Today was one of those days where it seemed like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. There's just one problem...the way my bed is positioned against the wall, I can only get up on one side of my bed. That means if I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning that the only side of my bed I can get up on is the wrong side. I'M SCREWED! Anyway, I woke up and was ready to put on my contacts when I realized that I'm out. Strike one. I then called that urologist who violated me to check on some side effects of my last anti-biotic, but he wasn't even there. Strike two. I then picked up my new anti-biotic which was $120 for a mere two weeks worth of pills. Strike three. I didn't sleep last night, it hurts really really bad when I pee, and my glasses (which I am now forced to wear) are the wrong prescription. Strike four, five, and six. Now you might realize that there are only three strikes in baseball and I have just listed six strikes. That's because THIS ISN'T BASEBALL. It's...something else...something very unbaseball like...but with strikes. And not bowling. But anyway...I felt like complaining to all you nice internet people.

And P.S. for all you who want CD's...you can send a money order or a paypal order (e-mail me for the account) or just cash to us. If you want one, e-mail me and I can give you an address. It will be $5 (american) plus shipping and handling (about $1 more). Plus we'll give you a couple stickers and maybe a button or two. And these CD's sound really good...that is my pretendedly unbiased opinion.

I just accidentally deleted an entire post. But that's ok, I was just whining about having a fever. But then I mentioned that I had a dream where I had two penis' and it was a terrifying experience. I was worried what everyone would think and thought I would have to be a side-show attraction...The Man With Three Heads! or something like that. Sorry the subject of my penis keeps popping up (no pun intended), I'll try to keep the talk about genitalia to a minimum for now on.

holy crap...this is hilarious

I'm gonna jump on the bandwagon (what is a bandwagon?) and talk about war. It seems that we're in the midst of war right now. Then again I don't consider dropping a bunch of bombs on a small country that has yet to retaliate in any way to be war. Anyway...Bush is considered to be a gun totin' Texas cowboy with the IQ of a cucumber (or maybe half a cucumber...half of an old cucumber)...Sadam Hussein (who's name I probably just mangled) is seen as the new Hitler, only with lots of look-alikes running around the country with fake mustaches on to attract the missiles...the United States is seen as the rebel child who is disobeying by going against all those in favor of diplomacy...all of our words or phrases that include "french" are now changed to "freedom" (would you like some freedom-roast coffee and some freedom-bread before you freedom-kiss your wife who is eating freedom-fries and freedom-toast?)...and we're on some kind of terror-alert where we're supposed to duct-tape plastic sheets over our windows and ventilation shafts in case of an anthrax attack (I wonder how much the duct-tape company paid for this one).

I don't know about you guys...but I'm not really for or against the war. I can sure see allot of reasons why going to war could suck:

-terrorists might start attacks
-civilians might (probably will) die
-the French will dislike us even more
-the draft could be reinstated...in which case I'm running away to Canada...or Australia (Crisp...could you put me up for a night or two?)

I almost feel bad for my complete lack of care for anything war related right now. I'm not waving my American flag (or lack there of), I'm not wearing a peace-symbol armband, I'm not going to protests, and I'm not even watching bombings on TV with an odd sense of detachment and an odd sense of Hollywood un-reality. I think that war is sometimes necessary, and all the time terrible. Then again...so is having some doctor's finger up your bum.

There's something therapeutic about telling really really embarrassing stories to complete strangers (or wait...can I call you people "friends" ? or would that freak you out?) So as you can probably tell, I'm about to embark upon my most recent really embarrassing story and you all are invited. Here we go!

Today I went to a urologist. I opened the door expecting a large waiting room like the many waiting rooms I have waited in before. Instead I opened the door to a ridiculously small room with an old woman sitting in a chair about 2 feet away from me. She enthusiastically slurred "hi!" at me. I looked confused and said hi back. I filled out some forms and sat down. Some kid across the room had one of those really loud phones that plays real music...loudly. He insisted upon playing games which beeped every time he pressed the button. He pressed the button often. The phone beeped often. I nearly killed him. Then he decided to sit next to me and talk about Lord of the Rings while playing his phone which was amazingly louder once he was close. He coughed incessantly.

Across the room was an old couple (including the old lady who said hi). The woman (who I imagine to be slightly senile) would yell out "MAYBE THEY DON'T KNOW WE'RE HERE" every 5 minutes. The husband (who I imagine is completely sane and has to keep his wife under constant supervision) would pull her back into the seat and pat her hand while telling her over and over that the doctor was just behind and he knew they were there. She would finally mumble "ok" and calm down...until 5 minutes later.

My name was finally called (45 minutes later) and it was a good thing since I was about to bash the little boys head in with the magazine rack. I peed in a cup and then sat in a small room for about 15 minutes. I noticed the sparse contents of the room. The counter had cotton swabs, rubber gloves, and a tube of K Y jelly. The doctor finally came in. He asked me countless questions and then said, "ok, stand up and drop your pants." Needless to say I stood up and dropped my pants. (this makes me nervous...how much would I do if some authority figure told me to?) He started feelin' stuff and told me to cough a couple times. Then I was caught completely off guard. He picked up something off the counter with his back to me and said, "now please lean over the table, elbows touching." With my pants still down, I frowned and did just as he asked. Then he put his finger somewhere a finger should not be. Nay...where nothing should be...least of all the finger of a 50 year old man I have just met.

