There's dried dog vomit all around my computer desk. This is how I work. Dirty is a puker, and he likes to puke around my desk. Maybe that's just how he feels about my writing.
In other vomit, I answered a call for art for a new show at LITM. I was going to hang my big mounted poster that Doug took, but apparently, it's too angry for a restaurant, and LITM hates panties or something.
I might send smaller images, but pretty much I'm in panties in every picture that I have of myself.
Tonight I'm going to a grant writing workshop for my fellowship application. Maybe they'll sophisticate me yet! Give me pants, NJ! I took off of my goddamn job for this.
What else? Oh, I got my a new schedule at my job, which means I'll be making more money, but I'll won't be able to go out at night. Not like it matters. I've grounded myself until Melissa Hot Sauce is done. Except that I'm going to see Art House's Sea Story this weekend.
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