TBU just mentioned the Counting Crows and I said, I just wrote a post about them. To which he replied, I know. Then I questioned, You did? But you didn’t leave a comment? And he said, I know, it’s not very inviting. And I’m pretty sure that’s indicative of me as a person, like my boyfriend, the person I live with and who(m) the post was about didn’t even feel invited to leave a comment, that has to say something about my writing style and in turn, me.

It’s not a bad thing necessarily, in fact I’ve made it perfectly clear that this is about me, by me, for me blah blah blah but I still really like the interaction. I like reading comments and emails, I like “meeting” new people. Really, I do. It’s just, I don’t know what it is. Certainly, an aspect of it is the social anxiety which has only become less and less crippling with age and alcohol. Another thing is the fact that I am kinda self conscious about my writing. So I’m inclined to not invite commentary (even subconsciously) for fear of reading things that make me feel worse. But I have learned over the past two years (can you believe two years?!) that you should come to expect the kindness of people on the internet. As great as I think I am, I am well aware that the opinion may not be shared, so I try to shelter myself from the fact. I don’t know what I’m getting at.

Let’s move on shall we? Yes, this way please [hand movement to the left] on to a slightly related topic

Last weekend, Savage and Lou were in town. Lou was my next door neighbor freshman year in the dorms, Savage lived upstairs. How do I express the awesomeness of these two? There is no way really. I just asked TBU to remind me of a story and he said exactly what I was feeling, The snake, the car? I don’t remember much, really. I just remember feelings and strong impressions. How can I be expected to remember anything when I was so busy getting drunk off Smirnoff Ice? Remember when that shit came out? It’s like a neatly packaged ghetto drink, which means fabulous. Lou is the guy who shows up at 2am and wants to go spelunking and drinks Zima to prove you wrong, while Savage is the guy who tries to communicate by grunting for a whole week and continually passes out in your living room, forcing you to step over a large human form for 12 hours straight. These are my buds.

I grew up as an only child of a single mother, there was never a male presence in my house. I had no clue how guys worked on a real, personal level, my only guidance was Saved by the Bell and Friends. So when I finally lived on my own and had to use a co-ed bathroom it got real personal and I was like Oh my god, you mean they can act independently of social expectations? I had no idea. I guess it should be mentioned that certain segments of the population find Lou (and Savage too, but mostly Lou) to be devastatingly attractive, namely my mom. When I told her he was going to be in town she made that noise you make while simulating a shiver, or an orgasm, god I hope it wasn’t an orgasm. These are people who you expect one thing from (rampant sexual objectification of women fitting only a narrow definition of beauty and inability to communicate with other women on a level of respect) and you get the complete opposite, well you get some of it but it’s in context and comes off as, oh I don’t know, harmless? I consider living with these guys essential to my personal development. I can’t really explain it anymore than that. I love them, bro-style. Anyway…

They were in town last week and one thing led to another and suddenly there was something happening I had never seen before. Something I don’t think anybody has seen before. TBU sang karaoke. As if that weren’t shocking enough, he got onstage without any encouragement whatsoever. I walked up to help Savage out before he drowned in the deep sea that is “Like a Virgin” and TBU followed. They were rocking it so hardcore all I had to do was gunshot my beer, which by the way illicited the loudest applause. Even the extremely drunk surfer dude who heckled everyone, cheered us on. The Teebs hates karaoke. He once left me in San Francisco because he couldn’t handle all the karaoke. When I asked, “the fuck?” all he said was, “Eh.” After seven years of boycotting all you have to say is eh?

God, what is up with all this weird introspection and lame linearity lately? It’s like my fingertips are on their period, are about to start their period or are 14. I think I know what it is. I haven’t smoked any weed since Canada. I could pass a drug test right now. Well not right NOW but tomorrow afternoon once all the pinot is out. I don’t really know why, my only explanation is eh. I just stopped taking it when it was passed to me and realized I could remember my dreams in the morning. But maybe being this in touch with my mind is getting to me. I’m uncovering the underlying reasons for things that should just be because they are. I don’t like it. I need a hobby or something, something other than grad school applications and human anatomy.

And with that, I have to go to bed. If you need me I’ll be elbow deep in cadaver by 8am.

