So, what the hell's going on in drummergirl's life? Does anyone really give a shit? I didn't think so, but I'm updating you anyway because it's a great way to waste time at work. I was in a car wreck about a month ago. I wasn't wearing my seat belt, and I flew head first into the windshield. Luckily I'm a drummer (read: head like a rock) and thus sustained no long-term injuries. But since then I have come home in the wee hours with blood stains all over my clothes and no memory of where I was or what I was doing. Luckily, that's only happened 3 or 4 times. I now own a car. It's a rusted-out 1985 Subaru with 150,000 miles on it and a slow leak in two tires. The first sticker I put on it was Martian Death Lyric. My slumlord had a new roof put on my house and during the process coal dust seeped through my ceiling and coated everthing with 1/2 inch of black dust. I think it has something to do with the fact that the roofers were all 16-year-old high school drop-outs from Cayce. (I shall forever be cursed by that fucking place.) Anyway, I got it all cleaned up but for a week afterwards I kept blowing black stuff out of my nose. I no longer tell people that Damitol practices in my house. Instead I tell them that I live in the Damitol practice space, which is entirely more accurate. More things about me no one really needs to know: I was kicked out of the Dreher marching band in 10th grade for smoking pot at band camp. My dog's favorite album is Mandible's "Orpheus" I am a hypocrite. I had 2.5 boyfriends in the year 2000. Something in my kitchen smells really, really bad, and I can't figure out what it is. I did the dishes, but that didn't help. I still don't have a t.v., but when I'm around one, I turn into a worthless puddle of drool. I'm addicted to the channel channel. Heed my warning: watch plenty of television or this will happen to you too. My drum set still sounds like shit.

Re-read The Original Page of Rage.

Page of Rage 1.0

Rock You Like A Hurricane!