A fine young know-it-all halfway across the world once said to me "You can't just write a poem, you have to be inspired". I disagree because I can just think of a word and start writing poetry. Take for instance the poem I sent to him titled "Underinspired". It reads as so:

Under your cock
Under my labia
Under the sheets
Under the bed
Under which is a yellow lego from several years ago.

I was inspired by the fact that he didn't think I had inspiration therefore I was uninspired, which is closely related to the word under, which when placed in front of inspired, turned out to be a very inspirational poem.

Some guy that was with me when I was bit by a rat said to me "You can't put a price tag on memories". Contrary to what he believes, I would be more than willing to tag a majority of my memories for cheap. Some of them would be worth more, like the time I stood up in Mrs. Maras's class, frantically ran out of the room in the middle of an all too common panic attack, and walked home from school in my black wash plaid St. Mary's Middle School skirt.

Strangely, nobody stopped and asked me if I needed a ride.

It isn't coincidence that a rat bit me and it is the year of the rat. That is just creepy. Then, I told my mother that it was the year of the rat, and she said something like "I know, I was born in the year of the rat (1948), maybe I was trying to tell you something".

She's no dumby. She is ALWAYS trying to tell me something. I'm a dog, so maybe the rat was trying to attack me with the hopes of me being a canine. I'm not sure, though.

I wish people would stop asking me how I got bit by the son of a bitch. I feel like they want me to say "Well, I was rummaging through the BFI thing because I was hungry and......." , or "I thought it would be fun if I took a stick and stuck it in the sewer to see if anything would latch on, and sure enough...".

I mean, lay off me, I feel dirty enough as it is with the humidity.

One time I was massaging a client and she said "I like a good slap fight." What the .... does that mean? I didn't inquire, rather, I agreed with her. It made me wonder if she was possibly spying on Abby, Nikki, and I the night we decided to slap eachother in a clockwise fashion until we almost relieved ourselves in our pants (or skirts or capris). I'm not sure why it was funny, but maybe it was because the bruising didn't show until the next day. I'm pretty sure being slapped in the face is ok as long as everyones having a good time.