Confessions of a Pack Rat

So today I continued to pack and surf for jobs today.  I found a pretty good job on Craigslist that pays $15 an hour.  But when I clicked on it and read the description I discovered that it was for the job of "Cremation Assistant" at a local crematorium.  "Must be energetic, hard-working, and comfortable lifting bodies of the deceased."  Hmmm, I think I'll pass on that one.

Packing is just as fun as job hunting.  My room is a disaster, so it's a cleaning mission as well.  At one point I got tired of it and decided to make a documentary.  Watch it at your own risk. 

Okay, so I exaggerate a little bit for entertainment purposes.  But it's still not a pretty sight.  

Aaaand now that you're all going to click "unfollow" and report me to TLC to be featured on that show about hoarders...

Looks like it's bed time for Lauren!  Goodnight, gang.  :)

Moving On Up (To The East Side)

Friday is the day, boys and girls.

I'm moving out.

I'm leaving the comfort of my parent's house. I'm launching myself into the world. I'm going to live in a huge commune full of artists and musicians.

Am I excited? Totally.

Am I scared out of my mind? Completely.

After all, I'm still unemployed. I'm scrambling to come up with some source of steady income. Once I get all packed and moved out, my full time job will be to find a job. It's no easy task in this wretched economy. I think I have every right to be scared out of my mind.

But I think it will be good for me. It's a step forward, which is a step in the right direction.

Speaking of the right direction, I've been thinking a lot about my where I'm at and where I should be right now and have decided that my three main priorities are now currently as follows:

1) Get moved into the new place and make an effort to be a part of the community there.
2) Get a job (doesn't have to be anything special - just has to be a source of income).
3) Focus on music, specifically getting the band up and running again (we practice weekly but still haven't performed since May).

If I can do those three things, my life will feel a bit more in balance and then everything else should fall right into place.

So in other words, it's time for Lauren to kick it into world domination mode! "Engaging world domination mode, Captain!"

Over and out.

Witness The Whiteness

So last week was a little rough. By the time Friday rolled around, there was really only one thing I wanted to do: GO 80'S DANCING.

I know, I know, I'm such a cliche white person. I'm pretty sure 80's dancing is on the official list of stuff white people like, if not at the very top. But there's a great place downtown that has a little something called "80's Video Dance Attack" every Friday night. Once a week, young hipsters with side-ponytails, middle-aged Billy Idol fans, and old people in 80's prom dresses line up around the block for this 80's night.

I couldn't allow myself to have another night of eating ice cream and surfing the musician want-ads on Craigslist, so I called up my friend Mariah and met up with her downtown. She had recently been talking about how she never goes out, so I felt that it was my duty as a friend to expose her to the glory of 80's dancing.

The club was packed and we ended up waiting in line on the sidewalk for awhile. We finally made it past the bouncer around 11 and found ourselves in a large room full of drunken white people attempting to dance to "Come On Eileen."

Mariah, who was new to this sort of thing, looked fairly uncomfortable. "You go onto the dance floor, I think I'm just going to watch people for a bit," she says. I wasn't about to let her get away with that. After all, I truly believe that everyone in the universe has a secret desire to dance to bad pop music from the 1980's. So I pulled her onto the dance floor and soon we were breakin it down like a chemical compound.

The DJ played MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This" (which was technically released in 1990 but it still worked at 80's night) and I had to succumb to my obnoxious white person nature by showing my friend that I know almost every word of the rap. I noticed a guy eyeing me from the side of the room but I didn't think much of it. Then "Footloose" came on and the guy pushed his way through the crowd and came over to us.

This man had to be at least 35. He had a beer in his hand and the world's cheesiest grin on his face. "Ladies, do you mind if I dance with you?" he asked in a British accent.

I shrugged and said, "Sure, why not." The three of us proceeded to cut footloose. Our British friend knew every word and danced way too well to be heterosexual. The next song came on and he recognized it in about three beats. "Woo! I love this song!" he exclaimed. He knew all of the words to that song too. I couldn't look at Mariah for fear that we would both start laughing.

He danced with us for the duration of a few songs (always screaming at the beginning of each one and declaring his love it, of course). Then he announced that he needed to take a break, blew us a kiss, and went back to the side of the dance floor. He stood very close to a man. Mariah and I had a laugh and kept dancing. I figured that would be the last of our British friend.

