2004-08-04 || 10:48 p.m.

|| extreme wrestling and the call for the quintessential vegan hot dog. ||

everything is in terrible disorder, and if i were to draw a depiction of team bancroft there would be a lot of black scribbles involved. scribbles as heads and hands and feet, scribbles as dirty dishes and mountains of paper and heaps of clothes. oh.

i feel i was robbed of the greater month of july and would like a refund. i have reason to believe that the month of august will likely be stolen as well, so please send check or money order in a timely fashion. or some kind of fabulous vacation involving caftans and golden girls (dear karen, where are you? if i leave a pitcher of fuzzy navel(s?) on the front porch, will you be able to detect the scent on tradewinds and find your way over to my couch?).

plans to take back summer/Get Our Shit in Gear include 1. calling up a TLC house makeover show so that they can organize a. respective work spaces, b. clothes lava flow, c. life practices and plans for the future. also? i would like a haircut. 2. going camping, where camping = whiskey + scrabble + burnt things skewered on sticks - mosquitos - any physical exertion. 3. not thinking of this as a dismal time due to recurrent lack of sleep, burgeoning life plans, and the sad loss of Free Time but rather remembering that this time is most enchanting. item: cutting that one spot at the base of brian's neck because he can't reach it, which for some reason is such an enchanting motherly type thing to do; going out for dinner and drinks to get loud and sloppy and very forward about propositioning poor unsuspecting boys who find this sort of behavior REALLY CREEPY and then quietly being whisked away to the toilet to barf for the rest of the night; looking up porn with becky on the computer; fielding calls from a tour route making stops somewhere on the east coast whose sole reason for contact is to inform me that armadillo/alligator roadkill has been spotted; fielding calls from montana/the desert/las vegas from me sis who let me know yesterday that she was mistaken for a hooker (if you knew my sister/her dressing habits/tomboy ways you would be mystified).

that's all i want to say about that.

sorry my diaryland skills have gone down the drain.

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