Build Me Up, Buttercup:
It's sunday night again and i'm about to write some stuff for work so here i am writing to you instead. Warming my hands by the light of ye olde internet.
It's warm and windy tonight like late summer, so dry. You'd think with a wind this strong the stars would get blown out of position or something. I wonder if I'll be able to sleep tonight.
Thanks for kissing my ass so sweetly, Jamie. It always perks me up.
I've been silent because I've been overly preoccupied with Lester "Sloopy" Bangs. One day I love him so bad it makes me weep; the next, I can't stand to look at him. Poor thing, stuck with a psycho chick like me. What does he care if I named him after the best song ever, and if I drive around and sing "Help!" to him? He doesn't care about rock 'n' roll. He doesn't care if I take him to the beach and watch the sun set with him. He doesn't get it. I could have named him Soupy Sales or David Hasselhoff and he wouldn't care. I could have named him Hotlips Houlihan or Bea Arthur. It's all the same to him.