Yea. Hey. What? So I sort of wrote this thing. I can't call it a poem because it has rhyming lines and I abhor rhyming poetry. So, I think I'll just say I wrote part of a song. Yea. I'm gonna call it...Hmm...*shakes foot around*...Oh, I know..."Hot Lava Mama"..isn't that stupid as hell? Here is my "song":

lying with my hair in the dirt

you above me, pushing up my skirt

we're hot next to the lava beds

the sun filtered on our heads

The trees watch us sigh

under a pine cone sky

First it's fast and then it's slow

a bug on my toe and it's time to go

Super Sexy, isn't it? Ha! So, I'm looking for jobs and walking around Island Park with my mom and trying to eat less and we're trying to decide whether Larry is going to buy this house and kick all the roomies out (Mom said she'd live downstairs for awhile and pay half the rent) or whether we want to just all find our own place together. We drove around Eugene looking at some houses for rent and most of them were dumps. Looking at those houses made me realize that we actually have a pretty fucking cool house (and deck!) even if it is in Springtucky!

do the jerk * do the frug