Their reply email um, replied with, ” We’re not ready to open the ad network to general applications, but we saw your wonderful blog on our waiting list, and didn’t want to keep you waiting!” At first I was flattered. But immediately after I was flummoxed.* Was I really that special? So special as to warrant a rush to the head of the line? I wondered if they made everyone sign up and wait for an invitation only to give them a “special” invite 2 hours later.

*I’ve been studying for the GRE and flummoxed just flowed out on to the screen. I had to stop a second and ask myself, “Wait, was I flummoxed?” I looked at my flashcard and confirmed, I was indeed flummoxed.

Regardless, I finished the application, which included my address and social security number. So some very unknown people have pretty much all my information. Right after I sent it, I realized I should have put my mom’s PO box as my address, but oh well. Do I trust the Blogher ad network? I guess I trust them enough.

I have a fear of losing my anonymity though. My mom won’t say a word if my video camera is in the room, on or off. I can’t imagine how she’d react if she found out I mentioned sex on the internet. I’ve read a few old posts and they’re not too bad, but they’re not too great either, from a mom perspective. I know they will generate conversations I don’t want to have, that’s my biggest concern. And there might be a few confidentiality issues with work. But whatever, I make double minimum wage, they can fuck themselves. However, they do pay for my health insurance. I can make some strategic edits, I guess. I did read some things that made me cringe with embarrassment, and not even the overtly ridiculous posts. It was more randoms exclamations and terribly worded sentences.

I pretty much brushed these fears aside and told myself that none of it mattered because Blogher can promote all they want, it doesn’t mean anyone is going to actually like and continue reading this thing. Other than the fact that I publish this blog, there is nothing special here. This self deprecation managed to calm me down. It usually does. Existentialism is magical.

Of course I have to deal with the question, “Am I selling out?” Which is dumb because there is nothing to “sell out.” I think on a typical day maybe 30 people read this blog. A nice round, fathomable number. I like 30. It’s not like I’m sitting on a thousand acres of rainforest and selling to a factory farm that wants to import cheap beef to the US. I am fine with my decision. It is kind of weird though, somehow themillionizer.com becomes less of all mine. Knowing I can always opt out and go back to the way things are right now is comforting though.

If the ads could even pay for hosting it would be awesome. That’s totally plausible because it is cheap and inferior. Oh! It would totally blow my mind if it paid for my hosting AND my internet bill. And if it allowed me to quit my job and touch myself all day. Well, you know I would.

Here’s to hoping it doesn’t get out of control.

So… I got me some tagged. The rules are you post 7 interesting things about yourself and tag others. I don’t know 7 other real life bloggers and I fear the ones I do know will think I’m a dork if I tag them. So here’s what I’m going to do; tell you 7 things about myself and hope that you do the same on your blog. If you do, you have to tell me about it.

1. I gave some serious thought to this list in the hopes I wouldn’t come off as boring
2. I am gullible
3. I hate whiskey and scotch but will drink them if that’s all you’ve got, knowing full well I will be hungover
4. I am vegetarian and plan to be vegan by 2008 (X, Mattman: call me! I have questions)
5. My mom gets me a Farside desk calendar every year, I would be sad if she didn’t
6. My biggest fear is being 60 and feeling like I never lived
7. I drink at least a gallon of water every day

BONUS: I hate reggae, Futurama and the city of Las Vegas

My mom was in town for the turkey festivities. I made all my own vegan fixings and she was cool about it and tried all of it. I knew my mom wouldn’t care either way but I made her promise not to tell the rest of the fam. They are a crazy deer hunting, redneck, tri-tip loving bunch. There is something so weird about people making you feel guilty because you have your reasons for not eating animals. All in all though, only my mom and my aunt knew I brought my own shit and no one else even noticed because WE ARE A FAMILY OF DRUNKARDS and grandma was busy going off about sodomy. We had a great time. I am looking forward to my moms visits more and more. I took her on a sail around the Monterey Bay, I was a little apprehensive because being a nurse and all, she is such a safety nut (she still never misses an opportunity to talk to me about date rape and watching my surroundings) but I was reminded that she used to go deep sea fishing and never gets sea sick. My mom is so rad.

