2001-09-04 1:36 p.m. There really are no two words in the English language to describe how bad this cold is making me feel. No wait, I'm wrong. Those words are 'dog ass.' I feel like dog ass. There, that works. I normally feel all stuffy when the seasons change, so I thought that this was just more of the same. My body saying, "Summer was fun, my brotha. But now it's time to put away the shorts and the tevas and break out the sweaters and hiking boots." But this morning, I woke up with a throbbing head and a mini-fever. And dehydrated. All of which would have been fine if I could've done a shot of nyquil (slogan: "Tastes Like the Devil, Heals like the Lord") and gone back to bed. But I have this medical condition that resurfaces from time to time. My doctors call it a "conscience." I know, wierd, huh? So I came into work. But I still reserve the right to whine like Mariah Carey about how tough it is to be, well, me. Is anyone else a new-diary snob? I am. It took me a while to figure this out too. Whenever I scan the 'recently updated' list, if a diary name jumps out at me, I'll check out the profile. But if the profile's tYpeD lIke ThIs, or if their favorite group is the Gorillaz, or if a favorite movie is She's All That, chances are I'm gonna turn my back and run away. And if you're reading this and your profile is crazy-typed, or you can't wait to buy the Gorillaz CD, or Freddy Prize is, to you, the pinnacle of modern cinema....well, good luck with all that. I'll be in the corner passed out on Nyquil. Wake me when the fad's over. And my final thought: Is 'Music of the Night' not the pussiest of all the songs from Phantom? Thought so. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

designed by mocksie. brought to you by diaryland.