and all.

- In spite of my rebellious ways, I still yield to pedestrians. That is until I take my drivers test again.

- Normally when you think Eastern Europe, you see dirty streets and heavy accented women. Why?

- I need a drink. Alcoholic preferably.

Till next time, my sweet petunia’s. 

Sliding dirty socks across the wood floors, she moonwalks her way to the espresso machine.

This is epic. 

Throwing a piece of ham on a hot slice of toast, she rock stars her way to the couch.

Dust arises as she strategically dances taking the coffee cup along for the ride.

If there were spectators, they would laugh to tears.

She could care less feeling that song like it would be the last time she hears it.

The CD proceeds to the next song.

“Beat it.”

Oh yeahhhhh, this is my songggggg dudeeee.

Making a face to seem “bad.”, she walks to the bathroom, coffee in hand, she checks her face in the mirror. Same old same, tragically big nose, slightly tan skin.

Sticking her tongue out at herself she continues along her daily tasks, making the sure the volume is at max.

“Dirty Diana” begins and makes her stop in her tracks and attempt a smile.

No, she won’t dance to this one.

This one is not the one she will dance to, nope.

The refrain kicks in and she cannot help it.

She bursts into singing and dancing, jumping on the bed like a teenie bopper teenager.

Dirtyyyyy Dianaaaaaaa, Noooo, Dirty Dianaaaaaaa.

Mimicking the guitar fiercely she makes an almost perfect turn and falls on her ass.

Laughing profusely she lays down on the floor feeling the music she grew up with.

One of the rare moments that make her think, maybe this lonely life isn’t as bad as it seems.

Breaking into the thriller dance she fades away in her own world.

One where she does as she pleases.

Dishes? Laundry? Pleeeease.

Laughing alone in her room she realizes that a bit of self-entertainment isn’t such a bad thing.

Guitaring away into the backyard, you can realize this was one of the good days.