Tuesday, November 20, 2012
I must say, Tumblr's weird. It's basically a newsfeed for people who want to read just a bit more than 140 characters. I feel like its tagline should be, "Tumblr: For when Twitter just isn't enough."
It's certainly not fit for extended musings and self-indulgent ramblings (save that ish for Wordpress--am I right?!), but that's fine because I've got enough going on--this "internet upkeep" is so much work! (#firstworldproblems)
Between the blog, the twitter, and now the tumblr (not to mention my "job" and "human interactions"), I'm being pulled in so many directions. I was just sharing the tumblr news with a friend and she was worried that I'd stop sharing TMI on the blog. It was then that I explained--and realized--a deep truth about myself: This blog is my horcrux. A part of my soul is in these webpages (mostly the slutty, awkward part, but still). Tumblr will be just one more location you'll be able to find the pieces, pieces, pieces of me.*
I mostly want to use it to create photo albums but since Tumblr is structured like a newsfeed, I'm not sure how it'll work. I'll have to figure out how to use the system to showcase my favorite photos of middle-aged men holding animals against their will and disapproving transracial adoptees in the arms of their Caucasian parents.
But don't worry--if there's anything I can figure out, it's how to work a Caucasian system! Hope you will follow me or friend me or just generally F me.
*that's how you call back to a title, people!
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Monday, February 8, 2010
Friday, July 10, 2009
Well, he's headed for NYC in about 6 days.
He'd first alerted me to his visit nearly 6 weeks ago, when I was INSIDE CAUCASIA (in Sweden). I shrugged it off at the time, only to learn from a mutual friend that he'd be bringing his girlfriend with him.
Um, hello?! How could he not mention her in the email? I mean, I know he's got a gf, there is not a single part of me that wants to get with him, so why not put it out there? I also know that there's not a single part of me that wants to meet her, so if I get blindsided with a gf-bomb, I will die. Cause that's what bombs do. They make you die.
Anyway, the last time he was here (when I was down under), I told him tons of stuff to do, got him discounts to comedy shows, etc. I hope he does not come to me asking for ways to entertain him and his lover. My top suggestions would be:
1. Climb to the top of the Empire State Building, hand in hand. Look out over the edge, and then jump.
2. Walk down a deserted back alley on 11th avenue, counting your American currency. Wait to be stuck with a shiv. (Do people use shivs outside of prison?)
3. S a D, cause I hate your face.
Ugh, whatever. He asked if I wanted to meet up and I was evasive. While I know I can get through a quick drink, since it'll mostly involve catching up and pleasantries, I don't think seeing him will enrich my life in any way. The only Weasley I want to see is Ronald, on screen July 15!
If I go to drinks, I will be too worried about looking cute, seeming carefree, and touting accomplishments I have not... accomplished. I won't want to hear a word about how happy and put together his Canadian life is, and I'll be resentful. And we all know how loud and inappropriate I get after some dranks.
Sorry, I'm being grumpy. I've decided that I'm not good at stand-up comedy, and this requires a major restructuring of life goals. This ginger situation is not helping.
I'm gonna go watch "16 and Pregnant."
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Her name is Batgirl, and a mate of mine at the NOI Bootcamp, an organization running a simulation election, have Batgirl running for mayor of Washington D.C. Her opponents include Superman, the Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, Batwoman, Batman, Cyborg, and Atom.
I feel like the story of Batgirl isn't really known--she is different from Batwoman, and much, much cooler. And don't even get me started on WONDER (why everyone thinks you're so cool) WOMAN.
The primary reasons for loving Batgirl are threefold:
1. According to the comic, she is Asian--a strong woman of color, peeps.
2. Her bio states that she was held against her will and enslaved by evil assassin David Cain. She was oppressed by the white man, you know Sojourner can relate.
3. She then cast off oppression, taught herself to read and write, saved Batman's ass, and became part of the entourage. Holla at a can-do woman.
I think you should vote for Batgirl for Mayor of DC--I mean, it's not real, but it should be, really.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Greetings from Darwin!!
The last week has been crazy and awesome, full of randomness and excessive heat--temperature-wise, I mean.
After 6 days in the Outback, our group partied it up in Alice Springs, which is a pretty boring town. If it wasn't for Bojangles pub and the bottle of wine I'd treated myself to, I don't know how I would have gotten through it. Tuesday I was a hot ass mess, and I awoke to find myself being spooned by my Outback tour guide, a ruddy Aussie man who goes by the nickname 'Jesus.'