But when Mariah left for a minute to get a drink of water, he was back! He had a new beer in his hand and was incredibly excited about the song the DJ was playing. I felt like it took Mariah forever to get a drink of water. She returned to find me and my British friend dancing to this song:

	Human League - Don't You Want Me .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Naturally, he knew all of the words and was quite enthusiastic about singing them to me. Which was all fine and good until he attempted to grind against my leg. Apparently he wasn't as gay as we thought he was.

"It's all in good fun!" he stammered when he saw the disgusted look on my face. He then tried to grind against Mariah and got a similar negative response.

"Okay, I get it, you ladies have bubbles!" he said. We continued to dance, but he kept getting closer and closer to me and it was becoming slightly awkward. I finally ducked out to go use the bathroom, dragging Mariah with me. It was getting late, but we decided to return to the dance floor for a few more songs before heading home.

"But let's go to the other side of the dance floor," I say to Mariah. "Let's get away from that British Guy."

We make our way towards the other side of the dance floor and quickly turn around because Awkward British Guy is sitting at the bar right in front of us. We scuttle back to where we were earlier and are just in time for "Thriller." We're having a blast watching people try to be Michael Jackson when suddenly we have a visitor.

"Fancy running into you ladies again!" says Awkward British Guy. I swear, he magically teleported over to us or something.

The DJ spins an awful old school rap song and our British friend proceeds to demonstrate exactly how white he is. He busts out all of these "gangsta" moves that should never be done in public and raps along with this fine piece of music:

	Digital Underground - Humpty Dance .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

I think it was about that point that Mariah and I decided it was time to go. We told Awkward British Guy that we were leaving and he thanked us for dancing with him. "I had a lovely time ladies, maybe I'll run into you guys another night and we can dance again." He then offered to give me a very enthusiastic fist pump. It was all I could do not to laugh.

80's dancing is the best. Really. If any of you ever find yourself in Portland on a Friday night with nothing to do, call me up and I'll drag you over to 80's Video Dance Attack.

Hahahaha. I'm so white...

Tomorrow's Just A Song Away

When I was in college, I wrote a one act play about three friends that go for a drive late at night. I was even lucky enough to have it produced by the theater department on campus, but that's besides the point. It's a play I haven't really thought about in awhile. I thought about it today. I thought about this snippet of dialogue between the two female characters and their friend Crispin (a part that was totally written for a white dude but ended up being played quite by a fantastic Chinese exchange student):

BELGIUM: I might be breaking up with Maxwell.

CRISPIN: What?! But you’re like, in love with that guy!

BELGIUM: Yeah. But I’m also kind of in love with myself.

CRISPIN: Is that enough of a reason to break up with someone?

BELGIUM: Yes?

CRISPIN: You’re heartless.

TANGERINE: You’re fine dear. I totally support whatever decision you make. After all, it doesn’t have to be the bad kind of breakup.

CRISPIN: Aren’t all breakups essentially bad?

TANGERINE: No no. Ever hear of the Spice Girls? They broke up ages ago, but they still meet up every few years for a farewell reunion tour.

CRISPIN: So when you and Maxwell break up, you’ll be like the Spice Girls?

BELGIUM: That’s what I want, what I really really want.

TANGERINE: You really really really wanna?

CRISPIN: Zigga zigga ha. (bites into a potato chip)

BELGIUM: I just hope this breakup doesn’t go all Pangaea on me.

CRISPIN: Pangaea?

TANGERINE: You dunno about Pangaea breakups?

(Crispin shakes his head)

BELGIUM: They’re the opposite of Spice Girl breakups.

TANGERINE: Yeah. Pangaea break-ups are the kind where you drift really far apart and before you know it, BAM!-

BELGIUM: -You’re Eurasia and he’s not.

CRISPIN: That’s intense.

TANGERINE: Yeah. But don’t you worry. If you do decide to break up with him, I’m sure you’ll have a Spice Girl breakup.

(There’s a brief pause.)

CRISPIN: ...But aren’t the Spice Girls all lesbians?

They go on to pick up a hitchhiker and proceed to have conversations about life, love, and green libertarians from space. It's a fun play and maybe someday I'll post more of it, but the parts about green libertarians from space aren't really relevant right now.

