CD: Mexican Cession, "Full Color Bitch Slap Attack"

Since school is out and the work has been slow, I've decided to do some spring cleaning early. No one helps. Nevertheless, I pick up other peoples' messes, some of which have been lying around for years. Last night's goal was to be the room just above the stairs, which has unofficially become "storage;" a.k.a. "there's no room to walk in that room." My problem with cleaning, however, is that I'm the worst person to do it. I get so allergic to flying particles of who-knows-what that I go through about fifty Kleenex in an afternoon. Last night, I went to that room above the stairs and turned on the lights. I immediately started hacking, sneezing, and swelling around the eyes. Dang. Twenty-four hours later and I want to jump back in the trenches. This is the part of the movie when one of my platoon buddies goes "But you'll never make it! It's a suicide mission!" and I'll say something in return, like "I've got to avenge my father's death" or something corny like that. Mmm, corn. Maybe I'll eat first; I'm hungry.


"Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22) Certain shortcomings in your education and upbringing cause you to read meaning into the relationships among various celestial bodies." --The Onion