I guess you could say I woke up in Jesus's arms.
It was odd and random. Not only because Jesus had three beds in his room and there was no need for us to share a space, but because Jesus is betrothed. Nothing happened, and it was very PG--although his touch was surprisingly tender and he held me all night, which I don't know if I'd want my future husband doing with a nubian princess such as myself. There was no weirdness in the morning, thank god/his dad. This wouldn't be the first time I'd won the affections of a taken man.
I spent much of Tuesday nursing my hot mess of a hangover, hydrating and doing tons of writing. My flight out of town was Wednesday arvo, so I woke up bright and early, showered, de-sketchified, and headed off into the bright sun to see what Alice had to offer. It's quite a small city, and the main attractions are walkable enough.
So, you guys know how I'm really into reptiles, right? This means that the Alice Springs Reptile Centre was my first stop. As I walked through the exhibition, loving the cold-blooded creatures, I took note of all the venomous ones, should I come across them along my travels. As I walked through one section, I noticed this Olive Python was eye-fucking the shit out of me from inside its cage. It was really weird--totally one of those moments where I wish I could speak Parseltongue and figure out what the hell was going on.
In addition to its reptiles, I greatly appreciated the Centre's air conditioning, and just took my time reading placards and cooling off. While admiring a dinosaur fossil (yes, admiring), I was alerted to an animal presentation starting up. Suh-weet.
Maureen, our lovely presenter, showed us all sorts of creatures that we were then allowed to HOLD. I totally elbowed children out of the way and held a blue-tongued lizard, a horny devil (yes, a horny devil), and the Python who was staring at me. It was totally cool--I seem to have lost all fear since my journey into the outback. I was a bit wary of the massive snake, but he just slithered and it was all good....for a while.
As I went to hand it back to Maureen, it began to constrict around my hand.
My life flashed before my eyes. I totally knew there was a reason it was staring at me before--it was sizing me up for the kill. Being a constrictor, it's grip was deadly and I struggled to squeeze my hand out without making a scene that would scare the children. "Umm........" I said sorta loudly. Maureen told me to stay calm and or force the snake off, as it would feel threatened. I wriggled my hand out sloooooowwwwwllllly, and managed to break free--you can't put shackles on this blacktress, reptilian or otherwise!!!
Escaping death, I headed off to a couple other sights then went to the airport. There, I ran into this cool chick who I'd met in Sydney through a friend a couple months back. She's from Hotlanta and is totally a strong black woman in a white woman's body. We discovered we were seated in the same row--22A and C. We joked about talking over whoever was in between us.
When we got to our seats, we saw there were only seats A and C together. Talk about meant to be! We were obvi fated to be together, and spent three hours talking about dudes, travel, and fun times ahead. Her hostel was down the road from mine, and we met up and went out on the town last night. We landed at 7pm and it was still 90 degrees and humid out. Hot mess.
Darwin wasn't exactly popping on a Wednesday, and we went to the one hot spot, The Vic. The cover band was rocking ('Save Tonight,' by Eagle Eye Cherry, anyone?), and with $3 tequila shots, you know we'd basically gotten ourselves two tickets to the Shit Show. We ended up meeting some Canadian dudes, one of whom was 21 and tried to flirt with me. He was outgoing, had a full beard, and totally seemed older than me until he revealed that his age. I mean, wtf, Canadians--why must you always trick me?! He's from Sasketchawan, where I guess all the men are part Yeti and born rugged. I explained to him that, "I can't do anything with 21," and he got annoyed. Me and my new bff left The Vic at about 1am, chanting our new motto:
Darwin. My town. Love it.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Just, you know, FYI.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I know it's 4 days into Black History Month and I haven't posted a damn thing. You've probably been sitting at your computers, waiting on my hard-hitting thesis on black culture in our new Obama age. Or maybe you were hoping for an interview with Eli Whitney, inventor of the cotton gin, asking him why the hell he had to go f shit up and make slavery fun for people.
Unfortunately, Eli wouldn't return my calls.