The part about break-ups, however, is quite relevant. This evening I had alert all of my Facebook friends that "Lauren is no longer listed as in a relationship." Gah, I hate Facebook sometimes. I should make a profile for my cat or my keytar or something so I can list myself as in an open relationship with it and totally confuse the universe. But I won't do that. I like to at least pretend that I have a life.

As far as break-ups go, it wasn't horrible. I mean, it wasn't fun or easy, but it wasn't necessarily a heart-wrenching Pangea-style break-up. I'm not saying we're going to be the Spice Girls (I think that analogy is a little weak anyway). But I didn't walk away from everything hating him or being bitter towards him. In fact, I still care about him a lot. We were both fairly miserable though. It was hard admitting it to myself, but things weren't really working out.

We met at a coffee shop outside the mall. We talked. We agreed that it's over. A cheesy 80's song played in the background, proving once and for all that my life really is a sitcom. He drank the last of his coffee. I finished my tea. We hugged and parted ways.

I went into the mall and walked around Macys for a bit. They didn't have anything very interesting on their bargain rack today, but I still had to check. I know this is such a cliche girly thing to say, but shopping always makes me feel better (even when I don't buy anything).

This song was playing as I was browsing the shoe department:

It was a good song to hear at that moment. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but it's only a song away.

Okay, so it sounds cheesy when I write it out like that, but it seemed profound and logical at the time.

Anyway, I should go to bed before I end up writing anything too pathetic. I'm trying not to think too much about everything. I'm trying to just focus on moving forward. Like a shark, right? A shark has to keep moving forward or else it will die. "And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark." If you can tell me what movie I just referenced, you get a gold star.

And with that, I shall go to bed. Goodnight, comrades.

Waiting For My Real Life To Begin

The other day I was driving somewhere and had my iPod hooked up to my car stereo. I was brave and set it on random. I have really eclectic taste in music, so the random setting on my iPod is dangerous. It's not unusual to hear some kick ass indie rock song followed by Aqua or something equally campy (guilty pleasure, don't judge). I generally avoid putting my music on random for this reason, but I tried it again the other day and this song came on:

I had completely forgotten about this song. I think my brother gave it to me a long time ago and it's been hiding in a corner on my iPod for months. I know I've listened to it before and thought "Oh, that's a nice song," but when I heard it in my car the other day I think it nearly made me cry. It so sums up where I'm at right now. I'm waiting for my real life to begin.

Anyway, I know a lot of people that read this blog are probably in the same boat, so I thought I'd share the song. It's got a strange mixture of hope and sadness that means something a little different every time I listen to it. Pretty good for coming from the man responsible for "I come from the land down under."

That's all I've got for right now. I'm feeling creative today. Maybe I'll turn my living room into art project central and make something cool. Yes, that's what I'll do.

Peace out, amigos. :)

Adventures In Special Ed (And Other Friday Ramblings)

So I've been working a little bit in the past couple of days.

Don't get too excited, it's just a part-time sub job. Should last about a week. That is, unless I'm feeling brave and want to apply for the position permanently. Which might not be a bad idea, considering that I'm moving out in a couple of weeks and the rent money needs to come from somewhere. But I need to give myself another day or two with this job to know I can handle it.

Traditionally, I avoid children. I have little to no passion for the education system and very limited knowledge about how to deal with those labeled as "special ed kids." But when I got the call asking if I could spend a week hanging out with an autistic kindergarten boy for a couple of hours each day, I said "yes" because I need any means of employment I can find.

I was dreading it. My last experience with special ed involved chasing a severely retarded and extremely violent two-hundred-pound black girl down the hallway, so I wasn't exactly thrilled to do it again.

But alas, I drove my rock star butt over to the grade school yesterday morning and signed in at the front office. Next thing I knew, I was being introduced to Gabe.

Gabe is Mexican but doesn't really speak much Spanish or English. He's still in the process of being tested but they're thinking he's autistic. He likes to dance while he walks and make bizarre animal sounds. He loves high fives and coloring scribbling.

And after about an hour of cutting, gluing, playing, and reading with him, I deactivated the cynical part of my brain and decided he's adorable.

