dictionary_girl put it best. It's a dangerous kind of love. It almost crashed my powerbook. It's THAT kind of love. Pete and Pete IS my Rushmore, Max. And it all begins on May 17th in the year of my God (Artie) 2000 and Five. You won't hear from me for days, hombres. For days.
Mi madre and I did a lot of talking yesterday. Seems a certain boy, me, lost his driver's license because he never paid a series of speeding tickets. Hey, he was moving to New York City, he didn't have time for pesky laws and restrictions. Man's gotta motorvate.
Anyways, she paid a bunch of cash to get me driving again. I don't know why. If my son constantly lost his license due to laziness and cheapness I would sell his car and cut his face off. Well, maybe not. The car may come in handy...
Anyways v. 2.0: We talked a bunch, my mother and I, about all sorts of things. She said I shouldn't move away from NYC yet, that my "Big Adventure" isn't over. She suggested all sorts of shit. Why don't you move to Texas, or Colorado, she said. Very bizarre, she certainly wanted me to keep traveling around and wasting my time and her money. She said I'd feel better about life in general if I had a job. So, I'll keep looking.
Two things: I got really drunk and admitted I had a tiny love crush on this girl Jenny Bongiorno since forever. Not to her face, but to our mutual friend Stephanie.
And then I talked to Smuffy last night and made a spectacle of myself. I was a drunk. Forgive me.
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smuffy:
I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was randomly talking about the weather. 
tangledupinblue:
dude, you don't even want to know what goes on in that Post-Apocalyptic Pizza you've been dealing on in the Forbidden Zone.