Oh oh oh! BIG BIG NEWS! My mom bought me a sewing machine! I am so excited, I can’t even explain. I have been wanting one for years. Finally Costco wised up and was like, The Millionizer really wants this, maybe we should feature it for the 2007 holiday season. And they did, and it is great. My mom gave me a lesson last night. But now that she’s gone I am afraid to touch it because I don’t want to mess it up. I think I am going to give this girl a shout and see if she will give me a lesson or two. But she is ubercool and probably wants nothing to do with a dork like me. Man, I am feeling especially self conscious tonight. A couple months ago she was like, let’s go get some coffee together. And I was like, Yeah. And she was like, When are you available? And I had some complicated crazy ass schedule and came off annoying and needy and high maintenance and we wound up not ever getting together. I blame myself, naturally. I’m going to give it a try though and keep you updated because you are so interested.

Alright my loves, post your inneresting facts and tell me about it.

The Millionizer tries to tone it down but it’s never enough

PS Did you know that song Funky Cold Medina is about hydrocodone cough syrup when it used to be available OTC? Hydrocodone is fucking vicodin! I’m bored and tired of drinking and smoking. I know! Let’s go to Long’s and get some motherfucking vicodin. Fuck yeah! Man, the 80′s rocked so hard.

In many efforts to record my fucking AWESOME (screamy time!) weekend in SF last week, things have happened and somehow the post kept getting deleted. I even tried to write it in open office then paste it in here. Even that file disappeared into the ether. Obvs something does not want that post to be written. Fine, I give in, you win, Universe. (It might be all the shit I talked about TBU’s dad’s girlfriend or as I like to say, Skeletor)

But last weekend rocked my face and hands off. X is awesome. Saturday, we tried to go shopping but it somehow turned into an all day drinking session. I blame the teebs. He offered to buy us driinks. He knows the way to our hearts and underwear is some free alcohol and maybe a roofie or two. Friday night was the alien hoedown, which Sir Chinko, the teebs and I promptly rocked. X’s (super) gay brother was there and totally wanted a piece of TBU, I gave the go ahead for ass grabbing. The gay brother is so hot it’s not fair. You know what though, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s not 100% gay, there was some definite millionizer grabby grabbiness. Maybe The Mills is just that hot. I dunno, there was a lot of alcohol involved. TBU did say that if he was single he would go home with the questionably gay brother. And not even in a turn gay for one night kinda way, like just letting a beautiful thing happen between two beautiful people. We all know hot is hot whether it’s got a dick or not.

There were a bunch of wine bottles but we broke the corkscrew, so we got ghetto and used spoons to push the cork in. The only problem was that you had to put your finger in the bottle in order to make the wine flow. We were like little hamsters with wine bottles. I think you know what I mean.

Saturday night we got bamboozled into a fucking four course pretentious ass dinner with the parental units on TBU’s side. This is where I would have talked all kinds of shit about rich white people and sewing anuses shut. We’ll skip that part and go straight onto the fact that The Millionizer is not on her A game when there is pretension to be observed and interacted with. Jesus christ people lets be real here.

Also I blame this dinner on missing my drinking appointment with Mattman. I think he is over me and no longer wants to be my friend. Mattman, me love you long time! Call me, dudebrah. Although it was really my fault because I didn’t call him, I guess my feelings of inadequacy outweighed my excitement to see him.

But Saturday night something magical happened. Something so pure and beautiful it brings a tear to my eye as I type tthis. Time: 1am. Setting: Japantown, SF. TBU passed out, Sir Chinko and I drank two bottles of wine, topped it off with some crazy ass yogurt alcohol and rented a private karaoke booth. OH MY GOD. We fucking rock. All the world needs for peace is a karaoke machine, I guarantee it. We dueted all night, the highlight was Say It Ain’t So. You haven’t heard that song until we have sung it for you. Believe it bitches.

And now here we are, back in the present, with a laptop and a test on Tuesday.

