I think I fucked up a brace on an ice cream cone. I can't stop singing a medley of A Whole New World/I Just Can't Wait to be King/A Pirate's Life for Me. I've been surrounded by about four thousand million people not only all day, but for the past three weeks.
I really would like to, you know, BLOG but I never think of it until 10 PM when my phone starts blaring Poison Ivy to alert me to "blog or diiie" and by then, I'm not near a computer.
I'm happy, good, and full of words, as per usual, but since I'm on my Blackberry I'll leave you with this: EXCUSE ME, SIR. PIRATES!!!
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ahahahah YOU REALLY ARE NOT. i have an alarm set to that lovely tune you know so well for waking you up at 8 AM every morning: "EVERYBODY GETS THE ITCH, EVERYBODY HATES THAT--"
but yeah, then you text me "BLOGSPOT." ily
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