Love, absolutely love, Lily Allen

It's Not Me, It's You album by Lily Allen
Track 8
Less about the commentary, as I really don't care anymore (it is old news now, let old presidents lie) and maybe never did as I always skipped the Pink song, "Dear Mr. President" as it seemed a little slow and folky and I like her other stuff better. I am the liberalist Liberal I know, and I really know very, very few liberals, so I do not know what that says.
Anyway, track 8 is catchy and it makes me laugh and I made the mistake of listening to it in my rental car with my son and he got very angry at me when I tried skipping it. His ears thankfully hear her saying, "You're cute" and he states it is a very nice song, very jaunty. He has not heard it since that day as I now know track 8 is a bit more directly vulgar than track 3, "Not Fair" which is his real favorite with its twangy country (which I 'hate' as I am not a country music person) which is also surreally vulgar but way over his head.
Either way he has not heard the album but once (or thrice), and he as a 5 year old consumer and expert on fine music to listen or dance to heartily recommends Lily Allen's newest CD to all, young and old.
He also requests, I,"turn it up" when hearing Pink sing about getting in a fight and not paying her ex's bills.

Law of sand

I swore to myself that I would never ever put my son's face on this site, or my own for that matter as this site was not what that was for, but I need a little happiness today.
I found out that at 38 years old, my family (a fraction of them) believe I sold my washing machine to make room for candy and cookie storage (meaning I do not wash clothes or bedsheets, meaning my son wears nothing but unwashed clothes and sleeps in nothing but unwashed sheets, meaning he looks neglectedand smells stinky and I have brain damage).

This picture is totally unrelated, it is just of a happy moment he and I had on our worst day in Hawaii. I hope he never remembers this day, or at least what happened soon after this photo was taken.
I, unfortunately, will remember it until the day I die.
I rarely get my picture taken but on those odd times I do, there is always a story that exists to some abominable darkness hidden out of frame. I would gladly have all copies of my senior picture burnt or destroyed beyond all repair.
...Perhaps when I am wealthy and have the money, I will pay my graduating class to remove my photo from the yearbook.

Never ask me the stories, I will never tell.
I am seriously trying to forget, sheesh, move on!

the unfinished 9inth of Marchinth

I am working on this, so this is not done, but if I do finish, I do not know if i will come back and post it. Did I put enough commas in that?

It is not going the way I visualized it and because I never really visualized it, I just started throwing down... I can honestly say it will never be what I (non-existantly) thought it would come to look like. Ink drys too fast, or I work too slow (between running to see what my son is calling to show me on tv that he just saw in a commercial, and inappropriately yelling at him that I hear that they have a new HotWheels playset and no I do not need to see for myself as I saw it last an hour ago and why don't you get your own water as I am trying to do my homework/drawing and I need to do this please and thus making him cry as he only wanted to show me the commercial because he was told his birthday is three months away and he would like to let me know what he fancies and be able to make an informed choice thus cutting the meandering down in the store as he knows my lunch hour is only an hour and not an hour and fifty, or forty but one hour and water is good for him and he'd get it but I am closer to the fridge and he still has problems opening the bottles and he does not want some loaded with sugar drink and we should celebrate that and come to a compromise that cavities are bad and the dentist is not getting any cheaper), it is one thing or another. That is how my house flows, yo.
With a smart kid like that, eight arms to hold him tight with is not enough. I need nine, and to show yelling. and for him to stop trying to show me every toy commercial that ever was broadcast in that hour or two I ask to be left to do art once or twice a week.

...

I dreamed last night that Faerie (witness protection program, sorry) had four kids and as she was giving birth to the fourth one "Myer", I was watching the other three, "Wendy, Mina, and Pinkle." Me and Pinkle were leaving the hospitial and were caught in the Boer War in the 18th century, spears were being thrown at us and me and the kid were swinging through trees and rope bridges as dark natives shot iron barbs at us. The infant was loading my elephant gun, and then my alarm went off and I woke up.
I thought it was funny. Glad my son, Waffle, was at home with Wendy and Mina, and not at war with me... The kid is like a zombie-magnet, who knows how messed up it would have been if zombies had shown up?

The second day of March

This is page 51, there is no other page 51 like it. All other pages calling themselves the 51st page of a book, whether International Law or whatever kind of book they inhabit, are unique and different from this page 51.
This page 51 is a little messed up, and he looks like he is ready to move. We got a runner here, boys! But, where could he go? What is on his mind, and how far does he think he can get? I don't know book-binding as an art, but I am guessing that this guy is not going to get very far.
As it is, we can not do too much until we get a report of a missing page. It's a law in the book, or a book of law, well whetever it is, it is simply the way we are bound or binded to do things when a page goes missing. 24 hours and then we pound the pages, not that it does anything everytime but pressing the pages sometimes leads to new stories.

...1, 2, 1, 2, text text... Is this thing on?
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I have grokked these new Eharmony ads on TV, pretty shop lady finds artist stud thru the service. Lovely, for them. For me, it is a new avenue to be rejected by women in massive quanties, and a waste of my money. You don't get wit and charm and stuff from quick clickable snack-sized personality-lite-bites, or assumedly so as women quickly page through their six new suitors a day that are emailed them daily. Every women is on there looking for their own artistic stud but they don't have the * to find him, they just don't feel the chemistry, you know?
I grok that. Chemistry is not my best subject.