Okay, so he wasn't that adorable when he threw a big stomping fit because he didn't want to wear a coat outside. Or when he accidentally spit on me. Or when he insisted on laying under the table with his hands down his pants while the teacher was trying to read everyone a story. But most other times he was adorable. And I think he likes me. He's my new little friend.

He sits next to a little Italian kid named Jeovanny (yes, spelled just like that). Okay, he could be Arabic or even Asian for all I know. I have the hardest time telling what nationality kids are these days. Anyway, Jeovanny wears his hair all greased up in a faux hawk and has a gold chain hanging around his neck. Today he drew a picture of a stick figure with big circles on his arms. "It's a man with muscles!" he informs me.

"Is that you?" I ask (using my kid-friendly voice, of course). "Do you have muscles, Jeovanny?"
He frowns. "No, I do not have muscles, I only have bones. Someday, I have muscles."

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you America's Next Top Mob Boss.

Jeovanny also told me that he plays the drums and demonstrated with crayons on the edge of the table. "Look, I play drums!" he says, beating the crap out of two crayons.

Okay, so maybe Jeovanny made my "adorable" list today as well. *sigh* I think it was the faux hawk that did it.

I know, I know. The fact that I just used the word "adorable" to describe real live children is all a little Twilight Zone-ish. Moving on.

I got roped into getting the music together for my cousin's wedding ceremony tomorrow. It's all a bit last minute but I will do my best to go into DJ Lauren mode and get it done. If my cousin hadn't specifically specified that she liked music with "a bit of a twang" (and also if it wasn't the most important day of her life), I would totally bust out this CD I found on Amazon today while surfing for appropriate music.

Yeah...it's hair metal versions of traditional wedding music.

There. Does that make up for admitting to occasionally liking children? :P

On a completely unrelated side note, I believe this is post #91. That means post #100 is coming right up! Holy Toledo, Batman! I really should come up with something epic for #100. Any grand ideas?

Hehe. I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe I'll make some sort of list about something mildly interesting that goes all the way to 100. Maybe I'll write a song and film myself playing it on the keytar. Or maybe I'll just do a bunch of shout-outs to all my bloggy amigos. Who knows. We'll see what happens.

And with that, I'm off like a herd of turtles. I need to figure out what I'm wearing to the wedding tomorrow (probably some sort of dress that I can wrangle audio equipment in). Then I need to meet up with my friends to stay up half the night watching b-rated horror films (yes, that is a need - bad movie nights are my favorite).

Happy Friday, amigos.

The Universe Is Expanding

I hate endings. I'm bad with goodbyes - even when it makes sense, even when seasons are changing and people are changing and things aren't what they should be. I can barely handle all the bittersweet sentiments that such endings bring along. I get caught up in some stupid wave of nostalgia. I become hesitant to ever move forward. I become unsure of everything.

And then I think too much in general and end up feeling like young Woody Allen in the first five minutes of "Annie Hall."

Universe expansion aside, I feel like I'm moving in slow motion towards the inevitable end of something that's difficult to let go of. And that's why I'm not writing about zombies or dance parties or indie rock tonight. Tonight, I am a bit of a sad panda.

But enough melodrama. I should sleep. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. And if I don't, I'll pull up my Ice MC station on Pandora and blast ridiculously upbeat 90s eurodance until my mood improves.

Goodnight, friends.

Public Transportation Is The Best

Saturday night. I'm on the light rail train with Steve after a music festival in Portland.

An old woman sits across from us and knits.

Two tattooed teenage boys hold onto the handles from the ceiling and stand in the middle of the car.

Someone on the other end of the car blasts music from a cell phone. To be more specific, it's Lady Gaga's "Pokerface." Steve laughs. I bob my head in time. The teenagers grin.

The dude with the phone changes it to that awful Ke$ha song (you know, the one where she wakes up feeling like P. Diddy even though she's a white chick). I laugh and start to dance in my seat. Steve joins me. The boys groove to it too, all four of us discretely singing "Don't stop, make it pop, DJ blow my speakers up." "Oh my god, can we get some strobe lights up in here?" says one of the boys. "Yeah, dance party!" says the other boy.

The train comes to a stop and the dude with the phone gets off.

The tattooed teenagers go back to making jokes about elderly strippers.