The Millionizer wants to see you

Saturday: Borat. Borat. Well Borat was made tolerable by the flask that we bought on our way to the theatre. I love that I live within walking distance to a flask selling establishment. The 8pm show sold out at 5. But being us we bought our tickets on Fandango, you just have to pick them up at the theatre, like movie will-call. The line to get tickets was huge. But the line to get in (after you already got your tickets!) was around the block. So we split up. I went around the block in hopes we would have a chance to sit together. TBU’s boss was coming too but I didn’t see him anywhere, so to the very end of the line I went. My line started moving before TBU and I found each other and, because I am a dork in all social situations, I started to panic. Just as I got to the ticket taking lackey TBU was there, holding my ticket. This is where it gets good. Once the guy ripped our tickets it was a complete free for all up the stairs to the screen. I fell. Luckily, I was drunk enough that it didn’t matter. I love it, the line starts moving and I panic, I fall and I’m totally fine. The drunk is probably why I fell in the first place. If you were at Cinema 9 on Pacific Saturday night and you saw some girl with an old man sweater and eye makeup like this

that was probably me. I kinda really injured myself, that was lame. While we battled the crowd TBU’s boss called and asked if we could save him 5 seats. We laughed and said we’d try. We lied, we didn’t even try. We took the first 2 seats we saw. I’ll gloss over the movie itself but I will bitch about the girl behind us. Do you live under a rock? In a cave? In Santa Cruz, it’s not completely unheard of but you didn’t smell and you paid $10 to see a movie on a Saturday night. So I think you’ve heard of Borat before. That being said, why were you so offended by EVERYTHING in the movie? And why did we all have to hear about it? Honestly, I don’t completely disagree with you, Borat can be a jackass. But if you “can’t handle it,” why go? You owe me $10. Well, you owe TBU $10.

All I will say about Borat is if you are not in the market for hairy, old man balls, then don’t go.

Sunday: We woke up and continued a tradition we just started. We go downtown late morning, maybe get a coffee, and sit on a bench. It is so relaxing. I’ve lived here for 5 years and 2 weeks ago was the first time I sat on a bench to just relax. I’ve sat on the benches before but that was when I was too poor to have anything else to do or when I was so drunk I was lucky to be on a bench and not in a parking lot. Last week I got hot chocolate but Peet’s fucked that up and I had no tasty, hot drink for my late morning loaf session. TBU has a Peet’s giftcard so of course we went back. I normally avoid caffeine at all costs because I’m really sensitive to it. But this Sunday I decided to go crazy and get the coffee. It was only noon, I had plenty of time to sweat it out. I got a small, poured out half and made cafe con leche. We had a lovely time. I bought some polymer clay to make who knows what.

Later that evening I painted a bunch of notecards for Christmas gifts. Something was off, but what? I’m feeling a little too, how do you say? Ah yes, a little too productive. I got seriously crafty with my bad self. Before I realized it I had painted over 100 notecards. Damn you, coffee. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep very well.

We went to a friends “bbq.” Oh yes, with the snarky quotes. As soon as we got there we were asked to take off our shoes. Fine, but isn’t this a bbq? Shouldn’t we be standing outside drinking beer? We got there an hour late hoping to bypass all the lollygagging but nothing was happening. Our hostess was in the shower! Our host immediately put on “literally” the funniest movie he had ever seen. Grandma’s Boy. The movie where a 30 something videogame tester lives with his grandma and accidentally gets her really, really high. There were a few golden moments but I signed up for a bbq not a movie where everyone who’s already seen it shouts out all of the lines and warns us about the “funny parts.” (Ha ha…funny parts) The funniest movie our host had ever seen included the scariest fake boobs I’ve ever seen (aside from Tara Reid’s, oh god), and tuh-ired marijuana jokes. “Oh I feel like a deer, how are my antlers?” Laaame. Anyone who has tried it knows half the shit isn’t even funny because it can’t be true. Unless, while smoking the weed, you also dropped some acid. Movies like this are why there are so many ridiculous misconceptions about marijuana.

Where was I? Oh right, who invites you to a bbq and forces you to watch a movie, a shitty movie no less. They may as well have said, Look, I know we invited you over but we are not smart, funny or witty enough to entertain. So we won’t even try. Instead we will rely on this piece of media to do all the work for us. Enjoy. At 8:15 another guest (the one who danced around and exclaimed, Oh, I love this song, to the soundtrack) whined, Tree House of Horror is on right now. When no one responded she started to panic and whined louder, You guys Tree House of Horror is on right now. Yeah genius, it’s already half over and oh yeah, I hate you. So our hostess says we can watch what’s left and finish the movie afterwards. I HAVE HAD IT. I nudged TBU. I am not stopping this movie so we can watch HALF of a Simpson’s episode I have already seen. Fuck you annoying girl who I can’t figure out is either retarded or foreign. You and your crazy striped socks and floppy beanie, you can just stop. So instead of making a socially graceful exit (like at the end of the movie!) we just left. We said our goodbyes, put our shoes on and left. Did I mention the food was delicious?