Even more unfortunately, not a soul in good ol' Sydney town knows what Black History Month is, so it's not like there are any TV specials or kids with school assignments asking me what it means to be black, like me. Or, for that matter, anyone sitting around reading the book "Black Like Me" (educate yourself to this reality). This, coupled with the 80-degree February weather has me all confused and forgetful. The most black-related things I've gotten is a series of puns from a music producer friend of mine. They include:
blacklash (we all know i've been there)
blaccident--"for when daddy forgot to strap up." I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean.
Clearly I'm lacking and slacking. However, I do enjoy using the phrase, "You can't blackmail this black male!" when faced with opposition.
Luckily, the Persian Excursion is on the case, repping a different unsung black hero every day of BHM. Check it out here.
To be fair, I've been partially behind cause I was wrapped up in my redheaded lover, who landed in New York City mere hours ago (Nothing like some white folks to make you forget all about your month of empowerment ;). Since his departure there has been crying on my part--for more info, see the next post.
Oh, and this is random, but I thought I should share:
The resemblance is too uncanny. Homegirl is part cray cray AND part muppet!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I don't know how I'm supposed to live in a world where everything I love is sent to Canada. I'm gonna have to get Obama to do something about this.
Anyway, we were talking about exchanging some music to broaden his horizons and provide him with some new tunes as he embarks on a new voyage. I believe his exact words were, "I want some cruisey tunes."
Though he uses this word often, I'm still not quite sure what 'cruisey' means. This is one of those Aussie terms that I'm still grasping three months in. Like that time he said there was a "biffo at the cricket," which I assumed was some sort of foodstuff, but actually means "there was a fight a the cricket match."
Basically, I think "cruisey" means laid back, rhythmic tunes you can sort of bop to--the kind of jam that puts a pep in your step, but doesn't overwhelm an afternoon bbq. Regardless, I'm basing my CD creation on this theory.
Guys, this is a very high-pressure situation. Remember back in the middle-school days when you were totes crushin' on someone, and you wanted to show your luuurrvvv? You went back home, broke out a cassette, and got to recording tunes that you were convinced proved your coolness--and your ability to be the perfect partner. The result looked something like this:
Remember how hard making a mixtape was? Stopping, pausing, trying to keep the flow seamless, so you'd even rewind a little bit to make sure the time between songs wasn't too long? It was a labor of love, and by the time you handed over it was not unlike your still-beating heart--only way less gross.
To this day, nothing proves you're into a guy like rolling up to him slowly and whispering in his ear, "Damn boy, you so fine I wanna make you a mix tape."
Go ahead, try it on your next crush.
He's going to judge me based on my musical taste! What if he listens to it and is like, "oh em gee, she sucks balls. but not mine. no sir, not mine." ?!?!??! This is very stressful. He will be listening to these tunes as he backpacks the Canadian wilderness. I will use these tunes to keep myself on his mind even when we are separated by thousands of miles. I can NOT have him remembering that I'm kind of lame.
As you can see, I'm really into him. So into him that I did not blog about him for a week and refuse to talk about our actual interactions because the only comedic fodder comes from my giddiness, not his foolishness. So into him that he left his man-deodorant at my place before his flight, saying that I should hold on to it cause he can't take an aerosol can on the plane, but I'm pretty sure he's leaving it here because he wants me to sniff it and think of him.
So into him that I almost told his brother how I felt.
I IM'd the friend of mine who got me in touch with him, and our conversation would have gone something like this:
me: HEY GIRL
HOW DO I GET [FRED WEASLEY] TO MARRY ME?! IT'LL BE LIKE IN HARRY POTTER BOOK 5 WHEN THEY ALL NEED DATES FOR THE YULE BALL AND FRED ASKS OUT ANGELINA, THE BLACK GIRL!!!
my friend: roofies. [i think she would have said this]
Instead, it went like this:
me: HEY GIRL
then, for some reason unbeknownst* to me, I paused and waited for her to respond. I never do this, seeing as I have a lot to say at all times.
my friend: hey Sojourner, this is her boyfriend [and my Weasley twin's brother!!!]. she's out right now.
me: oh, hey, sorry about that.
her boyfriend: no dramas.
AAHHHH! Can you imagine how that would have gone if I'd kept talking?! I'd be the mayor of Awkward City!!!
So I'm sitting here at 11:30 am on Australia Day trying to get some cruisey tunes. I made one sure-fire winner only to discover that the disc won't play in a CD player. I AM BEING FOILED BY TECHNOLOGY!!
