American Idle

So now that I'm officially Oliver Babbles, A.A., B.G.S., J.D., I decided the best thing to do would be to move back into my dad's basement. But have no fears, this domicile is strictly temporary. I should be leaving the sunflower state and heading west in approximately four weeks. Or four years, we'll see how it goes.

I got a letter from an uncle with a small check and a letter instructing me to "buy furs and goods for your excursion on the Oregon Trail."

This weekend I had to go visit my extended family. My ancient grandma told my pretty cousin meg that her hair "looks like the dog's." Normally this would call for a high five and another wine cooler for grandma, but it was my turn next. And as those of you who have seen my appearance lately already know, I'm not exactly a looker these days.

Her critique of me was pretty tame, though. "You need a trim." I know, boring.

Okay, that's enough "Dear Diary" for now. This post is over. Please hold your applause.

And your breath.

Until you die.