curses

so my mom brought me a box of thin mints. beautiful perfect girl scout cookies. i swear i can not open this box or i will end up in a crumpled heap on the floor with a shredded box, torn cellophane, and minty crumbs everywhere wondering what the hell just happened. (i suppose this could be explained by saying that one of my personalities is a severely deprived blue Sesame Street monster that's not named Grover.) i refuse punctuation today. you are not the boss of me.