PickledCherub

I was initially thrilled to be back, sleep in my own bed, etc, but now I'm swamped again in the same old. Or at least I'm threatened by the same old. Same old patterns, relationships, job. Some of it's comforting, like my cat snoring, some of it is more stagnant than anything else. And then there's the fear of doing something, changing something. Who needs that?

I'm going to go grocery shopping and prepare for the Pix talent show tonight. On the table: "Love Bites" "Every Rose has its Thorn" "Hey Ya" and "Sweet Child."

I think I'd be enjoying things a bit more if I weren't so sleepy from waking up early this morning to go to Marian's presentation. But I'm leaving tomorrow morn, in the wee early morn, at five forty five in the a-m. I'm not sad to be leaving London, but I am sad to be leaving Marian and Shauna behind. Amanda told me that her housemate thinks I'm cute and asked her if it would be ok if he asked me out for a drinkypoo. It's nice to feel wanted. "I hope Max isn't a cock-face," says Marian.

We've been carting around wee drams of whisky all around London Town, to the BM (British Museum), to the LD (London Dungeon), etc. Tonight we ate all sorts of Turkish delights, not the kind in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, but rice pudding and christmas beers. I'm rather homesick. I miss Portland. But that's what holidays are for, right? Right!?

I had so much whiskey last night that I'm up before everyone, drinking PG Tips, digesting a bagel (pales in comparison to the hand-rolled bagels of New Hyde Park), and blogging away. Tea is so good, I don't know why I remain dedicated to the coffee cause. They have a cereal here called Crunchy Nut, and the only other wording on the box says that it's "ludicrously tasty." Oh, those brits have a wacky sense of humo(u)r.

Speaking of off-color senses of humo(u)r, our KJ last night kept making fun of this woman for being pregnant. All right, I'll admit that if I were pregnant, I probably wouldn't go to a pub, with all the second-hand smoke and alcohol, but come on. Marian rocked "Livin' on a Prayer," "Leader of the Pack" (with yours truly), and "Copacobana" with her sister. I brought the house down with my inspired, chair-humping rendition of "Love Bites." One guy at the bar came up to me afterwards to congratulate me. I also did "Anthony's Song (Movin' Out)," but to my chagrin I found out that it's too low for me. The best part about Karaoke in the UK is the shocked and stunned faces of the crowd while they watched us do calisthenics to Amanda's "Eye of the Tiger." We, Marian, Shauna, and I, spent a lot of the night stunned and amazed over how much we love our shitty little serving jobs. I'm not the only one.

You can haggle with anyone here, and Jaime, Marian's boyf, has been fairly expert about it. We got 40 per-cent off dinner and free papadam at Ajwan on Brick Lane, and four pound ninety-nine kebabs with chips and drink at Capitol Kebabs. I want to see if I can haggle for souvenirs. Oh, and the pound is worth two dollars American, so things seem cheap-ish. But they are not. Thankfully, Amanda has insisted that we only eat out once a day. I think that idea's fanTAStic, completely brill.

Almost all of our attempts to be touristy failed yesterday. I still hope that we make it to London Dungeons, Tate Modern, the National Gallery. I also really need insoles for my shoes, but fate mocks me.

In one of many Rape Tunnels, this one being rather well lit seeing as how it's next to Tate Modern, Marian and I got jiggy to one of Jaime's cell-phone rings. I think it was called "New York Experience"--it reminded me of Jay-Z.

Two notes to self: on return home, purchase the new KanYEwest album; on return home, drink only whisk(e)y.

I'm in Marian's living room and Amanda's telling a story about wigs. I'm drinking Macallan 10 year scotch. I've been in London for 12 hours now. I've had a shish kebab, a turkey cheese croissant, and Ellen's cookies. I had a wee nap. The ankle bone is revolting. I finished Confederacy of Dunces this morning at the airport. It's amazing to see the Macindoes reunited and it feels so good.

Alex finally got the internet to work, so I'm here, blogging away. Lessee . . . got into town, slept for two days, went to the city with Alexia and Mel, went to the city again with Alexia and Mel, had brunch with Aunt Anita and Ruth and Marc, came home, slept, went to Dunkin Donuts with the boy who lived next door, went to second base with the boy who lived next door, ate pizza, dim sum, bagels, watched Everwood, displayed my total lack of local geographical knowledge, suffered from a prolonged case of Holiday Tummy, and am now getting ready to go to Newark airport tomorrow.

