welcome to downtown coolsville

From a friend on Facebook:

so... some random girl went up to my gf at the hedwig show at the rockhouse and asked "are you ishyface?" hahahahhahah. michelle was like "uh noooo?" ... guess she was looking for you!

Alright, guys, fess up.

I ATEN'T DEAD. (Yet.)

Moving is ass, you guys. As of last night, we were all sleeping on air mattresses; as of tonight, we will all be sleeping on our fourth cousins' couches; as of tomorrow, we will all be sleeping in the van. And I won't be able to shower for days. YAY.

The cats are super freaked. Dyson has been hiding under a chair for the last four hours.

I have many fun and interesting things to say, like about how camp is over and was both magical and terrifying, and about how I helped steal ice cream at midnight (I was a sentinel!), and about how I hate Macs, and about how I said goodbye to streets and trees and old graffiti, and about how canoeing in the dark is that much better when you make code names for each other, and about how my lip is infected (neither fun nor interesting, but topical, I think), and about how I seem to have the magical ability to queer straight girls, and about how I can keep going on very little sleep and a bottle of Nos for-EVER,* and about redheaded_itch's groovy new apartment, and about how the Hush Sound wrote a song about Barack Obama and how precious is that, seriously, and about how swinging on swings is better when you can see the stars, but at the moment I am busy watching a documentary with Little Sister and Little Brother about how Wal-Mart is evil. (Little Sister chose it. I love my family, have I mentioned that recently? Well, I do.)

* RED BULL IS FOR WUSSIES. YEAH. I SAID IT.