nothing to see here

I'm not dead, I'm merely utilising my literary genius elsewhere , and seeings as how I don't have that much of it, I'm saving it for places that offer financial gain for my keyboardial efforts and mountanous piles of offloaded, unwanted crap.

Also, brain cramps. Or writer's block or whatever. Creative ideas come to my head to die, much like elephants to with that mythical (or not? *raises eyebrow*) graveyard.

Does general anesthesia kill off brain cells? Because if that's a valid excuse, I'm going with it.

In other news, Daniel pitched his most formidable shit fit ever the other day. We were out (of course) and while I denied maternity (Who? Him? No) and my friend denied any knowledge (What?), the other patrons scribbled scores on the backs of their menus, and for what it's worth, what he lost on his choreography, he made up for in his artistic interpretation vacillated between thanking fuck it wasn't happening to them and wanting to shove a balled up napkin down his scream hole. Meanwhile, as Daniel was alientating the entire planet, my friend's seventeen month old was endearing the same people to her by reaching over and patting him on the back of his (rapidly turning purple) head with her itty bitty hand. "Deh, deh" she said. Aw.