Lovely January. I freakin hate this month. It’s cold and rainy and/or cold and snowy, it’s not my birthday, it’s not spring break, there is NOTHING to relieve the utter INSANITY I throw up daily.

Someone named SailorStarCrusader left this in my Dreambook. That thing is so demon-possessed, and this is so…perfect…that I have to preserve it here. I should prly know who SailorStarCrusader is, but since I’m such a DITZ, it has escaped me for the moment.

Can I use this for the theme song someday when I’m a cartoon?

Hey, Sailorkitty: Yesterday my English teacher ordered us to write a certain type of poem called an I AM poem. You see, the first line has to begin with "I am", the second has to begin with "I wonder", the third has to begin with "I hear", and so on. And it has to rhyme. And it has to be about someone other than ourselves. (Yeah, THIS is gonna help me get into Yale)—

For SOME reason, I thought of you.—

And here's what I came up with:

The Whirling Vortex of Magic Glitter—

I am a fluttery fairy pixie princess, cute as I can be—

I wonder, is it healthy, to prance around in clip-on wings?—

I hear my mother yelling, "Who put a tiara on the cat?!"—

I see lots of pretty colors, buddy, this is where it's at!—

I want to glue pink sequins to everything I see—

I am a fluttery fairy pixie princess, cute as I can be—

I pretend to rule the cosmos, is that really so wrong?—

I feel extremely cranky without mascara on—

I touch the realms of sanity sometimes, so I know that it's no fun—

I worry, if my nail polish chips, would my life go on?—

I cry when people say that this is all just make believe—

I am a fluttery fairy pixie princess, cute as I can be—

I understand that life's a sunny playground in which I can play—

I say what's on my mind, which either charms people or scares them away—

I dream of one day being a fluttery fairy pixie queen—

I try to never wear pants, or skirts below the knee—

I hope that this is not a phase, and that it's the real me—

I am a fluttery fairy pixie princess, cute as I can be—

I hope this comes out in stanza format and not all run together.

Peaches and luv to ya!

Someday, I am going to make a page of Poems to Kitty…There are actually more than you’d think. Thoughtviper’s "Ode on a Grecian Urn and Kitty and Stuff"…Okay, that’s just so precious I have to stick it in here. WOO HOO I’m recycling mail again!

THOUGHTVIPER'S ODE ON A GRECIAN URN & KITTY & STUFF

Oh boy-o-boy, that Kitty McCartney!

She's so scurvy, hey, don't even start me!

Wearing her wings & tiara & home-made fuku,

She freaks Pooh so much that Pooh could puke spew.

That last line also could've ended with goo;

Or, if Pooh had just eaten, Dinty Moore Stew.

Drinking her Coke & chewing that gum,

Da dah dee, dah dah dum.

La la la Diet Coke, la la la Bubble Yum.

Da dah dee, dah dah...uhhh...Did I mention the gum?

She lives for her Pookie, her Pookie vice-versa;

But it's the Pookies that always end up the worsa.

But Pookies fare better than Barbie & Ken,

Melted or headless those dolls met their end.

OK, that shoulda been "ends," but that didn't rhyme,

Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme.

Her favorite large aquatic rodent is the nutria,

Other 1-eyed rodents think she's so cute-ria.

She's the Splut all the gimps so adore,

Punkie is crazy & Puddi's a whore.

Splut is such a talented…what’s the right word…not cult…not…Hmmm. What is the proper collective noun for Spluts? A kindle of kittens…a pride of lions…Send me your suggestions. Whoever comes up with the best one is guaranteed safe from Punkie-bites. For a week or so.

Ti-ching came up with this once.

Where did Kitty so nice and sweet get such a downcast view of life,

While she sleeps her slumbers deep, her troubles plague her in the night.

She offers me some humour still, and smiles along so cheerlessly,

That of her laughter I get no fill, and drink a lot of beer, Leslie.

That damned Leslie again. She just sneaks into songs left and right…Ah, irrelevant reference to something better left unexplained. I’ve already had my Advil quota today.

Then, of course, there are the rather transparent rhyming death threats from last summer, but those don’t count.

I hope it’s not a phase.

Word formats these strangely. It’s not meeee, reeeeallllly…..