Two words...

Land Shark...

Watch more IFILM videos on AOL Video

Doggie Fun

So, through my (Puddles) other blog, I have made many a friend in the blogosphere :) Courtesy of Busted, I found the funny I Can Has Cheezburger site, where pictures of playful kitties get funny captions (obviously, by the site name, the kitties are on a quest for cheeseburgers).

But I'm really more of a dog person. And so is Dori. And I don't know if she's ever seen this website or not, but... ((drumroll please))..........................................................................................

Introducing some cuteness and fun from I Has a Hotdog, where pictures of playful DOGGIES who lust after hot dogs get funny captions. Woohoo!!

Disclaimer: Never mind the bad grammar, that's part of the fun. It irked me in the beginning, as I'm sure it will Dori, but that's because we love to write and have appreciation for proper grammar. But proper grammar does not have a place with the cutest "goggies" on earth.

Without further ado, witness the adorableness that is the Golden Retriever, my favorite breed:


My Dixie used to make that face and it KILLED me! So sad. So sweet. I want to hug this puppy. Awww....

see more puppies

Haha...


see more puppies


And now, a bit of Dori's favorite breed, the delightful Dalmatian:


Poor puppy... mean kitty.


see more puppies


Haha I saw this one and thought of Ricky from "I Love Lucy":
"Loooooooocy? 'Splain."


see more puppies


So there you go! I ♥ I Has a Hotdog... I make it a point to check in on the cute doggies - er, goggies - all the time!

Like this one:

see more puppies

And this one, who, BTW, would SO be Dori's dog, if Dori's dog were a Bulldog instead of a Dalmatian:

see more puppies

And this one (LOL):

see more puppies


And I could go on, and on, and on.... But go check it out for yourself! :)

MINI Cooper Watch... and other car dreams (yes, girls have them too!)

I don't remember exactly where we were when she brought it up, but I was driving, and therefore we were in the car, a few months ago and Dori spotted a MINI Cooper. For those of you who don't know, Dori fell in love with MINI Coopers when they rolled off the assembly line with their fresh new look in the early 2000's, and ever since then, she has vowed that someday she will own one...

Anyway, back to the story. Dori has a friend (at the moment, I'm drawing a blank as to who it is) that keeps her eyes peeled for MINI Coopers along her daily drives. She keeps a mental tally of the number of MINIs she sees on the road during her day, and doesn't consider it a "good" day unless she sees a minimum of five MINIs during the day. Dori has jumped on the bandwagon. I don't know that her magic number is also five, but I do know that she too keeps an eye out for MINIs while she's behind the wheel.

At first, I thought it was silly. I mean, after all, who would want to be on the lookout for such a teeny little dink-mobile? And with such a silly-looking interior? See what I mean? Look at that big goofy gauge smack in the center of the dashboard. Not to mention that the entire interior just looks small. And Dori is a pretty tall girl. I made a crack once that she'd have to buy a convertible MINI and drive with the top down just to fit in the little matchbox.

But then I gave some thought to Dori's MINI dream, and I realized, that back in the day, the sight of this very car used to make me ridiculously happy. I dreamed of owning one one day. Whenever my dad and I were in the car together, we would always be on the lookout for them....

Yep, that beautiful hunk of metal is a 1997 Ford Thunderbird LX. And back when I was supposed to start driving in 1998 and be licensed in 1999, that baby was the car of my dreams. What a beautiful, aerodynamic vehicle (lol...every time I see the word 'aerodynamic' I think of Mater from Cars: "I am a preee-cision instrument of speed and aeromatics!")

I must have been crazy for wanting a Ford car so bad. We'd had two of them while I was little... a 1987 Tempo and a 1989 Taurus... and they were complete and total craptastic pieces of flaming hot shit. But Dad was a die-hard "Ford Man." He'd grown up with Fords (and a Lincoln... still a Ford under the hood, I suppose). I guess Ford cars were actually decent pieces of machinery in the sixties, which is more than what we can say for what they were in the eighties. Looking back on it, some of my earliest childhood memories were having the Tempo towed back to Person Ford AGAIN, renting ANOTHER P.O.S. Escort to pass the time while the Tempo was in the shop, and Mom always yelling at Dad that she wanted a reliable car, a freakin' Toyota, dammit. But Dad had another thing going for him. His entire fleet (yep, back then he actually had 7) of worktrucks were Fords. And they were work horses (Random Trivia: the trucks ranged in model years from 1964 to 1987... one was a 'late'70's or early '80's van. The '64 fully loaded worktruck was my favorite as a kid). At the time, as far as Dad was concerned, Mom was only allowed to lust after Fords - there would be no Toyotas or Hondas in his driveway, because he would only buy a Ford - even though she was on her third Toyota when she married him.