Steve and I go back to geeking out about the music festival we just went to.

The old woman is still knitting.

All thoughts of a dance party are abandoned.


Public transportation is fabulous, yes?

The Coming Apocalypse...and IKEA

Today I went to IKEA.  I go there sometimes when I need furniture, Swedish meatballs, or sitcom material.  I swear that when you walk through the doors of IKEA, you walk into an alternate universe.  It's a place of magic and wonder.  A place of happiness and lingenberry juice.  A place where all of the books on the display shelves are entirely in Swedish and most of the male employees are not only very attractive, but very gay.  I could stay there for hours.  In fact, I think it's physically impossible to go there for less than an hour.  I think I was there for at least two this afternoon (in my defense, it's on the other side of town and I don't get to go very often).  I went in with the purpose of scouting out a new bed frame and ended up buying an area rug and a toilet brush.

Hey, it was a cute rug.  And how could I pass up a 99 cent toilet brush?

On another note, if and when the zombie apocalypse happens, I am totally making a run for IKEA.  It's like a small, stylistically furnished village.  Once inside, I would have everything I need and could live for days, maybe even months.  The amount of time I could survive in an IKEA all depends on how long the supply of meatballs lasts. 

Of course, there is the possibility that this sanctuary would be guarded by a small army of undead IKEA employees.  But the kitchen utensil department is generally full of things that I could use to kill zombies upon my arrival.  I bet I could smack a bunch of them in the head with a rolling pin.  Or maybe I could just recklessly hurl cutlery at them from across the floor. 

Okay, so nothing in my current personality suggests that I would be capable of such a bad ass, Kill Bill-esque move.  But I hear that zombie apocalypses bring out the best in people. 

With my luck, I would probably end up encountering zombies right next to the salad tongs, egg beaters, and whisks.  And then I would be stuck trying to take on a whole horde with my salad tongs of fury.  So uncool. 

I feel like this wasn't what I intended to write about when I sat down to write this post.  Ah well, it's never a bad time to think about the coming apocalypse, right?

That's all I've got tonight.  Over and out, comrades. 

If Music Was A Cave, I Might Hide In It For A Long Time

Ryan came over today for band practice. Lots of times, "band practice" quickly turns into...
a) indie/cult/foreign film appreciation time
b) time to talk about the meaning of life
c) time to drink too much
d) all of the above

These are all very wonderful things, but today we managed to crack down and work on music for awhile. We dug out our old catalog and prepared a set list for a hypothetical show. We played through some new material and revved up our old songs. We made a game plan. We're tired of being a dysfunctional rock duo that doesn't do anything.

We even attempted to make a video of one of our new songs to put up on youtube for our three fans to watch and enjoy. It's a difficult song and it took a million takes to get it right. When we finally got something we were semi-satisfied with, we loaded it on my laptop and discovered that all of the footage looked like this:

I'm all for being edgy and avant-garde, but it's also nice when Ryan has a head. So much fail.

Ah well. We plan on redoing it so that the world can listen to our new song without being distracted by the decapitation happening stage right.

It's just good to be working on trash rock stuff again, I guess. We haven't done a show since May and our plans to record an album got a bit stuck in the mud. Ryan works full time and lives in Timbuktu (actually, I'm the one that lives in Timbuktu right now, but we can say it's Ryan). Original Sound Trash's transition into the post-college world hasn't been the smoothest.

That's irrelevant, though. We're not those bad ass college rockers anymore, but I'd like to think we're still bad ass. And we're not in the mood to let real life get in the way of our rock and roll fantasies.

Speaking of real life, I need to call the school district tomorrow and get on their sub list again. For those of you just now tuning in, I worked as a substitute educational assistant last spring (I got the job because I had a connection, not because I actually like children). It was hellish and I would rather not do it again, but I have nothing else lined up. Maybe a few days of chasing retards kids down the hall will be the motivation I need to find a job I can stand.

*sigh* Can I just be a rock star? Pretty please?

This Is Horrible...

I am doing something horrendous. 

Something I can barely stand to even think about, let alone actually do.

Something the doctor has been telling me to do for months.

Something that's supposedly for my own good. 

What am I doing, you ask?

I am switching to decaf.

That's right.  I am as caffeine-addicted as they come and it's well past the point of being remotely healthy (if you need proof of my addiction, just check out this post from back in April).

