No Cool Points

I just realized that it is impossible for me to ever be cool again.

Never.

I downloaded several Bryan Adams songs, and not only am I playing them, but I know every word.

I got my sense of humor back in time for me to laugh at myself. Spiffy. Oh well, at least it wasn't Lindsay Lohan or something. Even I have standards.



I was woken up around 1 by bangings downstairs that were loud enough to get me to put my pants on and go check it out. I know, I've seen that movie, but I wanted to know why the fuck there were crazy noises coming from the living room. I got down there, all the lights are on and my aunt is nowhere in sight, and the front door is unlocked. My sleep-addled mind started processing my horror movie trivia and then I realized she was just down in the basement, looking at our books and the noises were her banging up and down the basement steps. Jason was not swinging his machete in my dining room, decapitating our candles. Nor was Leatherface defacing our couches with his trusty chainsaw.

Oops. Overreaction. My bad.

Ok, I need to fall asleep again, the AM is going to come fast, and my day is going to chock full of spending too much time in a hot kitchen, eating too much cheese and crackers and probably burning myself at least twice on two different hot surfaces.