Marc
Knowing Scooter Toodnem is like eating Mystery Meat.
If you've never met me (or more specifically if you've never been to our apartment), you have no idea how difficult a task I face today. I must clean my room. Very hard. Very timid. I am a self-proclaimed slob with my bedroom. I live here, as I see it, and no one else should be in here unless I let them. So, why should I bother to make it look nice if I don't give a rat's ass what it looks like? Fortunately, that theory worked for the past 11 months 3 weeks. The bitch stops here, though. Today is Payback Day, and this time, it's personal.
So far, I have 9 piles of folded stuff on my bed. (1) Collared Shirts (2) Undershirts, white (3) Sweaters, Dress Up Shirts, Unhooded Sweatshirts (4) T-shirts, by far the largest pile, to the point of tipping over (5) Old, worn out boxers (6) New, nice boxers (7) Sheets for the Bed (8) Shorts, although the Cargos are ruining the symetry (9) Pants, Jeans, Dressy, or otherwise.
I haven't included socks, as they don't seem to fit into a pile very well. Basically the Plan is to just fold everything, throw it into a garbage bag, and stuff as much of it into my car as I possibly can. The rest, I'll have to walk down the street. This all seems a little ridiculous considering the fact that I'm moving less than two blocks down the street.
I only have so much time today for it all, though. I'm heading up to Dekalb tonight to celebrate Kristy Westphal's Birthday (today)/Graduation (Saturday). I was unable to make the Graduation this weekend due to moving, which is becoming more and more of a throb in my butt than I imagined it could be. Bitch, bitch, bitch, that's all I do.
In other news: I start working on a new band this week. Wish me luck.
Knowing Scooter Toodnem is like eating Mystery Meat.
If you've never met me (or more specifically if you've never been to our apartment), you have no idea how difficult a task I face today. I must clean my room. Very hard. Very timid. I am a self-proclaimed slob with my bedroom. I live here, as I see it, and no one else should be in here unless I let them. So, why should I bother to make it look nice if I don't give a rat's ass what it looks like? Fortunately, that theory worked for the past 11 months 3 weeks. The bitch stops here, though. Today is Payback Day, and this time, it's personal.
So far, I have 9 piles of folded stuff on my bed. (1) Collared Shirts (2) Undershirts, white (3) Sweaters, Dress Up Shirts, Unhooded Sweatshirts (4) T-shirts, by far the largest pile, to the point of tipping over (5) Old, worn out boxers (6) New, nice boxers (7) Sheets for the Bed (8) Shorts, although the Cargos are ruining the symetry (9) Pants, Jeans, Dressy, or otherwise.
I haven't included socks, as they don't seem to fit into a pile very well. Basically the Plan is to just fold everything, throw it into a garbage bag, and stuff as much of it into my car as I possibly can. The rest, I'll have to walk down the street. This all seems a little ridiculous considering the fact that I'm moving less than two blocks down the street.
I only have so much time today for it all, though. I'm heading up to Dekalb tonight to celebrate Kristy Westphal's Birthday (today)/Graduation (Saturday). I was unable to make the Graduation this weekend due to moving, which is becoming more and more of a throb in my butt than I imagined it could be. Bitch, bitch, bitch, that's all I do.
In other news: I start working on a new band this week. Wish me luck.
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