When I really think about it, kicking the coffee habit makes sense.  Coffee has way too much control over me.  If I miss a cup in the morning, my day is screwed.  And if somebody drinks my coffee, I tend to involuntarily go ballistic (my old roommate learned this the hard way).  I don't need to let it have that kind of control over me. 

Of course, I'm not hardcore enough to go cold turkey.  I got some decaf coffee and plan to mix it in with the regular coffee.  I'm still living with my parents this month and my mom is doing this with me for moral support.  We started yesterday and got the ratio of decaf to regular a little too intense for day one. 

In other words, I spent the entire day feeling like this:

We didn't put as much decaf in the mix today but I'm still feeling it a little bit.  Maybe it's psychological. 

Grrr.  I will beat this thing.  I will beat this thing, even if it kills me!

That's all.

It's The Magical Mystery Kind

Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros were completely magical. 

See those two red heads sitting right in the front row?  That's my brother and I.

I snagged these pics of the show from www.kink.fm

Somehow we scored seats right in front of that epic ensemble.  At times, it felt like Edward Sharpe was singing to me.  They made the kind of music that reminded me why I've always been so excited about making music.

When the show was over, I wanted to jump on their hippy bus with them and become the 11th member of their band.  After all, there are already about three people in the band who's purpose is to shake something.  Don't they need me to look cute and hit a cowbell?  I think they do.  

I thought about scribbling my phone number onto an old gum wrapper and slipping it into somebody's instrument case when the show was over.  I could include a note that says something like "If you need an 11th Magnetic Zero, call me."  At the very least, maybe they would have drunk dialed me and left me hilariously cosmic voicemails in the middle of the night. 

But alas, I settled for just shaking Edward Sharpe's hand after the show and telling him how much I loved his music.  I talked to the guitar player and the trumpet player as well, then stuck around to hear the piano player and the other guitarist jam a little bit.  When my brother and I finally left, we ran into two more of them on the sidewalk and proceeded to act like stupid fans.  Luckily they were too high to be annoyed.

And I've got their song "40 Day Dream" permanently stuck in my head now, which is not necessarily a bad thing.  

In conclusion, it was a really, really good day.  :D

Well Hot & Heavy, Pumpkin Pie, Chocolate Candy, Jesus Christ...

Today I went to the store to buy something.

The man behind the cash register looked familiar, but I tried not to think about it.

Apparently, I looked familiar to him too.

"Oh, you went to _______ High School, didn't you?" he says.

I nod, horrified.

"I'm ______'s dad!" he says, grinning. "Remember me?"

Oh yes, I remembered him. His son was first chair trombone in the marching band and he chaperoned on just about every band trip there was.

I'm so sick of running into people from a past life every time I turn around.

On a brighter note, my brother scored passes for an exclusive session with Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros at a local radio station tomorrow afternoon. I'm the one who got him into that band in the first place, so I was stoked when he asked me to go with him.

If you are not familiar with Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros, maybe you'll understand why I'm so excited after listening to this song:

Is it just me, or is that happiness in musical form?

Really, I was in a relatively dismal mood when I sat down to write this post. But that changed after putting on some Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros.

Anyway, that's all for now, folks. Peace be with you, kind souls who read this mess of a blog. *bows heroically and scuttles off to bed*

*Profound Title Goes Here*

There are 6,697,254,041 people in the world.

So why are we all so lonely and sad?

Or maybe it's just me.

Maybe it's just nights like this.

Maybe I just think too much.

I never say what I'm thinking any more.

A friend called me on that tonight. "I never know if you're saying what you actually mean," he said.

"I try to always say what I mean," I say. "But it's hard. It's my defense mechanism not to say anything at all."

I do it without thinking about it. Ask me if something is bothering me and I'll say "no" when I mean "yes." Ask me what I'm thinking about and I'll say "nothing" when I really mean "you" or "something that will offend you." Sometimes I have so much to say but don't know how to go about saying it, so then I say nothing at all.

I think that's why I've always been a writer.

*sigh* This post is becoming more melodramatic and emo than I anticipated. There's just a lot on my mind tonight, I guess.

I should sleep.

Next time I post, it will be something funny, interesting, and relevant. I promise.