After the Taurus died for the last time in 1993, they bought a used 1989 Dodge Caravan, which was cool for a couple of years, but in the end it also turned out to be a flaming hot pile of shit. It had some electrical short that caused it to die out any time Mom took her foot off the gas. Seeing that I was a complete wuss about car issues, and my brother was about three years old at the time, Mom told Dad she'd had enough of the van dying in the middle of intersections and having to fight to get it started again and then coax it over to the side of the road while trying to calm two freaked-out kids. Dad finally caved and we got our first Honda in 1995. The rest is history.

But anyway, back in my dreaming days, Dad thought the T-Bird I lusted after was a pretty nice machine, too, and even though we both knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of me getting a car at sixteen, let alone a two year old T-Bird, we spent lots of time dreaming up what we'd do to my sweet-ass ride... we'd chrome it out, smack a spoiler on it, paint it black.... it'd be one hot ride. Meanwhile, Dad drooled over this:

Ohhhh yeahhhh. That bad boy is a 1965 Ford Mustang fastback. Dad learned to drive in my grandpa's '67 fastback (he also got his first ticket in that car). But the car of his dreams was a '65 fastback, NOT a '67 , and I quickly learned to differentiate the two by noting that the '65 fastbacks have 5 vents in the back and the'67 fastbacks have 7. Five vents do look better, in our opinion. Seven vents are silly. Seven vents are overdoing it. That thing, that V-8, '65 fastback Pony, is pretty damn hot, even 43 years after its day.

And so, perhaps Dori's MINI Cooper watch isn't so silly. And even though it's Dori's dream and not mine to own one of those little doodlebugs one day, I still smile when I see one on the road. Lately, I've even found myself keeping a mental tally to see how many I see in a day. Five is my magic number, too. But I don't want a MINI Cooper. It's just... who could catch a glimpse of this royal British cuteness and not smile?

I'm having homicidal thoughts and I want to blow up the fish tank.

First, let's clarify, because I (Puddles) have discussed many tanks on this blog: today, for the most part, when I refer to the fish tank, I am talking about the work tank.

I want to blow up the fish tank. I want to strategically place sticks of T.N.T. throughout the tank so that when they explode, I can see an aesthetically pleasing mosaic of sand, castle bits, shell shards, seaweed chunks, treasure chest parts, and hunks of rock. I want to create mass bubbles with the explosion. And I want the explosion to swallow up every sorry sucker I work with.

The cod is, as usual, coddish. Nothing new there.

But let's talk about some of the other idiots I work with. I need to name a couple. I googled "Ugly Fish" and it returned the species Monkfish. So we'll call the next guy Monkfish. Monkfish thinks I work for him and only him. He comes up to me with stupid, inane, retarded, asinine requests and demands all day long. "Fix my computer." (What do I look like, a member of Geek Squad?) "Why isn't corporate mailing my paystubs to my house?" (How should I know, am I corporate?) "Why are you using the copier right now?" (Uh, because I need to. Do you need to use the copier? I didn't think so. Why are you talking? You're taking up my oxygen. Swim away.) "How come you work at everyone's desks instead of at your own all day long?" (Maybe because I'm everyone's BITCH.) Let's try this on for size, Monkfish... you're the "Field Supervisor." Why the fuck aren't you out in the FIELD? Monkfish is about 71 years old and needs to retire already. He basically annoys the fucking SHIT out of me. Pretty much everyone ((except the cod, because misery loves company and therefore Cod and Monkfish are friends)) wonders what the Monkfish does all day and what his purpose in the tank is. He took a day off last week because he had a colonoscopy and for some unknown reason, he felt he had to share all the details the day after ((I had a transvaginal ultrasound today... wonder how HE would feel if I shared the details of THAT tomorrow?!)).

I feel a little better.

