Okay, one of my friends, we'll call her Buttons because of a long story involving a nonexistant cat told me to, "Post on [my] damn journal, chica." I thought that was funny because she's as much of a JAP as I am. Maybe even more. Anyway, Irony had to go be all job-having, leaving me with the Ministry as my school year runs down. The weather's lovely again and I've done my course paper and my presentation for Expatriate Lit, which means the only thing I have to worry about in that class is not bludgeoning myself to death with The Fisher King out of boredom. Now I'm going to go read Glamorama. And Puppy better answer his phone, because I have no freaking clue about what's going on. What's up with the damn camera crew? Anyone? Anyone? And who the hell is actually dead? For god's sake. Bret Easton Ellis only had one book that made any sort of sense and it was no fun at all.