I always have a million little things to blog by the time I actually find time to log on and post anything. So, here we go:

That whole self-realization thing I talked about? Yeahhhh.. that's like, WAY harder than I thought it was gonna be? And I'm totally ready for that to stop now. I keep saying all these adult-sounding things, and thinking about serious stuff, and pondering God things. The worst part is, I'm sort of enjoying it. It's like growing pains. It hurts like a bitch, but I know it's moving me in the direction of something good. (~tell me somethin' good! tell me that ya like it, yeah~)

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Saturday night I went to one of those Slumber Parties. You know, the kind where they sell all the flavored massage oils and the "Battery Operated Boyfriends"? My self-realization in this arena was sadly put on hold, as the hostess did not take Visa.

Apparently? It's NOT everywhere I want to be.

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Last night as I was falling asleep, random thoughts were running through my head, and I thought of this guy, Matt, who made my Junior year of high school an absolute living hell. And, I shit you not, this thought ran through my head:

"He'd probably be good looking if he didn't have that vacant stare of a man who has watched entirely too much Nascar, and has had so much beer that he's forgotten where he set his spit cup down. Why am I thinking of this? Why does it bother me? He wears dirty baseball caps. He's Cletus the Slack-Jawed-Yokel."

Isn't it weird how your tormentors never quite leave your mind? I wonder what he thinks about when he falls asleep. Is that weird that I wonder that?

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At the aforementioned Slumber Party, they gave me a penis eraser. Cindy told me she wanted stories about what I did with this eraser when I brought it to work. I have stories. And they are mostly incredibly sick. SICK. And all of them involve Dana.

We have *entirely* too much fun together. I'm afraid they're gonna seperate us soon.

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A really old man.. a really old married man.. who I am not attracted to at all.. wants to have a "special relationship" with me. I said no. But now I feel awkward. Cause I got this news second-hand from a friend who told me "I promised him I'd ask you."

Um.. me.. specifically?

And who.. asks .. ahhhgh! Weird and strange!

Dude. How do I come to terms with this? At this point, should I just be glad it's not a lesbian?

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All week long, everytime you've called me, talked to me, passed me in the hallway, or maybe thought about me.. I'm singing Shoop by Salt and Pepa in my head.

~here I go here I go here I go again.. girls, what's my weakness? MEN!~

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I can't stop knitting. And it's become so much fun that all I want to do is talk about it. I told my friend Kellie that it was geeky, and she replied:

"Knitting isn't geeky, it's cool. It's too in-your-face to be lame. I knit.YEAH? SO? What the fuck are you going to do about it? Totally punk."

Word to my knittahs. Peace out.