Now I need to bitch about my assistant fish. I did a little more Googling. Let's call her Hagfish. Hagfish completely lacks initiative. I gave her a project a week ago. She just barely finished it today. It was related to BILLING. Hello - that wasn't important or anything. It takes her a week to do what I can do in four hours. She has no sense of urgency. She doesn't know how to prioritize. She can't file. I spent 30 minutes cleaning up one of her "filing" messes yesterday because I was so pissed off that it was easier and more humane to fix the mess myself than to spew brain parts all over her trying to explain to her how she should fix it. Here's what I don't understand: I am 24. Hagfish is my mother's age. She worked for our sponsoring company for THIRTY YEARS before she came to work for us. What is her problem? Is she lazy? Tired? Does she not care? What is her deal?

I feel a little better.

Finally, a rant about the guppies that populate the tank... collectively, they have about as many brains as the pigeons in "Nemo." Today we ran out of water. This doesn't normally happen. Usually the Sparkletts guy comes and replenishes our supply before we COMPLETELY run out of water, but not today. Today we were out of water for approximately two hours. Note that I sit in a reception area and the water cooler is about 10 feet away from my desk. This is how those two waterless hours went:

Guppy A (stares blankly at empty water jug): "Oh. We have no water. Puddles, we have no water."
Me: "OK. Hopefully the Sparkletts guy should be here soon."

Ten minutes later....

Guppy B (jiggles empty water jug): "Wow, we're out of water! That sucks."
Me: "Yep."

Seven minutes later....

Guppy C (taps empty water jug): "Oh. No water. We're all out of water."
Me (not knowing when the Sparkletts guy will actually be here): "Don't worry. The Sparkletts guy should be here anytime."

Fifteen minutes later...

Guppy D: "Hey Puddles, we're out of water."
Me (internally): "No shit, Sherlock."

Five minutes later...

Guppy E (trickles last drops of water out of water reservoir): "Well, there goes the water."
Me (internally): "Fuck off."

Get the idea? And so it goes, for almost two hours. There is a wise old guy at work who has taught me everything I know. Let's call him Bass. Bass is a sweet old codger who can be a real fucking smartass. He could see I was getting irritated with the water thing... and, he changes my name almost every day... as he was walking out the door to lunch, I said to him, "If one more person points out that we're out of water..."

He smiled sweetly and said:

"Hey, Esmeralda, just in case you didn't know, we're out of water."

Fuck you, Bass. Fuck you.

Guppy A actually returns before the Sparkletts guy comes to stare longlingly at the empty water jug. "Puddles," he whines, "there still is no water."

What do I look like, the fucking Sparkletts guy? Fuck off, Guppy A.

When the poor, unsuspecting, smiling Sparkletts guy FINALLY comes, I tell him, "Man, am I glad to see you! Please put a jug on the cooler RIGHT AWAY."

He does.

Guppy A promptly comes and drinks at least one of the five gallons the jug holds. Fucking Guppy A.

Ahhh. I feel better. That's all for tonight. More to come later.

Taylor Whores of the world, unite and declare your Taylor-Whoreness.

OK, so, after a post title that only Dori will understand, an explanation is in order:

Explanation:
Once upon a time (it was a Friday night in August of 2006, if you're looking for specifics), two best friends (that would be me and Dori) went to an intimate little venue (the Whisky A Go-Go in Hollywood) to see an up and coming country star (Sir Hotness himself, Mr. Jack Ingram) perform. I (Puddles) had just quit my job and had no money whatsoever, but Dori, being the awesome best friend that she is, told me that she pretty much HAD to see Jack Ingram, and that she would cover the cost of my ticket and the two-drink minimum and I could pay her back later. I have a citsatnaf best friend. I really do.

So the two best friends get there and head straight for the bar. Puddles is just getting over a migraine complete with an attack of vertigo, so while Dori grabs a beer, Puddles opts for a 7-UP. Now, off to find somewhere to sit. There were little tables available in the balcony, but out on the floor it was standing-room-only. So the two best friends linked arms and shoved their way to the front of the room in an effort to get as close to the stage as possible, so that when Sir Hotness came on, they could be close enough to drool on Mr. Jack's shoe (OK, so we weren't really THAT close, but close enough).

