punch-drunk lovesick singalong

I really wonder, sometimes, if Thom Yorke is mad - if the entire band is mad, really. Go poke around the band's website for a while, or some related ventures. (And if anyone wants to buy me a copy of this print, well, I wouldn't complain.)

But they're working on the new album, which makes me incredibly, geekily happy.

brief whine

I swear that if I find the idiots who decided that whatever-it-is-they-use-in-Bounce was apparently 'spring fresh' and should be applied liberally everywhere, I'm going to take their damn spring fresh scent and pour it somewhere special. Or possibly just in their eyeballs.

Fabric softener stench of doom + paint stench of doom == headachy, cranky Phinnia. I tried keeping the windows shut, but then it just gets hot and insufferable in here.

Fabric softener is EVIL. Not quite as bad as Charlie Red perfume, which wins the alltime speediest death-headache ever prize (ex-roommate used to liberally douse herself with it), but an appreciably close second.