I have a new basement! The contractor (my father) put many, many support beams under the house as he excavated earth from beneath it. In the hollowed-out earth, he lay concrete and made permanent support beams. This became the new basement. He finished one half of the new basement for me. It includes a living room, bathroom, and bedroom. The other half remains unfinished, and serves as a laundry and furnace room. Hold on. Do you really believe that? All that jazz about digging out a basement underneath a preexisiting home? Well, you shouldn't, stupid. Only Janelle would believe that. Possibly Evangeline, too, if she's with her boyfriend as she's reading this. (It causes temporary stupidity in her.) Actually, the basement already existed. I was just joshin'. (Is it "joshin' " or "jonesin' "? I'm not up on my ghetto-speak.) My father just finished one half for me. PEEKCHERZ! (Translation: Pictures.)

I haven't watched Cribs in years. Is it still on TV? Nevertheless, this is where the magic happens. Actually, it's not really magic. (Why do you change what you're doing everytime I say "I like that"? It makes me want to rip out your larynx. I almost did today. By the way, the orgasm wasn't real. How am I supposed to orgasm after you ignore everything I say?)

This is half of my living room space. I painted the artwork on the wall! I based it off of a picture of Hello Kitty found in Lisa Loeb's album, Hello Lisa.

This is my staircase and its built-in nook. Because I'm short (if you don't know my exact height, you haven't been reading, have you?), I can get in and out of the nook easily, whereas you would bump your head. The small rectangles following the contour of the stairs are pictures of roses.

My significant other of one and a half years (a dirty male) was at my house. I was in my [NEW!] bathroom, pretending to pee, but secretly preparing 5 balloons for a magic trick. (More on that later.) Once I was finished, I gathered my balloons and my roll of tape (again, more on that later) and reached for the lock. As I turned the lock (think slow-motion here) I had a second thought. I got an impluse. This impluse was so strong, so overwhelmingly powerful, that I stopped. I stopped turning the lock. "No!" I yelled, silently. (How's that for a stupid choice of an adverb?) "I will not let him scare me!"

I often scare The Male by hiding around the corner, waiting for him to fall into my trap, and then screaming, in my ultra-girly voice, "BOO!" He screams like a female as well. Not in bed though. Or in the shower, or on the carpet, or on the sink, or him on the floor and me on the bed... (If you don't understand, just forget about it. Smile as if you understood and move on.)

Naturally, I thought he was lurking just outside my bathroom door, waiting for the perfect opportunity to scare me. "I'm not letting you scare me, Male!" I screamed through the pores of the door's wood. All I got in reply was silence. I went on: "Okay, fine. I'll sit here until you reveal yourself." Not hearing anything, I unlocked the door and cracked it open. I peered into the darkness of my bedroom and then quickly shut and locked the door. "Fine! I'm telling my mom on you! MA! ... MA! I got no reply. After all, I was downstairs and she was upstairs. After my first few failed attempts, I did what any intellegent young lady would do in such a situation; I kept repeating myself, only louder. After minutes of repetition, I finally heard Male laughing. It seemed to be coming through the bathroom wall, from the laundry room. "You're in the laundry room, Male! You can't scare me now!" I went to the door of the laundry room. It was now quiet. I slowly opened it. It was pitch dark inside. He wouldn't be in here, I thought. I went upstairs, to ask my mother where Male was. Once upstairs, I saw a thin line of light seeping in from beneath the door of the bathroom. I looked at my mother and asked if Male was in there. She nodded. I sighed with relief.

He wasn't trying to scare me. Now, I would annoy him. Annoying him is one of my hobbies. I must say, I'm very good at it. The lock on that bathroom is ridiculously easy to pick. In fact, so little skill is required to open it, that the word "pick" shouldn't even be used. Imagine a screw with a flat head. (One straight indentation, as opposed to a star-like pattern indentation.) Now, imagine the screw 2384 times bigger. That's what the external lock looks like. With the end of a butter knife, it can easily be turned open. For some reason--my urge to annoy, I guess--I enjoy opening the lock thusly while Male is inside. I ran on my tippy-toes to the kitchen, where I picked up a butter knife. I returned to the lock and quietly turned it. I dropped the butter knife and slowly, silently turned the knob. I opened the door. Male was sitting on the toilet. And, like the true weirdo that he is, he had strips of toilet paper separating his flesh and the toilet seat. I guess he thinks we're germy. Weirder still, his feet were bare and his socks... Ohhh, his socks. His socks were on the floor in front of him. You know, sometimes I accidentally take my shirt or pants off when I need to go to the bathroom really bad, but I have never, ever taken off my socks to poop. Weirdo. Yes, you Significant Other. You're weird.

Oh yeah. About the magic trick... Put tape on a balloon, stick a needle through the tape, and the balloon doesn't pop. Try it with your three-year-old (or your significant other , if s/he acts like a three-year-old.)