"So, um, ten years, wow." "I can't believe we never played doctor when we were kids." "I guess we've made up for it now."

And for firsts, I was the first white girl, the first bi girl, the first short-haired girl (like I'm some sort of cat) that he'd ever kissed.

DVDs I've watched at my brother's house: Ghostbusters, Rushmore, Old School. You'd think that I'd watch something new, but I think I'm just riding the actors named Bill or Will wave: Bill Murray and Will Farrell.

It's quarter after three and I'm still awake. I've taken a shower, I've packed, I worked seven hours, now I need a snack, I danced to Abba's "Take a Chance (On Me)": and it's just a quarter after three. I don't want to sleep so I'll sleep on the plane, don't want to drift off 'cuz waking up is a pain. Passport, tickets, wallet. Passport, tickets, wallet.

"Now stop that rhyming, and I mean it." "Anybody want a peanut?"

There's a lot of stuff I haven't done, especially for 2GQ. Eh. Medium.

John and I had a late brunch today at Tin Shed, then went to Retrospect so he could look at the ties there. Then, out of the blue, we went to the mall. Argh, the mall! Forever 21 so he could buy a Birthday present for his housemate, Patrick, who wears girls underwear and shirts. No luck, but he got him a flask at the 12th Ave Liquor store on Hawthorne. I tried on a green striped dress at Rave, and John said it looked hot with my Air Cast.

Work was hellish tonight, my heart wasn't in it and I broke the coffee carafe when I decided that it needed an extra good cleaning. I should know better by now than to go the extra mile. Mediocrity is the way of the world, my son. After work, at one, I went to Patrick's Birthday party, which was still hopping, and danced my behind off with the boys and Emily and Katy. Emily said that she'll have our business plan done by the time I get back.

I've had a lot of coffee tonight. I haven't pulled a real all-mightier* in a long time. On verra.

Alex said the internet isn't working at his house, so probably no entries for a while, friends. I'll have the trusty cell with me until London (Tuesday)--so call.

*So, spell check thinks that "mightier" is a good replacement for "nighter." I concur.

I guess I do.

I don't like to use titles, but happy shamrocking

I closed for the first time all by myself last night, and I must say that I did an excellent job. The proof will be in the pudding, though, as I will find out tonight. Why will I find out tonight? Because I am working until 1 am, and then hippety hopping on the plane to NYC at 7 am. Working tonight means I have a lot less time to pack and clean (I think one should clean whenever one is about to embark on a potentially fatal journey); working tonight means I'm missing two (2) parties: Greg, Cary, and Ethan's housewarming, and Patrick's Birthday.

I'm still deciding on my visit philosophy. I think I'm going to stay at Alex's the whole time, since he's letting me use his BMW. Score. Maybe I'll take a drive out to the beach, or to the old neighborhood. Maybe I'll call Sagheer, my next-door neighbor. But I will not go to Philadelphia--unless by some magical twist of fate I get accepted to U Penn today, then I will go.

Emily and Katy Awesome came into work last night, as did John's friend Jodie (Emily thought he was hot, and I think vice versa), as did Matt from next door. Matt from next door is an excellent tipper. I like that in a man. We talked about the various drug experiences we've had. I like that in a man . . . medium. Now that I'm getting older, seeing people in their mid-thirties still doing drugs weirds me out a bit, mainly because I don't want to be in my mid-thirties still doing drugs. Once in a while is ok, I guess, but not habitually.

I ran into Jona at Seaplane yesterday, and gave him my phone number to give to Steve--and I haven't seen Steve in forever, but apparently he runs a record label now. I wonder if Jona and Ritchie are still going out. I wonder if Badger King is on Steve's label. I knew I recognized him, but I couldn't place him, and even after he told me who he was, I only remembered that I knew him. We used to call each other brother and sister. That was our idea of a joke. Look at us now.

