Boston was grand. Minus the fact I was suffering from severe withdrawal the entire time and was popping tic-tacs like a viscous tic-tac addict at a tic-tac party. Most of the shows were amazing, like Case and Sharon and Duxbury and Beaver County Day and the imdomitable St. John's Prep. Kendra and I were charming and lovely as Masters of Ceremonies, with people whistling and cheering and screaming eloquent things like "You're hott!" and "Hey gorgeous". Martin and I had an excellent time walking through the mall, what with conversations at Starbucks, kiosk foreigners and $475 shoes. And what a better end to the entire festival than standing outside for 20 minutes waiting for our ride, only to have the bus rear-ended whilst we're getting on. Everyone was fantastic about it though. J. Joe: How do you hit a parked bus? It's YELLOW! Oh, and the ride home itself was thrilling. We told ghosts stories and talked about scary movies, and screamed inconsolably when Sam popped up from behind the seat. No one slept that night. But it was fun. The Original Hott as Hell and SLAM! What else do you need?

So after reading two more fabbity fab Georgia Nicholson books, I have really put my life into perspective. Why, it's not so bad in Hamburger-a-gogo-Land. I've never had to deal with gormless oiks who constantly smoke fags and duff others up. I don't have a sister who brings things like jelly rabbits and Jimmy the Haggis into my bed, even if Jimmy is wearing a scarf. And I, like Georgia, have fully recovered from my whelk-boy experiences and have moved on to bigger and better things.

And Birkelah: My deepest sympathies. You know, desperate times call for desperate measures. I think there may be a painter-lynching in the very near future.


ash @ 9:27 PM