Lauren and I spent the day apartment hunting. She's considerably less happy about the hunt than I was, but I'll be darned if we didn't find a few sweet fucking spots. Now its only a matter of leasing.

Mom watched TLC this weekend and discovered a great idea for my bar room. I took my single bed and transformed it into a daybed/couch with the stolen Ben n' Jerry's disco tables turned into cocktail tables on the edge. The bar room now only needs a bar, and I suspect its finished.

Throw some paint on the walls and it'll be time for a grand opening.

The boy who thinks I'm jewish called me after having my number for nearly a month. He lost it, refound it, and was glad I remember him. He asked me to call him so that we could go out sometime. Yikes!

And, a boy who looks a bit like Seth from the O.C. bought me a flower at work last night... perhaps it's time for me to a have a proper summer of debauchery...

So, uh, like last summer-- sans the crackedoutness.

I have the urge to fuck shit up.

To be a catalyst.

I want there to be tension to cut.

I want to be a knife.

Vicious, sharp, and cold.




I wanna wreck someone's home.