Time is tick tick ticking away as I prepare to return to the homeland, the fatherland, the birthplace of all things inherently Amy: Long Island. I have just begun to say that I'm from Long Island instead of saying New York. I switched to saying New York when I moved out West because most people don't immediately know where Long Island is, or they have these awful misconceptions about my amniotic environment. But now I relish in smashing the Long Island stereotypes by admitting, up-front, where I am from. Also, I think Dorothy Grambell, the creator of Cat and Girl has inspired me to accept the Long Island in me. Claire always makes an issue of how East Coast my behavior is--meaning that I'm initially rude to almost everyone I meet. I find it charming. Conversely, she is always shocked that I can strike up conversations with strangers who are much older than me, such as our adventure at the Hedge House with Pat, Cindy, and their six-month old Stephanie.

So, it's back to Long Island, back to my grandparents' old house that my brother took over after they died. The house is in New Hyde Park, two blocks from Queens. The only things within walking distance are the train station (LIRR), one mile, the drugstore Genovese and the grocery store Edwards, two blocks in the Old Navy shopping center, the Dress Barn, about a mile, and the Greek diner, five blocks. My great uncle's old house is about five blocks away, too. Alex said that there's a bar down the street that we can walk to, so I'm sure, I'm hoping, that me and the bro will go get wasted in a local dive.

The town I grew up in, Smithtown, is a forty-five minute drive (give or take 15 minutes) from the New Hyde Park house. Every time I've gone back to see it, to see the old tromping grounds--the Friendly's and Nick's Pizza and the Protestant Graveyard, I feel a bit nauseous. The house itself looks really nice, a lot nicer than when it was just me and mom and we didn't have the time or money to landscape or install new fancy-pants doors. Though we did take down a lot of walls and put new ones up. Frankly, a lot of stuff went down in that house that I'd rather forget about.

Well, in other news, I got into a Masters Program at U Chicago: Masters in Humanities. It's a year-long program. I don't know . . . I don't know if that's the path I want to take right now, but there are some cool tracks in the program: Film Studies, Writing, Classics, Language, Education. It's a relief to get in somewhere, and I don't know if I'm so into Comp Lit anymore. I'd rather be an anthropologist and scrutinize people. Find out how they're different.

Watched the Michel Gondry DVD last night--wasn't so much interested in the videos as the short films. We're a lot alike, Michel Gondry and I: we both make movies, we both drum, we both are obsessed with our childhoods.

It's especially difficult to write while listening to "Slave 4 U." Tonight I want to go out drinking, live it up before I leave town, enjoy my Saturday. Found a place with really cheap skateboards and should tell the boys about it. Going Restaurant Supply Shopping with Noah. More like scouting--we'll be scouting. I'm not at a point where I even know what we'll need. Called about a retail space on Division--already rented, but the guy was really nice and helpful about things. We have a lot of planning to do, but it seems to me that everything is contingent on everything else. And: How can I possibly open up a restaurant when I've never worked as a cook? It seems to me that we'll have to hire someone to be the cook--someone who knows what they're doing. Grar.

I found my passport. I have to pack. I want to bring as little as possible with me because I just know there'll be a lot of running around with packages and baggages etc.

So much to do.

Claire's in town. I'd forgotten how loud she breathes when she sleeps. It's comforting, rather, to know that she's alive. Watched most of Les Yeux Sans Visage last night at the boys' house with Emily and Katy before picking up Claire at PDX. The best parts of the movie were the extended shots of the Professor and the Chick Without a Face and the Pearl Necklace Lady walking leisurely up and down the mansion stairs. The circus soundtrack was pretty rawking, too. I found a new way to the airport--not faster, but different. Actually I know that I've gone that way before, but I didn't realize it as I was driving.

In other news, I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut. I told my boss and one of the waitresses who works next door about my dream about the guy who works next door. And I got teased. On the upside, I learned that he's a "great kisser," and that he doesn't have a pregnant girlfriend.

Amanda's in town, too, along with Asher. And Noah, and Lindsay's little sister is coming in from Eugene for Lindsay's Birthday on Sunday.

We spent most of the movie last night singing Billy Idol. John suggested that we just put it on repeat since the movie was subtitled. It's a catchy tune.

I'm no good at pretending to like people. I either do or I don't, and there's no real in between if I come into contact with them for more than thirty seconds. I can be polite, I can even be friendly, but I can't pretend to like them. This makes serving difficult at times.

Had a dream this morning about one of the guys who works next door. His pregnant girlfriend was so angry with me for making out with him that she kept calling me "The Hawthorne Waitress." Except that it felt more like she was saying "The Evil Temptress." I tried to get dressed surreptitiously,* but I couldn't find all of my layers. It felt like I would never be able to put all of my clothes back on.