Only Sir Hotness didn't take the stage first. First out on the stage was a little unknown guy named Travis Howard, who penned Miranda Lambert's "I Can't Be Bothered" from her album "Kerosene" (Puddles sang all the words). Travis was actually a pretty cool guy. He sang a few songs and left the stage promptly. The crowd applauded and anxiously awaited the arrival of Sir Hotness himself.

Only Sir Hotness didn't take the stage second, either. Nope. Next up on the stage is a little twit who couldn't possibly be more than eighteen, complete with a long, curly, blonde rat's nest, a shredded dress, and cowboy boots that looked like they had been beat to shit. Puddles takes one look at the girl and thinks, "WTF?!"

The emcee belts out: "Please welcome... Tayllllorrrrrrrrrrr Swifffffftt!"

Girl starts picking at her guitar, and singing - no - RAPPING:

"His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready..."

She stops midsentence. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did y'all come here to hear some country music?"

The crowd goes wild. Literally.

Puddles groans. Seriously?! That girl just came out and opened a COUNTRY set with Eminem's "Lose Yourself" and now she thinks she's going to win me over by spewing some cheese? "Oh, I'm sorry. Did y'all come here to...."

Bite me, you fuzzy blonde wannabe. Go home. Boo!

I wish I would have gotten a beer.

Dori says: "She's clever, I'll give her that."

Whatever.

Fuzzy blonde girl sings a few songs... "Tim McGraw," "Picture to Burn," and one or two more that I can't remember right now. I felt like I was watching her whole set with my jaw on the floor. I was flabbergasted. What was this thing? She sat there and whined about how “When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me…” and then she hopped around the stage screaming about how she hates “that stupid old pick up truck” and really, she calls that MUSIC? How could Sir Jack ALLOW her to open for him? Good grief.

She closes the set. I cheer. Not because I thought she was good, but because she will FINALLY be getting off of Sir Jack's stage. At the end of her set, she says, "Thank you!! Thank you, L.A.!! If y'all liked my music, y'all need to call KZLA and tell 'em y'all wanna hear my songs!"

I look at Dori like, there's no fucking way.

Dori looks at me like, eh...maybe.

Fuzzy blonde girl comes down off of the stage and stands.... RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

OK, so she was a little in front of Dori, too, but come on! This tall girl in the shredded dress with the beat-up boots and the ratty hair is blocking my view of Sir Hotness himself!

Move, bitch!

OK, that's what I want to say, but I don't. I just spend the majority of the show glaring DAGGERS into fuzzy blonde girl's neck and thinking about how I could hock monster loogies into her rat's nest and she'd NEVER find them.

The whole way home, the fact that Sir Hotness was freakin’ AWESOME is lost on me (and Dori) because we’re both so busy bitching about fuzzy blonde girl. And when we get back to Dori’s house, M.O.M. (who skipped the gig ‘cause she wasn’t feeling well) is sitting up waiting to hear about how great Jack was, and really, all we can do is bitch about that sixteen year old fuzzy blonde twerp who hopped around the stage and then stood in front of us during Jack’s set.

Ugh.

And I never called KZLA to request her music. But Dori… I wouldn’t put it past her. LOL.

A couple months after that concert, Dori calls me to tell me she bought a new CD. “You’ll never guess who the artist is,” she says, and she’s right. I never would have guessed.

“You’re a Taylor Whore,” I say. “Ewwww.”

Flash forward a couple of after that, and Dori, M.O.M., and I are driving to a Dixie Chicks concert (my birthday present from Dori… again, I have an AMAZING best friend) and Dori pops a CD in my CD player… and it’s none other than…

FUZZY BLONDE GIRL.

And just as I’m about to eject the CD, toss it out the window, and let the first car that comes by rip it to shreds, Dori says, “WAIT!!!”

“What?” I ask, glaring.

“She wrote – or co-wrote – a lot of the songs.”

This gets me. Dori knew it would. We’ve had many a conversation over the years about singers who are wonderful, amazing, fantastic singers, but they are wonderfully, amazingly, fantastically, singing someone else’s words.

Dori just told me that this little sixteen year old twit is - almost always - singing her own words. Damn it.

The CD stays in. I sing along. Smiling, Dori links arms with me and asks, “Who’s the Taylor Whore now, bitch?”

Flash forward to September 2008…

My name is Puddles, and I am a Taylor Whore.

