Sometimes I feel like the last intact chicken in the hen house, getting pushed and shoved by the headless, hysterical masses whom in their hysteria, cannot see that they are spilling their dreadful, messy blood all over my pristine, Grade A feathers.

Really.

Shake and Bake, people, shake and bake.

*~*

Right about now, every guy on Diaryland is looking to knock boots. Listen closely and you can hear their flies race down as they load each new page.

*~*

My birthday is this weekend. It is going to be oustanding. Transient, salient, deviant and with some magical intervention, maybe even Adam Ant.

If I shut my eyes and click my heels three times.

I wonder if I could hire someone to do that for me?

My birthday is coming and I am almost broke, isn't that fabulous? Couldn't have happened at a better time. Everyone will be compelled to buy me drinks. Denny's owes me a free meal. I am OWED. It's my day.

For my birthday, I would like to be a witch. Here's why:

1) Stevie Nicks is one witchy woman;

2) To claim that "Black Magic Woman" was inspired by me;

3) To explain my witchy ways;

4) To left my hair go, for once and for all;

5) So I may find that unrealistically perfect man I dreamed up as a child, like Sandra Bullock in "Practical Magic;"

6) To cleverly fuck with people I don't like;

7) So I may gift those whom I feel compassion for;

8) To solve life's impossible problems;

9) To see the road ahead of me and the detours and cracks in infracture that I will encounter along the way;

10) So I may travel with less luggage.

Here's to me, with love, on my almost-28th birthday.

Yes, Zeth, now it's appropriate to say that I rock.

*~*

Speaking of things that rock, has everyone heard the Diaryland theme song??? Fucking genius. I also recommend "CowboyDog." Brilliant!

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