Grandpa Gave Me a Windbreaker . . . Sweet . . .
What's up, kids? How's the doings doing?

I cleaned my room. Two days. Its clean. I give it a month and it'll be trashed again. Heh . . . yeah. That's how things work in the O.C. You'd better believe it, B.

So, yeah, that's the second accomplishment of this break, cleaning my room. The first, of course, being that I read "Confessions of an Heiress" from cover to cover . . . or . . . picture of Paris Hilton to picture of Paris Hilton. Whichever way you'd prefer to look at it.

The rest of this week will involve boning up on my guitar skills, and, hopefully, getting good enough to record some things for my new, hit debut album. That's what I hope. It would be cool if what I hope could somehow come to be not just what I hope, but also truthful, as well.

I fell today. I went to get the mail and slid on this big ol' sheet o' ice. Now my back hurts like a mofo (especially after the uncomfortable sitting position at the movies). My neck hurts as well. Falling sucks. Especially when your neck snaps back, and you hear several cracks come from such snapping action.

I saw "Meet the Fockers" tonight. Its a very good movie, considering its a sequel. You should go see it, if you wish to see movies that involve humorous things happening throughout them.

Yeah. That's how it goes.

Meredith sucks.

Oh, yeah, my grandpa gave me a windbreaker.

It's friggin' sweet.

Old people clothes.

Nothin' better.