I’m unsure as to whether or not I should keep going. I’m only on Monday.

Monday: The cup of coffee was still screwing me over. I did not sleep well. While driving to work I felt a menace on the road. Little kids beware! But then it was fine because I realized if I adjusted my rearview mirror so I could actually see out of it I wouldn’t feel so out of control. Again. Damn you, coffee.

Tuesday: I voted. I love voting. I fucking love voting. On my way into the polling place a mom and young son were riding their bikes in. She had obviously just picked him up from school and decided to vote on the way home. He followed behind her and yelled in his small voice, Do you have to vote? She yelled back, Yes I have to vote! It’s my right. Awesome. I won’t go into the results of the mid-term elections, because you know what happened. I am pleased that prop. 85 here in California did not pass. Here is a picture of my I voted sticker and the top of my ballot.

That table is from my grandma, can you tell?

Wednesday: I listened to NPR and had mixed feelings. I mean hazzah! for Nancy Pelosi but W is still in office and The Governator got reelected. What is wrong with you California?! Really, should we go to group counseling? I’ll go if it will help. Santa Cruz also passed a measure putting marijuana related crimes at the bottom of law enforcement priority. After work I was talking to my student’s dad just letting him know how the day went and he touched me. It was all very innocent and socially appropriate but I think I flinched and I think he noticed. It was just so unexpected. Sorry student’s dad, you don’t repulse me or scare me, it’s just something I do.

Thursday: Today is the day I was supposed to go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. However, I did not. Victory is mine! I got up at 10 and stayed in my pajamas all day. Four day weekend, yes! I got pretty bored and redesigned my MySpace page. Please don’t hate me.

Friday: Today is Veteran’s Day. That means no school. That means no work. TBU asked if I wanted to go on a date with him tonight, dinner and a movie. We decided on The Departed and he said he’d make dinner. I squirted grapefruit juice in my eye as I wrote this.

Here is the flask in my produce and Jesus basket.

On second thought I should have cropped the onion out. Oh well. I like the fake Burberry look for a device that helps you drink in public. We had a terrible time trying to fill it up before the movie. Vodka all over me and all over the new car. The guy laying in the bushes really enjoyed our filling up the flask with a half-assed paper funnel banter. We tried putting in the mixer but by that point there was no point. Vodka evaporates but juice sticks. Somehow I remember the paper bag funnel working a lot better in high school.

[tags]Borat, voting, elections, punk in drublic, MySpace, election results, marijuana, measure K, marijuana laws, Santa Cruz, California[/tags]

Speaking of how lame the template was. I’m pretty sure Her Royal Dooceness was here yesterday. My reasons are three fold. 1) I sent her an email yesterday telling her how amazing and funny she is and how hot her husband is. 2) My site statistics say that someone from Salt Lake City found their way over here yesterday. 3) My site stats also say that person from SLC browsed this site with Safari. I know that woman has a Mac.

I love and absolutely hate that she was here. That template was fugly and half-assed while Dooce‘s site is awesome and totally professional. Honestly, I never thought she would bother coming here, otherwise I would have done the redesign BEFORE I sent that email pouring my heart out. I can see her reading it and laughing, she may have also told Jon that I thought he was hot. They probably giggled with superiority and had porn star sex. I’m %99 sure she was here and I’m completely embarassed. First off, can we just visualize that template again? How cheesy and graphic design school was it? Very. And secondly, yesterdays post was barely a step above stream of consciousness blathering. Reading someones stream of consciousness is dangerously close to reading about their dreams and everyone hates that. I can tell that she didn’t find it interesting either because I know she only read that one page, and probably not the whole thing either. If she thought I was as amusing as I think I am she would have read more than one page. At first, my inner optimist said she probably found it interesting but she HAS A CHILD and can’t be expected to waste her time here. My inner optimist assured me she book marked it and will come back when she has time. Then my inner logician punched the optimist and made it fetch a beer. The logician told me that Dooce knows she wasted her time and hates me. Then I cried.

