Amy won a radio contest which gets us in as VIPs at The South Sound Garage’s grand opening in Tacoma tonight. Considering that one of the bands playing tonight has a name that references fisting, it’s sure to be a classy, classy evening.

Still, it’s not often that either one of us are treated like VIPs, so I’m guessing that being a VIP at a shithole is better than sitting at home doing nothing. If I remember to charge my camera battery, I’ll try to get some pictures of our moment in the sun…er, dark bar. I can definitely feel my freak magnet charging in anticipiation.

Yesterday, I realized I’d gotten the VIP treatment from some scumbag who took it upon himself to break into my mailbox. Note to scumbag: There’s nothing good in there. Unless you want a copy of Entertainment Weekly and REALLY like those coupons that come on the back of the ‘Have you seen this child’ bulletins (aka ‘This child is already in someone’s fuck cellar’ announcements), there’s nothing you could possibly want in there. I don’t recieve bank statements in the mail. Amy doesn’t even have a bank account. And if you’re breaking into my mailbox because you want to pay my utility bills, I will happily share the amounts and dates they need to be paid by without you even making the EFFORT of taking out the hammer. Really!