March 20, 2002
Musical Penis
When Jill does laundry, it all becomes machine wash and tumble dry low. Fuck that hand wash, gentle cycle, line dry bullshit. Do I look like I have time to meticulously wash clothing by hand, let alone find somewhere in our cell of a bathroom to lay clothes flat to dry? Besides. I haven't really ruined anything yet.
Except my work pants, and that one wool sweater, and a few silky articles that er, sort of, melted.
But Hey! The faux suede dress/duster turned out perfect! And it isn't static clingy anymore!
So laundry is about the first thing I do on my own. After getting my lazy ass up at eleven, I came in, watched a System of a Down video and proceeded to clean my room. I totally dig that band, despite the fact that I rarely understand what the hell it is that Serj is saying. He just has an awesome voice, and the music behind is so heavy and wicked sounding.
And I saw a Fat Joe video, too. And all I'm saying is that a) Ashanti, whoever the hell she is, was sucking some major dick to be in his video, and 2) he was fucking paying her. These Jabba-esque rappers terrify me. And yet they always have these gorgeous, waif, model-looking girls dancing lewdly about them.
Lots of money. Lots of money. And maybe, like, alcohol, too. Laced with crack.
Or maybe it's his gangsta' appeal. That has to be it.
Excuse me while I choke on swallowed laughter.
Maybe I will go play guitar. Kelsi and I are entering a song writing contest, and I am trying somewhat pathetically to rewrite the song I have chosen to enter. I just can't fit new lyrics into the rhythm of the song.
Who do I look like? Alanis Morrisette?
Trust me. Listen to her. She's fucking gifted at getting a seven syllable word into, like, half a beat. You think I'm kidding.
Farewell all. Off to make oneself prissy for work. To no avail, of course.
astera at all alone