I now have to go buy new blank CDs that are more versatile. This is way hard, guys.
As I wipe the sweat off of my brow, I try to remember that this is just a nice thing, and he'll appreciate my follow-through-- even if he thinks I have the musical taste of an emo 14 year old.
But, um, seriously, how do you record music so that it plays a subliminal message that makes him want to wed me in a rushed Canadian ceremony?
Whoever's got the answer gets to be the flowergirl.
* I'm trying to bring this word back into the general lexicon. What do we think?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The rhymes aren't the cleverest, but the hook just has me rolling.
Clearly I spend way too much time on youtube.
Oh, and these last few posts are my way of stalling since I don't know how to begin to write about the fact that I am totes crushing on my very own real-life Weasley twin. Like, for serious. This is an even bigger crush than the one I have on my podiatrist.
And, in line with the tragedy of my life, he is leaving Sydney in about 10 days to spend the next TWO YEARS in Canada!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
I saw Harry Potter live and in the flesh last night.
From row B in the orchestra, the boy who lived was practically in my lap. Here's the breakdown:
For those of you who don't know, Equus is a straight play written by Peter Shaffer in 1973, based on a true story of a young boy who blinded six horses--well, the incident itself is true, but Shaffer went on to create a portrait of a young person who would do such a thing. Told through the narration of the boy's psychiatrist, we jump back and forth through time as we piece together what could drive him to be so cray.
HP is the first onstage, and he is SHIRTLESS. I knew this was going to be good--although I was already in hopes when, before the lights dimmed, my mother leaned over to me and whispered conspiratorially, "We're gonna see Daniel Radcliffe's balls."
I've never head my mom say "balls." This is what bonding is all about.
Anyway, the first thing I noticed were the crazy connections between Equus and the HP story.
1. The psychiatrist is played by Richard Griffiths--the very actor who plays UNCLE VERNON in the HP films!!! OH EM GEE!
2. With HP's nudity being a major selling point, his wand is just as vital in the stories as it is in this play.
3. At one point in the play, Alan Strang (HP's character) is reliving the moment leading up to his terrifying act, and he says, "He was in the way!"
"Who?" says Uncle Vernon.
"You know who!!!!" Alan screams.
Um, if that's not Voldemort, I don't know who is.
The character of Alan Strang is a troubled boy with a sexual fascination/love for horses. In the play, 6 male actors who wear large metal horse heads represent the creatures. When Alan is with a horse, he strokes their chest and rubs his hands all over their body, which in turn gave the blacktress a sexual eruption! Note to self: be willing to play a non-speaking role in a Broadway show, on the off chance that it will entail being stroked by Daniel Radcliffe.
When he remembers a moment of riding a horse, Harry/Alan is orgasmic as the animal gallops. He speaks aloud to the therapist, describing the feeling of preparing the animal for a ride.
"No saddle?" the therapist notes.
"Never," Harry answers seductively.
Holla! HP likes to ride bareback!
From my close vantage point, I can tell you that Harry is quite petite, probably 5'6" tops, and is built like a soccer player--strong, compact legs and a little torso. GOD, this is so frustrating!! How are we supposed to have a mixie master race if he's going to be height deficient?!
He also had facial hair--a sort of chin strap that did not do him justice. I can't really handle his attempt at aging. Being the Brit that he is, he is obvi pasty pale (all parts of him, my friends), I could see a little rash on his upper arm--do you think he's been in communal showers lately?
And, of course, the information you all want:
All I can say is this: While Harry was dynamic and mesmerizing on stage, I believe his penis must have had a case of stage fright.
Seriously, it was tiny.
I know the theater was a bit chilly, so my immediate thought was, "Okay, Sojourner, it's just shrinkage. He's freezing. It's okay."
But then, like, as I looked at it more and more, I realized that it was just mini.
And then my heart died a little.
I'm sure any men reading this will be offended and hate me, since penis size is such a sensitive subject. But, like, really, size isn't a make-or-break attribute. However, when you've dreamed of a boy wizard--nay, the BOY WHO LIVED--you want him to LIVE up to your (s)expectations!
After the show, my mother and I were on the train reading our programs. Suddenly she says, "See what good self-esteem men have? That's why women need to stop hating their bodies. Harry did not even need to take off his drawers."
Oooooh, third-degree burn, mom.
But she was kinda right.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Or, as I like to call it, "Harry Potter Penis."
