KEEP YOUR FOOL HANDS INSIDE THE VEHICLE.

Everytime I think one of you* might be beginning to believe I’m somewhat normal, a Fully Jett Moment occurs and I’m able to holler, “SEE? THE CRAYZAAAAY is like, sucked in toward me. I am a tractor beam for insanity.” One of those times happened last night while I was on the phone with THE VERY MANLY AND CAPABLE Wretchedee.

I’m not here to talk about that right now, though. I’ll tell you that little ditty laters on, because in retrospect it is highly comical to me. What I’m here to tell you right now is somewhat loosely related to the crayzaaaay but actually emanates from me.

Usually I’m not one of those girls who goes all a big emotional maelstrom during my period. However, tonight I am prone to mild hysterics and hot, wanton tears. I am also inclined to stack up about fifteen Little Debbie cakes and have a go at seeing exactly how wide I can stretch my mouth in pursuit of cramming that whole stack in at once.

Ah, ambition.

You will be relieved to know that I am chewing on my fist instead.

*where ‘one of you’=one of the people that have made some realtime contact with me. sorry, I don’t mean to be exclusionary, it just sometimes works out that way.