Luckily it all checked out (even the sonogram...though they wouldn't let me keep the pictures...I was going to tell people I was pregnant) and I got some antibiotics and all that jazz. I get to go back in about a month. But if that guy picks up that tube of K Y jelly again, I'm running the hell out of there.

I'm in this class called 'logic.' Sounds...er...interesting? I thought so. But that's just because I love it when people throw stupid trivia questions at me like, "if you see two people, and one of them always tells the truth and one of them always lies, what one question can you ask to find out which is which?" That strikes me as kinda fun, but also kinda frightening that I find it amusing when most people would respond with, "who cares?" Now logic is important...or at least I assume it is. But we have now entered the realm of deductive logic, and things have taken a turn for the worse. Beside the fact that my teacher recently told our class, "I hear that heroin isn't that addictive," we are also doing syllogisms and propositional/categorical errors. Imagine this being a questions (since it is one):

-all sailors are pirates

from the previous statement, assumed to be true, what truth or falsity can be deducted about the following statements?

-all nonsailors are not pirates
-all pirates are not nonsailors
-some sailors are nonpirates
-no nonpirates are not nonsailors

There should be a puzzled look on your face for one of two reasons. Either 1) that made no sense at all or 2) what application could that POSSIBLY have in the real world?

But somehow...somehow it gives me insane pleasure when I can figure out the deductive truth of pirates.

I would like to make a toast. I would gladly hand out champagne, but not only am I too young to buy it, but I dislike the taste and ya'll are too far away to literally "hand" you anything. So I'm going to ask you to hold your hand up with a figurative glass of champagne in your hand. Like a mime. I was once told that mimes are actually serial killers who attract little kids merely to kidnap them. So um, yeah...let's not be mimes. The reason for this toast is that little counter thingy over on the left hand side of the screen. I have surpassed the 10,000 page views mark. Now we're all going to pretend that every time Grant goes to his own page (to see if HTML or pictures or posts worked) that little number did not go up. So this means that those times when Grant reloaded his own page 50 or so times in one day, it did not count...really...I'm serious. Ahem. But anyway! I'm not really good at speechmaking so I'll leave you guys to your glasses of champagne on a bright and early Wednesday morning. Cheers! And don't get too drunk. And if you do, don't blame it on me.

Hey guys...do you realize that yesterday rocked? We finally got our finished and mastered CD. We drew on bananas. Naomi's parents bought two houses...one of which I will be living in. I met a Rabbi who has acted in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. My printer stopped taking 3/4 of the papers I put into it and spitting them out covered in odd symbols and full of holes. I went thrift shopping. I used chap stick that tastes like Junior Mints. No...it really tastes like Junior Mints. Band practice went perfectly. We got flyers and tickets for The Mugshot with our name all over them (only it's 21 and up). And I could keep going, but you guys probably don't realize that if you use a dog whistle pressed up against the metal frame of a window sill it reverberates and causes a new frequency that lets the aliens know it's time to destroy the world. I just did that. So I have a few more things to do before earth's destruction in 0-800 hours.

Hey guys...do you realize that in Antarctica the whales chew on corn roots underneath the ice and it makes the corn grew super big? No...seriously. It's enormous corn!

Do you guys realize that there's no such thing as North Dakota? No...seriously. It's just Dakota.

The past three nights have been a masochist's dream come true. That is if sleep were the one doing the hurting. Or, for more clarification, lack of sleep doing the hurting. More bluntly, I haven't been sleeping well. This didn't bother me too much since it has happened before and I just wait it out. But yesterday I went through the day with a slightly glazed look over my eyes and with a perpetual version of that feeling you get when you are woken up in the middle of REM sleep. I'm not a big advocate of drugs, other than the occasional advil to help a headache, but I decided to take the situation into my own hands. Well...actually...more like into the deft hands of the sleepytime friend called Tylenol PM. There are three possibilities as to what happened after said pills were popped. 1- Knowing how much effect placebos can have on the human body, I tricked myself into thinking that these pills worked insanely fast. 2- The pills started working at their normal speed, but my extreme exhaustion overtook me, making me think the pills were working. or 3- The pills worked insanely fast. Whatever the answer, I got really tired really fast. I noticed that my speech suddenly had a slight drawl and my body was moving in slow motion. This meant one thing...bed time. I crawled into my bed, which seemed more comfortable than ever before, and started drifting off with a smile on my face. Then a piercing electronic scream filled the air. I sat up, let out a swear word with my drug induced slur, and got dressed. As I was walking down the hall, I smelled burnt popcorn. Yeah, someone had been making popcorn and burned it. This is why I wasn't sleeping. Because of popcorn. Even better, it was the new guy who burned it. Needless to say I was the first person back inside, and immediately slithered back into bed. The moral of my story? Don't do drugs.