I don't think I could be more excited.
Wait, does that make me a pedophile? Don't answer that.
I'm going to see the show with my mother, because she's really into bonding before I leave (one week left--aaaahhh!). However, we usually go see musicals since we love a good spectacle. Although we've been talking about seeing Wicked for ages, I just felt it was behoovy of me to see the nude frame of the only man I'll ever love.
The play is a bit strange and involves horses, bestiality, and psychotherapy. I've already been sent several links to blurry camera-phone pictures of Mr. Potter's magic wand, but they do not do the boy wizard justice.
My mother is a bit put off by my interest in HP's...P. How does it make you feel? I think was gets her the most is that I refuse to call him by his real name. She says, "It's as though you can't separate Daniel Radcliffe from the movie character. They aren't the same."
"Um, YOU'RE not the same, lady!"
Sometimes I'm not very clever.
I'll be sure to provide a detailed synopsis and play by play of...the play--and Harry's um, major prop first thing tomorrow.
OH MY GOD. LOOK AT THAT BANGIN' BOD. I WILL GET TO SEE HIM WITHOUT PANTS.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
As many of you may already know, I’m kinda into Harry Potter. I love his magic wand, I want his snake to Slyther-in, you know—the usual. While this is always good for a laugh among friends, I’m starting to wonder if this obsession is getting to be a little unhealthy. I woke up in the middle of the night after a terrible nightmare. I struggled to go back to sleep, but was unable to. This morning, I talked to my fellow scorned woman about what happened, unable to go on with my day until this wicked dream was out in the open.
Thank god for gchat, or else I would have had to wait until a reasonable hour to discuss this via telephone.
me: oh my god, i had such bad nightmares last night
seriously, i had to wake up and put on ‘flight of the conchords’ on dvd just to calm down
K: oh my god
me: but the dream was this:
luna lovegood was possessed by lord voldemort and there was nothing i could do
so i texted harry, ron, and hermione
because i can't even speak parseltongue
(katie, i'm dead serious)
K: shut up-- you had a nightmare about harry potter
me: and luna was all pasty and speaking in scary demonic languages, kinda like linda blair in THE EXORCIST
and i was carrying her downstairs to the living room, terrified.
and then harry texted me back
Kathleen: texting with harry potter
me: and harry was like, "reply to her in the voice she uses and tell her to stop"
and then i did i said "impendimentum"
what does that mean?!
and luna acted like she was okay
but then she wasn't
K: wow this is very detailed
me: and she used dark magic to knock me and my mom down
it really was quite detailed and intense.
i woke up in a cold sweat
maybe i had a vision
maybe i'm connected to the dark lord
this should be a blog post?
Sunday, March 23, 2008
29 years ago today, my office wife was squeezed out into this world. She grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, where she cultivated a love of whole wheat and grains, physical activity, and positive thinking. She went on to work in advertising, and then magazine publishing.
And there she changed a blacktress' life.
As a woman of color and a writer, it is behoovy of me to express my appreciation in the written form, as I've done for so many others, from Harry Potter to Katie Walsh-- you know, the people who really matter. Below, I look back on the year that has been and celebrate the birth of Alli Mali.
From the very first day, you knew all the answers
Wielding your red pen like a sword, you showed me it's the deck that really matters.
From our first lunch time walk en plein air
I knew we'd be besties--especially when that bird pooped in your hair.
Halfway through the year we moved into veal pens
But, surprisingly, our tender office love did not end.
Now we lean back in our rolly chairs,
sharing our worries and cares
Then bitch and moan at Lemongrass on Fridays.
You have the youthful joy of someone a mere 18 years old,
yet you always know I have a date if I'm wearing my reflections in gold.
And when I'm a hot mess you don't judge me in any way.
I feel great joy when I hand you an article I think is DONE AND DONE.
Then I see your red marks and I know the learning has just begun.
You push me to be the best blacktress I can be--
But no matter what you say, I won't drink that damn algae.
You're so kind to everyone, the mail guys say you're hot.
Then there's that darn Sal, who's just waiting for you to give him a shot.
You're my nine-to-five soul sister, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five
Except for those ten vacation days, and the fact that you're white.