When I was a bit less groggy it occurred* to me that I am not a Hawthorne waitress, but a Division waitress. Now the seed is planted in my head: maybe I should make out with the guy who works next door. Sure, he's older--I don't know how much older--but he can get me free beers.

Then it occurs to me that I should maybe stop seeing the world in terms of people to date.

*it turns out that I know how to spell surreptitiously but not occurred.

Last night was so slow that I spent a good half hour figuring out how to write Pix using the Connect Four board. It's not as easy as you might think. John started it, but couldn't figure it out. I watched him try twice, so I had the advantage of learning from his mistakes. As we're doing this primitive graphic design, Sarah comes out and scolds us for not working. "But Sarah," we say, "We are working--we're writing Pix with Connect Four." She accepted this as a valid use of our time. "Oh, I see it! Good job, guys." She also told me later that night that I am an "accountable worker." I think she misused the word, but it was still nice to hear.

A really adorable boy came in last night with his mom and maybe his brother. When I first saw him I thought, "Omigod, it's Jack Downey!" Jack Downey was the boy in High School that all the girls liked. He was beautiful, a free spirit, nice, funny, and did I say hot? He was. We also did Peer Counseling together. This guy had Jack Downey's eyes. Except that Jack had mis-matched eyebrows--he was half Chinese and half Irish, and my theory is that one of his eyebrows was Chinese and the other was Irish. It was one of those flaws that makes someone even more attractive. The boy at Pix had symetrical eyebrows. I lied to his table, too. They wanted to know why the Concord is called the Concord. I went back and asked Cheryl and she didn't know, so I made something up. "It's a traditional french dessert named after a fort (Fort Concord) that held up against the Russians during the Napoleanic wars, during the late 1700s. It's a commemorative dessert. Doesn't it look like a fort with it's meringue logs?" Part of that is true.

I left early and drew a comic before going to sleep. Today I am going to get my taxes done!

My favorite chapter in Anna Karenina is where Vronsky, Anna's illicit lover, goes through his personal finances. Paying four dollars, including tip, for a double soy latte made me think about that. What would my finance chapter read? It's always interesting to see how people spend their money. Ten dollars for brunch at Juniors, twenty dollars earmarked for gas, seventy-three dollars for renter's insurance, four dollars for video rental, five dollars for chicken tacos, sixty-five cents for a Diet Coke, one dollar for the jukebox, two dollars worth of tokens at Chuckee Cheese's, twelve dollars for pain medication, five dollars for American Spirits, six dollars for liquid eyeliner--all of this in the past 48 hours.

I was right about one thing: there was a limo for the work party. We went to a dive bar in Clackamas (The Pink Feather), Chuckee Cheese's, Navarre, Taqueria Nueve, and Chopsticks. We drank Deus, Arrogant Bastard, Chateau Bellevue, etc, in the limo out of champagne glasses. Our driver, Ron, was very friendly. I got very wasted, so did Lana and Greg. We didn't eat until nine, so we had four hours of drinking before dinner. I sat in front of my enchiladas thinking, "I can't eat this. I'm too drunk to eat this. But I need to eat something so I'm not so drunk." Drunk logic isn't always the best. I picked the chicken off of my plate. I drank a lot of water. It was a lot of fun, but the most fun was Skee Ball.

The worst part was when I got super jealous and called Lindsay to pick me up, but she didn't answer. I don't like being jealous, rationally or no. It's an ugly emotion and I'd rather run away from it. I did, it was easy to run away. But I was upset when I got home, and my ankle really hurt, so I took a whole vicodin. In retrospect, that wasn't the best idea. I slept well, though.

Brunch with Douglas was really interesting, mainly, I think, because we were both out of it, albeit for different reasons. But afterwards I got to listen to a bunch of music with him and Lisa: the earliest Fleetwood Mac, T-Rex, some Glam rock from 1972-1975.

I think that's all.

