THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Okay, so you know how yesterday some second grader called me a punk rocker?
Well today, someone told me I HAD to listen to punk rock because my attention span was too short to handle anything over two minutes (Which, albeit, is probably very true).
AND my dad said some "And If you ever go to Philidelphia..." and my sister's all "WHY WOULD SHE GO TO PHILIDELPHIA???"
"Well, maybe she'll date some guy in a punk band from Philidelphia."
What the hell. I must have forgotten to take the "I LISTEN TO RANCID AND THE ADICTS AND BLACK FLAG, I LIKE SAFTEY PINS, AND WEAR DOCS A LOT" sign off my forehead this morning.
I swear. I haven't gotten this shit for...Wel...At least a few months. I was really going for a record.
Anyway, ohmygodigottheonlyAFICDIdidn'thave. And isn't that exciting? And obsessive compulsive?
Actually, I because entirely depressed after getting it. That means I actually own...all of them.
Oh, but way-rad-ness. I'm super happy. I MADE A FRIEND WITH GOOD TASTE IN MUSIC.
(And a CD burner!)
Does it get better?
No. She's super cool. We're doing a CD exhange. Today it was Mad Sin, Guana Batz, and Nekromantix for Black Flag, Agent Orange, and Adolesants.
Oh happiness.
P.S. My English teacher is writing a play about emo kids. What the fuck.