Alli, remember that time you and I were working on an article (you know, every day) and you taught me new and exciting things? Well, I never told you, but you just treated me like such an equal, I actually felt white.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Sojo is in the land of the great colonizer. On the day that we celebrate the arrival of the English in America, I have chosen to leave and head over here. So far, it's been pretty stress-free travel. I knew the trip was blessed when one of the featured movies was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix-- I think we all know how i feel about Harry Potter V! My goal for the overnight flight was to crack open a bottle of airplane wine and drift to sleep with visions of HP in my head. This indeed happened, and I even managed to score a second bottle of airplane wine, which I've tucked away in my pocketbook for later-- yes, I'm that cheap.
Primarily because I changed 245 US dollars and was given £106!!!! I am screwed. They aren't fucking around with the pound!
I'm currently writing this post from a place I was sure would be a safe haven for a woman of color, writer, and former slave such as myself: A computer lab in the School of Oriental and African Studies, in central London. As the name suggests, they are down with the study of the BROWN; everyone and their mother is a fan of the OTHER! I thought we could talk politics, and maybe I'd read them an excerpt from my famous speech "Ain't I A Woman?" Unfortunately, they can't handle the TRUTH.
These kids are all kinds of oppressed-- and not in the good way. In the last 30 minutes I've counted 12 white folks with dreadlocks (HOT MESS!!), one white girl in a sari, and some random dude rocking a staten island hoodie. On my way to the lab, I passed a student meeting about "LGBT issues." Um, I went to Wesleyan-- if they've only got 4 letters to their issues, they don't even know the half of it. But clearly they just love walking around in this dreary rainy weather under their umbrellas of oppression, cause everyone was all abuzz with talk about "issues."
It reminded me of Wesleyan, only with everyone more foreign-- and, as a result, more attractive. As I look around, I try to find potential foreign hotties. I was even tempted-- by Litsa, of course-- to sign up for a rendezvous on london.craigslist.org. I mean, think of the fodder for comedy?!
But then I remembered that such behavior would probably end up with me on the front page of The NY Post, with some tacky, inappropriate headline that attempts to pun and rhyme, while also abbreviating, like, "Put on Black Dress for dead BlackTRESS" or "Say it loud, I'm black and I'm... dead."
More to come as the quest for an English muffin continues....
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
I got several personal responses, including some of you who did your own googling to discover if this oppression was real. One friend, who lives in Korea, sent me this email:
Living in Korea, I see swastikas all the time as they are actually a sign first used by many Asian religions. The one in your shoe is actually the backwards one from this part of the world!!!
That is a link from the shoe maker. It seems the Chinese manufacturer was putting them in there! Gah!
So, apparently, this is an "asian symbol" that means, "peace and luck."
I don't believe in Asian symbols. They don't have parties. But you know who does have parties?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I heart Harry Potter. I swoon over every second of his milky goodness. He defies all laws of puberty and Britishness, with his clear skin and gleaming teeth.
Yeah, I saw the movie last night. Or, as one friend put it-- the movie and the gun show! Harry has got more definition than a dictionary, and I want to read him forwards and back!
Look, I know he's "underage." I know he "lives in another time zone." I know he "doesn't know I exist." But if I let that kind of negative thinking get in my way, I'd never have hopped on the underground railroad to freedom.
As a free slave, I have learned to read and write. And I will use Harry's native tongue-- the British sonnet (and iambic pentameter)-- to express my love. I think both you and Harry will agree that we are meant to be.
Let me in your heart and I'll take care of your magical creature.
I promise I'll be gentle and show more respect than that house elf Kreacher.
Let me ride your firebolt , I'm nimble like a Nimbus two thousand,
I can make your body jolt; like Lupin on a full moon, you'll be howlin'!
Your owl may be named Hedwig, but you've got more than an angry inch
I bet it's more like nine and three-quarters after I give it a little bit of a pinch.
Now I should say something about how I'm a muggle
Cause that would allow me to rhyme with 'snuggle'
But I think we both know I'm more clever than that
And I want to be on your head longer than the Sorting Hat.
In America, loving you makes me a pedophile
Cause you're still quite pubescent.
But I know I can make it worth your while
Besides, I hear in England 16 is the age of consent.
Do you see his pectorals through his t-shirt? I bought it for him at Tween Gap . I thought it was really sweet of him to wear it as I saw him off on the Hogwart's Express. He was really upset that we'd be apart for so long, so he had that "scary/nauseous-oh-my-god-it's-You-Know-Who" look on his face.