The pain is much more manageable this morning, although I woke up early, hungry, and all too aware of the various things I have to do today. Thank God for blueberry donuts! A guy just rode by with a broom in his bicycle--how handy! A bunch of Stumptown people came into work yesterday. I always feel a bit bizarre making cappucinos for them, but they are universally good tippers. And cute, too. Super exciting work mystery surprise party is today, and I think I'm going to wear my new outfit. When else will I have an occasion to show off my handi-work? It's going to be 70 degrees Fahrenheit today, and its already sunny and warm. I want Claire to move back to Portland and move in with me and Lindsay. I think she can be persuaded. Plus, I need her vocal talents for my new cover of The Procalimers "500 Miles." (note to self: finish that.) Steve from work got an I Saw U in the Mercury this week. That means that maybe one day I'll get an I Saw U. Steve and I had another one of our conversations about Love. "I think people just want someone to take care of their craziness," he said. "I have enough of my own craziness, thank you very much, without needing to worry about someone else's," I said.

Ironic snippet from my life: The only shoes that I can comfortably wear the Air Cast with are my skateboard shoes. Oh, Fate!

My conversation with John tonight:

A: So, are we cool?

J:Um, yeah. I wanted to bring it up, but I didn't know how to ask.

A: I think, 'So, are we cool?' was a good way.

J: Yeah. [pause] I think we're really good friends.

A: Totally.

Ah, the poetics of unrequited love and friendship.

In other news, this whole generic Vicodin thing is awesome. I don't feel much pain at all, and I like people more. Although it doesn't make me such a good typist.

Marian: I think that witty party invites are way overated. If they're not gonna come, no amount of wit will entice them otherwise. Just don't serve green beer, please.

Lindsay took me to the ER today. She took pictures with my camera phone (the best thing EVER) and it was a lot of fun. Seriously, I've almost always had a good time at the ER. I like nurses a lot, and my FNP was super funny. My ankle bone is NOT broken, and now I have a sexy AirCast. I have a lot to look forward to this week:

surpise work dinner/party

Claire

brunch with Douglas

serving brunch for Axis

taxes

maybe another business meeting.

Oh, and I got a prescription for Vicodin! I don't want to take it too much, but I imagine that I will if the pain continues at its present rate.

Last night Lindsay and I went to Navarre after she finished her umbrella project for RAW. The service was lousy--our waitress didn't seem to care about us so much. But the pumpkin fritters were amazing, and we had a special brussel sprout and apple dish. And they had Chateauneuf du Pape by the glass. Afterwards we went to the Lucky Lab for a beer with Noah and Sunny's friends. I got to talk to Drew. He's my favorite. We talked about DVD TV shows, and the infamous "Ass Penny" Upright Citizens Brigade episode. Then we went to Pix, and I had this revelation about my involvement in work. Not working for a couple of days allowed me to put the job in perspective. "Wow," I said, "I have been so caught up in this place." OK, maybe it wasn't that much of a revelation. It felt like one, though. I had the Andrew Rich Ice Wine. It's good.

I should take a shower before work. I feel greasy 'n' such. It's a beautiful day today. Spring is in the air, la dee da.

My cat often sounds like an axe-murderer. She's very sweet, though. Lindsay and Noah are getting coffee at Stumptown--and yes I put in an order for a double soy latte. I didn't wash my face before bed, so now I have mascara gobblety-gook in my eyes. My ear hurts slightly, and I'm generally congested. My ankle is happier today.

I watched "Thirteen" last night (ankle elevated) and cried. There was a lot in that movie that I related to. The mother in AA, the scampy older brother with a heart of gold, the wealthy workaholic divorced father with a new life. The other stuff in the movie, the whole going down the toilet towards drug dependency etc, that happened later in life--if at all--or to my brother. Of course, no one wrote a screenplay and became super famous. Not yet, anyway. That's part of the reason why when people raise their eyews at me when they found out I went to boarding school that I can't take them too seriously. Oh, enough self-pity. Then I watched "French & Saunders: Living in a Material World." Those ladies crack me up! Today I want to watch "Starsky and Hutch" and "Dogtown and z-Boys."

Going to Scrap.

[text from one-sided iChat]

16:12
wrar
wrar
wrar
?
sleepy monkey
evil no good fake burrito loving hack
wrar
wrar
wrar
accept this ichat!
accept it!
ne moquez pas de moi!
ooooooh
I am so angry
I will write until you answer
I have nothing else to do
ANSWER ME!
16:15
for the love of Mel Gibson, ANSWER ME!
{angry smiley}
inane "smiley"
gotcha!
{insert evil laugh}
I've smileyed you!
beware of my wrath
I have been reading "webcomics" all the live-long day.
There is no escape.
Oooh, now I'm all riled up.
It rained hard today.
ANSWER ME!

