Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


I don't care what they say, Cleveland doesn't rock.


Cleveland is still sucking. On the other hand, if I was at home, I wouldn't have had a nice, long sauna followed by room service and a very nice glass of a very nice wine while lounging around in a plushy-plush bathrobe and watching "Ghostbusters."

Well, it was that or "Fear Factor" or dish out $10 to catch some pay per view, none of which really appealed to me.

Le sigh. Yeah, rough decisions I'm making here, huh?

I miss my cat, and my friends, and my bed, and my apartment, and having my entire wardrobe to choose from, and Chicago in general. I miss my guitar.

This entry is pointless and whiny.

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