So I should have gone to bed a longass time ago. I got sidetracked. By blessed (you have to pronounce it bless-sed or else it reads lame) blessed keifer and 24. Maybe they should call it 40 so there'd be more episodes. That would be just fine, thanks. And I knew he wasn't going to go down with the plane. He's the whole reason anyone watches that show, and if he died that would basically mean the end of it. I mean, the guy who plays Tony's pretty cool, too, but nothing good ever happens to him. He just walks around the office looking pained and talking about who everyone can and can't trust. (no wait, last season he was sleeping with the chick at work who was actually working for the bad guys. Though they never showed the sleeping together part. Even then he just walked around the office looking pained and trying to figure out who the bad guy was. And he had the stoopidest goatee a guy can have, the kind where it's just a little tiny bit of hair that looks like you missed it shaving. This set of sentences probably doesn't need to be in parenthesis, but oh freakin' well.)

Sleep will be good tonight, because I'm not worrying so much about crap happening on the western front. Once again one of us kids has stepped in and done the parenting my mother seems incapable of. My sister Michelle rocks the casbah. (and she's contemplating starting a blog, gods be praised) Justin understands the situation a little better now (though he still doesn't know the entire story), and did feel kind of wierded out by some of the stuff his biological mom was saying and doing but didn't want to upset her and long story short I think they're possibly not gonna talk anymore until he's older. Which is good. Not because he shouldn't talk to his birth mom, but because he shouldn't talk to manipulative psychos.

In other news, I gotta share this - it's from an email I got tonight from my friend Kaye Borneman, and it's giggle-inducing:

Before responding to your e-mail (which I am quite excited to do) I have to tell you about the guy sitting next to me now. I am here at the library typing on their computers because it is a much faster connection than I have at home. I have to do some stuff for an event with the youth Saturday. More on that later. Back to the guy. I am keeping to myself here. This guy sits next to me with a hairdo remniscent of an early 80s shag. He is wearing all black with a huge ring on his middle finger (left hand). I am trying not to stare at him, but it is difficult. He is wearing sunglasses (cause it's cool in the library?) and smells like a little cigarette factory. He sits down and says the perverbial,"Hello. How are you doing?" I respond with the perverbial answer,"Good and how are you?" He then says something to me about,"Well there are about three really big reasons why I should be dead now, but I guess I am fine." Do I want to continue talking to him? No. I just say,"Oh." It took me by surprise. I can't take the cigarette smell. Ick.

And if you're hiring for a full-time anything in Glendale/Burbank/L.A. you should hire her. That's my personal endorsement. Go hire her now or horrible things will happen to you. Horrible things which I can't list, because I'm too tired to come up with anything. But you'd better believe these horrible things are gonna suck.

So there.