I love Taylor’s new song, “Love Story,” which she penned entirely on her own. I have every intention of buying her new CD when it comes out in November. I love watching her on awards shows and music festivals and seeing how she has matured from that fuzzy blonde girl into a pretty blonde young woman who genuinely loves her fans and hasn’t forgotten where she came from. I love that I was watching Grey’s Anatomy the other night thinking, “That’s Taylor singing that song!” The pride I felt… I can’t explain. (It’s not quite the same feeling I had when I heard Anna Nalick’s “Breathe (2 AM)” on Grey’s, but it’s prettydamnclose). I was checking out Taylor’s MySpace page today and just had to share a couple things I found (to add to why I’m a Taylor Whore…LOL):
____________________________________________________________________
Taylor's Blog Entry 09/25/08:
Once upon a time there was a girl. She was born in 1989 and was bald until she was like two. Then she got a blonde afro. As a kid, she liked doing school projects and didn't have that many friends. She hung out with her mom a lot. And her cat. Then she started writing songs about all those awesome rejected feelings and blah blah blah..one thing led to another, and she went on tour. Then a show came out called Grey's Anatomy. It came out the same time her world was starting to change. Every time she would feel alone or stressed out, she would watch Grey's Anatomy. Soon she just started to refer to it as "her show" and got all the seasons on DVD as soon as they came out and played them on repeat in the bus and downloaded every song that was EVER on Grey's Anatomy episodes, and decided that one day she was inevitably going to name one of her future daughters Izzie. When Denny died in season 3, she couldn't stop crying for days and it was borderline embarrassing. Anyway, so this show became her favorite thing ever and she watched it obsessively for years and years. And then one day, she got a call-- and she found out that one of HER songs that SHE wrote............. was going to be played on THE SEASON PREMIERE of her FAVORITE SHOW (possibly the BEST show EVER CREATED).. Grey's Anatomy. And she started jumping up and down and started hugging people she didn't know in the hotel lobby and sobbing hysterically-- again, borderline embarrassing. And it was the best day ever. And then she blogged about it and hopes that you don't think she's weird for obsessing over a TV show so much. The End.
____________________________________________________________________
See how down to earth this girl is? This is one of the reasons Dori and I are Taylor Whores. Who couldn’t love such a normal girl?

And then, random selections from her “About Me” (along with some Puddles-commentary)…
____________________________________________________________________

**I'm not a big deal. At all. ((Haha, Taylor, you never would have known that to see you that night at the Whisky A Go-Go in August of 2006))

**I love people who are nice to me, I've never been one to say things like "All you people think you know me, well you don't".

**Because I'm not that complicated. My complications come out in my songs. All you need to do to be my friend is like me. ((OK, Dori and I are your BEST friends, then!))

**My middle name is Alison. ((Purrrty!! We’re so glad you were born before people started naming their kids Pilot and Apple))

**And I'm extremely tall. Like, I'm that really tall person that is blocking your view at a concert. On behalf of all of us, we're sorry. ((Yes, we know. We had firsthand experience with this. Apology accepted.))

**My ideal outfit is a sun dress and cowboy boots. ((We know this too. Only, what’s the deal with running the dress through a weed-whacker first?))

**I love surprises and hardwood floors.

**I like people who are excitable. I think it's endearing when people cry when they're happy. I'm pretty excitable too.

**I've never been the kind of girl who needs a boyfriend. Plus, guys don't ask me out because they know I'll write songs about them. ((LMAO))

**But I'm also the girl who still believes prince charming exists somewhere out there-- fully equipped with great hair and an immature sense of humor.

**I wear too many bracelets and I can't concentrate on the conversation if the TV's on.

**I grew up on a Christmas tree farm. Seriously. ((this is how we know Grey’s is your favorite show. It’s ours too. Seriously.))

**I'm fascinated by black and white pictures, I have them hung up everywhere.

**I like people who can be sarcastic and laugh about tense situations. ((Dude, we’re gonna get along GREAT!!))

**I never assume someone's not being honest with me. ((um… ouch?))

**I like to read up on weird medical problems, so if one of my friends ever complains of a headache or stomach ache, I'm probably going to spout off 12 different things that could be wrong with them. Because I'm way paranoid. ((HAHA. Wait ‘til you meet me and Dori’s mom!))