Now that I’m living in its aftermath I wish I could rewrite that email. Some lowlights include me using various forms of the word inspirational, calling her funny and talented, describing her writing as fresh and then I started rambling about how I in no way meant to offend Mormons. Not to get all text message-y but WTF?! I call do over! Can’t we just pretend I sent cheesy fanmail today instead of yesterday? At least then there would be a decent site waiting for her. At least then I would have HAD A CHANCE! Do over Dooce, PLEASE.

I briefly considered writing her another email to tell her how I felt and how much cooler I made the site. Thankfully I decided against it. Because how sad would that be? Me all whiny and needy and her all cool yet slightly confused. She’d start considering me unstable and possibly a threat then blacklist my IP address. That’s not what I want to happen, because it’s not true. I swear.

I feel like my freshman crush caught me dancing in my underwear and now he won’t even look at me, let alone flirt awkwardly. Can’t we just flirt a little? Ok, I understand. I had no idea she would take the time to type themillionizer.com (all those letters!) in her browser bar, I didn’t even think she would read the email. Dooce, come back, I have a cool wifebeater graphic now!

Yes, all those links are a desperate plea for a second chance.

Yoga and I have an unsettled relationship. I practiced yoga off and on all through high school. I liked the peace, serenity and the fact that Madonna does it. But it involved a lot of weirdness like having your butt up in the air with a room full of total strangers while the instructor comes behind you and touches the inside of your thighs. Uh, you’re blasphemously close to my sacred parts. I also spent a lot of time worrying if I had a pantyline and clenching my sphincter so as not to become The Public Farter. I felt like all the benefits were lost on me because I was so uptight, I literally could not unclench my my ass. I stopped going to class and started practicing by myself. When I went to college I pretty much stopped altogether aside from the odd class here and there.

Even tonight, I felt a little scared when the instructor came over to adjust me. What if the whole class knew I was doing it wrong? What would happen then? Absolutely nothing. But when you have social anxiety like I do (I must really feel like talking about it lately) it’s hard not to define yourself by your self doubt. The class was all about deep relaxation, it was dark, I was feeling particularly un-gassy and my ass was not required to rise above my head once. It was the first class I’ve gone to in over a year and it was completely perfect. The instructor didn’t give me a weird feeling either, not even when he squatted over me and touched the sides of my boobs to adjust me. The other students were friendly and I didn’t even feel like they judged me, which is always nice.

Despite a hangover yesterday I was in a great mood. A GREAT mood. I kept asking The Boyfriend Unit if this is what normal people feel all the time. If it was even normal to feel so fucking awesome. He said yeah. And that freaked me out, because I spend most of my time on the other end of the spectrum. I am mayor of the other end of the spectrum. But I was in such a great mood that I didn’t mind being in San Jose hungover in A MALL. Those are my least favorite places, any mall and San Jose. But because The Boyfriend Unit needed to pick up his contacts from LensCrafters, there we were. I could not stop smiling. Some of you are going to assume that I was chemically enhanced. To which I say, if I had chemicals I would ALWAYS be in a great mood.

While at LensCrafters I looked at myself in the wall to wall mirrors and said I looked awful from being accidentally hungover. The Boyfriend Unit said I looked like I started my day at Planned Parenthood. I said yeah, hungover at Planned Parenthood. While waiting for him, I was in such a great mood that I started a conversation with a sweet lady sitting next to me. If you know anything about me I DO NOT do things like this.

We went to the Nordstrom Bistro Café for lunch. Nordstrom is a swanky department store much like Saks. Whenever my mom and I go shopping together we have lunch in the café. Shopping with my mom is a whole other topic but she would be happy to know that I looked like I started my day hungover at Planned Parenthood, and The Boyfriend Unit was swimming in grey sweatpants while wearing a t-shirt with a ripped collar. You pay for your stuff at the very beginning. When we were ready to go we panicked because we realized we didn’t have any cash. He started to reach into his wallet for change and I hissed, do NOT leave change on this table! It sounded more like a gas leak than actual words. A lady sitting next to us said we could just have the server put it on our card for us. Whew! Nice call soccer mom, nice call. The server said we had to let him know how much we wanted on the card. Talk about awkward. I like to leave my tip without having to make eye contact. I was queasy for a solid hour as a result of that social interaction. Have I ever told you that I have social anxiety? No? It’s true. My mood survived the whole debacle, that’s how great my mood was.

If you are a normal person with normal chemical balances then you don’t know why I keep talking about my intact mood. You suck and I hate you.