which makes it just like every other day, save the lost cat and the fact that it's all punctuated by curiously feeling like shit, despite taking all actions to prevent said feeling.
the house has been named. skeletech. like skeletons who run a call center. we all need to get id badges. on lanyards. and peel all the meat off our stupid bones and be skeletons. it'd be easier. and vegan.
yesterday i found a green one that someone threw out with the garbage. i was delighted. after conference with mogli, it was decided that money found in a most punk way must be spent as such. with no regard for personal integrity or financial obligations.
REAL SMOKES! and four Faxe10. and the satisfaction of finding a green one permeating the entire experience. i think i laughed too hard and for too long, and that's why i felt this morning that i had been stricken with a case of dysentery. or something equally unpleasant...
however, the facts still stand:
i woke up sleeping on two cushions from the couch on my floor with three loaves of french bread and some bagels. one half of a cure poster, a pocket full of butts and a zine about someone's trip to moncton and a booklet on sexuality intended for male-bodied persons. and a jar of peanut butter that was inscribed with a fountain pen in typeface not unlike the one featured in "Shakespeare in Love" which read:
Dear The Flood House,
I Stole your mo' fuckin' Peanut Butter.
For this I am Sorry.
-Rachelle
P.S. I am keeping this.
in other words, GREAT SUCCESS!
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