I got a new haircut and dye job at Salon En Vogue, and grar I paid too much, but I really wanted a change. My stylist's name was Mirage. Is there some sort of requirement that stylists have to have bizarre names? I'm feeling very unfunny right now, although I slept in my hipster scouts USA tee last night--and yes, I'm still wearing it. We had our first business meeting last night--the first real one, and I took notes, and we drank and decided on a theme: Mid-West.

The ankle is feeling better. I'm sure that I'll be ready to party again on Sunday.

"I'm not IN love"

Another day. Another soy latte. Except that this morning I said mocha. I corrected myself, so don't worry. It was nice not working last night. I saw "Bad Santa" with Shauna and read "Small Business for Dummies." Not the whole thing, but a bit. I'm excited for Marian's new blog

Crabs-n-Skulls

. I spilled the soy latte on myself and computer. Everyone's ok. I think I'm going to need to get over my new donut obsession. And maybe my new web comics obsession. Ooh, it got all sunny out! I'm not working again until Sunday because I don't want to press my luck. Big money, big money, no whammies, Stop!

Watched Leno last night. Kevin Nealon was in Aspen with Hank Azaria. Carmen Electra said "symetrosexual." I think that is going to be a requirement for any new boyfriends. I don't know what it means, exactly, but that's cool. Act cool. Be cool. Phew, glad that's over with.

My poor little ankle is angry with me. I woke up this morning all swollen and blue. Heeding the lesson that I learned from Marian's ankle-adventure, I called in sick tonight. I can't imagine washing dishes and schleping them around for 6 hours on this ankle. Also, I'm supposed to have band practice today, but I haven't even listened to the songs I'm supposed to know. I am a bad, bad band member. I know I have to stay off my feet for a while, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I think I'll do some more small business research, or maybe write a song, or watch a movie. I played the infamous mix tape at work last night and got a whole slew of compliments from strangers and coworkers about it. I guess maybe there's something universally appreciated about broken heart music.

The cramps are back. Another baby-free month for me. Good job. I woke up this morning to a pound pound pounding on my door. Cried the lady: "Is that your grey station wagon parked in front of my driveway?"
*rubbing eyes, looking at cute baby* "No."
*look of disbelief* "I just assumed it was yours."
"No, it's not ours."
"Oh. Sorry."
What the fuck does she mean she assumed it belonged to us? Because we're the youngest people on the block, we don't understand what driveways are for. "Driveways," we ask. "Are those like 8-tracks?" "What are these shiny round things with that hole in the middle?" Grar.

My favorite dog is here. Talked to mom last night and wanted to shoot myself. "How can you NOT get into graduate school? It doesn't make any sense. What do you mean you want to start a business? I would like you to get, at least, your Masters. Who are these people you want to start this business with? Where are you going to get the money? You're going to sell what?!" I couldn't even begin to tell her about the recent heartbreak. "Why aren't you still with Shauna? Why aren't you a Lesbian? Who is this guy, he must be an idiot!"

I learn how to close tonight. That means various things. I'll get a key. That's a big step. I'll be working with Sarah most of the night. A bit more money. After this week it'll be just me and John on Tuesdays. Hopefully it won't be weird.

Last night, after dinner, I made Kahlua Coffee Brownies. Then I got the idea to make BFK Coffee Brownies. Then Lindsay and I came up with a whole slew of ideas involving drinks and dessert. Rum and Coca Cola Cake. Key Lime Cuba Libre. Tequila Sunrise Sorbet. Any ideas anyone?

Countdown to New York: 16 days. Countdown to London: 22 days! I've been missing Claire and Marian especially lately. Countdown until Claire comes for the visit: 9 days. Countdown to Lindsay's Birthday: 12 days.

Everything's coming up roses, I guess.

New idea for cover song: Rebel Yell.

dinner tonight:
Asparagus and fennel, sauteed with toasted cumin seeds, garlic, and chopped tamari almonds
Mashed Creamer potatoes with milk and butter
Leg of Lamb
Sometimes I can't stand talking to mom. Woke up after a long nap and made a mix tape for the crush. Chances that he'll get it: slim.