**I think Keri Russell and Ellen DeGeneres are the coolest celebrities ever. ((WE LOVE KERI RUSSELL!!))

**I don't like making decisions when I don't have to. So right now my toenails are painted 5 different colors. ((LMAO))

**I will never straighten my hair to impress a guy ever again.

**I need everything to be organized. All the time. ((Um, OK. That’s not normal, sweetie.))

**I think little kids are awesome. ((We do too!!))

**I'm a thinker and an over-analyzer. I'm not jaded.

**I'm a fan of fans. You are absolutely wonderful to me. I've got your back, just like you've had mine. To anyone who has gone out and bought my CD, or come to a show, or even turned my song up when it came on the radio, all I can say is thank you. ((You’re welcome! We love you!))

**Oh yeah.. My name's Taylor. ((Wooooooooooooooo!!))
____________________________________________________________________

NOTE: I didn't sneak in any comments about Taylor's blog entry, but here's one: I almost PEED when I read she wants to name a future daughter Izzie, because I was sitting around Thursday night trying to figure out how I could name a future daughter Meredith. Seriously.



Fuzzy Blonde Girl, I'm sorry for all the crap I ever talked about you. Seriously. I love you. <3

List of things I want to do before I die... by: Puddles

Not getting any younger, so I figure now is as good of a time as any to post this ridiculous list.

Items are in no particular order. Here we go:

** Get ((at least)) a Bachelor's Degree in SOMETHING.

** Repair my credit.

** Pull off an April Fool's joke better than "Mom/Dad, I'm pregnant."

** Have a puppy ((Anyone can get a dog.. I want to raise a puppy)).

** When puppy is of appropriate age, breed puppy ((by then, doggie)) to produce litter of puppies. Funness!

** Watch Dori bobsled in the winter olympics.

** Find a man fish who will hold me the way Dr. Pomatter held Jenna in WAITRESS.

** Marry that man fish. Then, shatter a statistic and actually STAY married to him.

** Have several fish babies with said man-fish.

** Be pregnant at the same time as Dori at least once ((preferably living in close proximity to each other during said pregnancy... don't all best friends dream of being pregnant at the same time and having kids the same age?))

** Adopt a fish baby or two.

** Be a foster parent.

** Become physically fit enough so that I can be a runner, and...

** Get down to a size 12.

** Love myself even if I don't get down to a size 12.

** Learn to play the piano (again).

** Let go of a grudge.

** Be a Big Sister ((I'm working on that one.))

** Become independently wealthy, so that I can...

** Tell the shark, the cod, and any other asshole bosses exactly what I think of their royal
assholeness.

**Have a firm, concrete, unwavering belief in something bigger than myself ((preferably God)).

**Pursue a meaningful relationship with said 'something bigger' ((preferably God)).

** Have fruit trees.

** Grow a vegetable garden.

** Become a fabulous cook. Not chef-status, but just fabulous enough so that handsome husband fish doesn't have to LIE when he tells me dinner tastes good.

** Walk for breast cancer.

** Get a tattoo.

** Own a truck.

** Maintain my loyalty to Honda ((as long as Honda keeps putting out amazing cars)).

** At some point, lease a smaller-model Mercedes or BMW for a short time, just because I can ((I think the larger models are ridiculous-looking... the smaller models such as the BMW 3-series or the Mercedes C-class are stylish without being in-your-face obnoxious. And definitely lease because they're too expensive to own)).

** Become a "dog person" ((like a "cat person," only with my favorite breeds of dogs. This means owning a Golden Retriever, a Beagle, a Cocker Spaniel, a German Shepherd, a Dachshund, a Collie, a Bassett Hound, and a Weimaraner all at the same time... Don't worry, I'll have a huge yard and they won't be caged.))

**Pay it forward.

** See a play on Broadway.

** Own a home. Then...

** Own a summer home.

** Read the Bible from cover to cover.

** Be financially stable enough to put my kids through college.

** Then, still be financially stable enough to have money left to leave them when I die.

** Learn to drive stick.

** Go to Spain and see firsthand all of Papa Fish's family history that supposedly exists.

** Get out of this godforsaken town.

** Live somewhere cold ((Michigan? Wisconsin? Washington? Montana?).

** Get drunk and be somebody.

Rainbow...

Yes, I have become a Daylight Diva....bite me bitches.... hahahahaha...check out that list of contact...raise it up, Yo!!!!

So I'm pathetic...get over it.... :-D