The shortest straw has been pulled for you.

I have a terrible memory, but most of the memories I do have, revolve around music in some way. Music plays a huge role in my life. In my early childhood, I heard my parents' music, which was mostly Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan, Linda Ronstadt, Rolling Stones, etc. I had my grandfather, who used to listen to jazz and blues like Bessie Smith and Muddy Waters. Or my Real Dad, who listened to The Beach Boys, Dusty Springfield, and Motown. Music was (still is) always on in the background throughout my life.

When I was 11, my uncle, Willie (yeah, that's his real name, sadly), who is about 13 years older than I am, was going to drive me somewhere. When we got in the car, he put in a tape, and turned the volume all the way up. What I heard freaked me the fuck out. It was "Ride the lightning" by Metallica, and I had never heard any music like that before ever.

It was loud, and angry, and dark, and it made my ears want to bleed. I fucking loved it. It pumped me up. It scared me. I had never heard instruments played that way.

Wait for the sign
To flick the switch of death
It's the beginning of the end
Sweat, chilling cold
As I watch death unfold
Consciousness my only friend
Flash before my eyes
Now it's time to die
Burning in my brain
I can feel the flames
Wait for the sign
To flick the switch of death
It's the beginning of the end
Sweat, chilling cold
As I watch death unfold
Consciousness my only friend

That's heavy shit for an eleven year-old whose favorite band at that point was Duran Duran.

I became obsessed with their music, and my uncle officially became my metal guru. My mother still has no idea that all those weekends I spent at my Grandparents' house he would tell them we were going to the movies, but we were going to concerts. He took me to see Metallica, Judas Priest, Motley Crue, Megadeth, and Guns N Roses. Those shows were awesome.

When Metallica released the black album in 1991, he took me to see them in concert. It was hands down, one of the best rock shows I have seen EVER. It was amazing.

Then... they released the album Load. What an appropriate title, because that's exactly what it was.

Reload. More crap.

When they started railing against Napster, Lars Ulrich in particular, it really pissed me off. I don't like kagillionaires going on MTV and crying about people stealing their music, and in effect, their money. He was speaking in front of Congress. He was holding press conferences and reading screen names of people downloading Metallica music. What a little pussy-ass cry-baby.

FUCK YOU, LARS. If you didn't make such craptastic music, your fans might spend some money on it. I don't care how good it is (like that would happen anyway), I will never buy another Metallica record, or pay to see them live. I have principles, dammit.

Today I watched the documentary, "Metallica: Some Kind of Monster." It was good, in that it showed what egomaniacal, shit-music making, giant tools they are. They paid a therapist $40,000 a month to help them learn to hate each other less, so that they can come together to make more music that's a disappointment to their fans.

By the way, if you like documentaries about what big divas celebrities are, I recommend "Tantrums and Tiaras," a documentary about Elton John that his boyfriend made a few years ago. It's fabulous, and I mean that in the gayest possible way.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

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My friend John, who I talked about here (consider yourself warned; that is a serious hearfelt entry... very sad in parts), asked me to post a picture of my desk (don't ask me why). For some reason, it's rather blurry, but you get the idea.

As you can see, I have a disgusting post-it habit. I would die without my sticky reminders to breathe in and out. Most of the pictures I have are of RAM, which makes every stranger that comes in to ask me if he's my son. When I say no, he's my best friend's son, I can tell they are thinking I am a big lesbo, and have a kid with my life partner.

I can tell you're all jealous of my Jeff Gordon nascar coffee cup. It's ok. I would be too, if I were you. The two cds next to the cup are in heavy rotation at my desk. They are a mix cd Loopy made me, and The Apple soundtrack, courtesy of Mrs. Mitchell. The Apple cd drives a few of my co-workers crazy. I love it.

I have been suspecting for a while now that my online activities at work were being tracked, and that the IT guys have probably read this diary, and because of that, I am probably going to fired for talking about the contents of that box. Hmmm. Dilemma.

Needless to say, "someone" I work with, who was going to Havasu for the weekend and would be out Friday and Monday, told me discreetly that he/SHE had ordered something that was probably going to be delivered while he/SHE was out, and that it was from an "adult site". He/SHE asked if I could tuck it away under my desk and give it to him/HER when he/SHE got back.

Well, on Friday, when the mail came, if you'll notice, the top of that box is not sealed. There is a little sticker on it from the post office that says "Package received not sealed at post office."

Now, knowing what you know about said package, and who oredered it, what would you do?

Don't lie, you assholes, you'd look in it, too.

Coughbenwaballscough.

But I am not going to talk about it.

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On Monday, I received these lovely tulips from John and his uber-hot man meat of a boyfriend Sean, because they know tulips are my favorite, and that I was feeling in the dumps. I took out all the florist-y filler in the arrangement because it was yucky and took away from my beautiful tulips.

Because John is warped, and makes his cards as embarrassing as possible, had the florist write "Thanks for Saturday night. Best head ever."

That's nothing. The flowers he sent to the hospital after my surgery had a card that said, "I told you anal didn't hurt. Thanks." On my birthday, he sent flowers and the card said "Bend over, I'll be home at five."

That's why I love him so.

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Finally tonight, this damn cat has cost me a few men lately.

I swear, I had no freakin' clue so many men were so allergic to cats. A guy sent me an email from my personal ad, and we chatted for a while, and got along great, and had tons in common. I was really into meeting him, then he found out I had cats and said just being around me, even outside of my apartment, would make his allergies crazy. That just having cat hair anywhere on my clothes would make him flip out.

Thanks, Ike, you fucker.