Flock of seagulls. For one reason, it's the only hairdo I can think of right now that could possibly be called retro, although, by today's standards, it might be called metro. The second reason is that it's pretty much the hairdo I wear. My hair might be shorter, but it's all over the place. Technically, it's more like a bird's nest, but who's being technical here? I don't need gel because my lack of showering fills in the grease.

I begged my parents to let me have one, and once of their best decisions raising me was giving in to my wish. It made having friends over so much cooler. I remember when we first got our dog Jazz (who lasted a mont with us - he had ather eat our furniture instead of his food), I tried to get him on the top bunk to sleep because he was too big to actually stay in my bed with me. He didn't like being up there too much and he bit me. Broke the skin and I cried. I also remember Ashley, the dad's best friend's daughter, staying on the top bunk. She's four years older than me, but we, at that time, were probably even closer than her dad and I. The night she stayed over we hung out in the hot-tub my parents had just bought and checked how long we could hold our breath. Either I actually kissed her on the cheek, or our parents just teased us about it when we got out. This was before David and Teresa separated. Even if I did, on the cheek doesn't count as a first!
I remember praying, elbows on the bottom bunk mattress, hands clasped and wet-eyed, whispering please God I don't want to ever die.

When we moved, the bunk-bed didn't come along. With it's absence, part of my childhood was left behind too. Anyways I think we didn't bring it because my legs were too long to fit on it anymore, not because I didn't want it. I was lucky enough to get the queen-sized bed I was probably made on. That one stayed behind too, when I moved to this apartment. I wonder what else I left behind?

One time my neighbor Dylan beat me up. This wasn't unusual. What was unusual, in this instance, was the way that he did it. He knocked me out with my own aluminum baseball bat. When I came to (with a swelling head might I add), I ran to my father crying. He was hanging around the back porch, cooking on the grill. I was crying and smacking my hands on the screen yelling "Daddy!". He opened the door and I spilled my guts.

"Da-da-da-daaadyyy (sob sob sniffle)- Dylan hit me in the head with my baseball bat!"

He sat down and said, "Justin, come sit over here."

I did.

"I'm going to tell you something, and I'm only going to say this once. You let Dylan do this to you all the time; I'm tired of it. The next time he bullies you, you better do something about it- and I don't mean come running to me. In fact, if you come running to me about Dylan, expect me to spank you for it."

The next time something happened I didn't know what to do, so I ran to mom. She told me a little secret, a very 'pissy' story if you will, about why no one spends the night at Dylan's house. I let him know I knew, and I had no problems with Dylan after that.

My Yoke Is Heavy by Daniel Johnston

Catchy in its melancholy. Makes me think of a teenager sitting in his or her room by his or her self, wondering why being who they are is so hard.

I saw the Padres play the Cubs, and I had a wonderful time. I went with a BEAUTIFUL girl and her father. She and I had accidentally forgotten about meeting him for dinner, so the beginning was sadness, and something happened in the car that I'm afraid I'll never know 'why' to, but it did show me a lot in the beauty of the girl. But the game was joyfully peacful for us, sitting, eating peanuts, and chit-chatting. Jake Peavy threw a shutout, which stunk because we were secretly pulling for the Cubs (the dad's home team). I remembered the scoreboard said the Twins clobbered whoever they were playing, so I was happy about that. But I was happiest just being with the girl.

Mysterious Is
The bird that fools- elusive
"The stuff that dreams are made of."

It's not the cities I'm so interested in. They're more or less a formality to being in the presence of a person.

Why was it so hard to read? Because the author is a genius with the ability to get a lot going on at once. His first language wasn't even English It's the thickest 70 pages of my life, and very rewarding. Read it.

It's drenched in crappy one-liners and severely suffers from a case of plot-thoughtlessness. That's all I remember though because we stopped watching a half-hour into it.

Only the best burgers around! Really. They have other locations...I remember seeing one in New York. Their french fries are skinny, salty, crispy yet soggy. Shouldn't have answered this question. Now I'm hungry for something I can't afford!

That's easy Fruity Pebbles!
I wouldn't say it's suitable for breakfast, brunch and dinner though. Plinky, you're putting words in my mouth. How am I supposed to eat this deliciously sweet cereal if you're doing that!? I wouldn't even say it's suitable for breakfast. But I could easily eat it three times a day.

It's thick. It's old. It's not required, unlike all the stuff I've been doing for class.

Women...

My Power Rangers Combo Toy
So I could fight the walking brains with Z's on their foreheads that seem to be all around me at school.