"because as we all know....money can't buy knives."

It is a Surf Ninjas kind of day, people, and that movie will never get old; especially since Rob Schneider's character is a ginger, and that in itself is a knee-slapper. If it were up to me, I would have made the Schneidster a red-head from birth (to me, it just works, comparable to The Beach Boys appearing on every movie soundtrack Drew Barrymore has ever starred in).

Have I told you guys the news yet? Probably have not, but before I break out into the latest folly & frenzy, I think all of my dedicated readers need a language key to follow to fully comprehend my lingo.

Here's some insight to my Julianguistics (I'll continue to update this list):

1. Meechum= a kiss

2. Canoodle= to snuggle

3. Rah Rah= a red bone/a nickname

4. TikiTiki= a type of neck meechum

5. Squeechum= a hickey

6. Tittelbaby= acting like a child/brat/wussy

7. GiGi (pronounced "gee-gee")= really (ex: "Julian, you're adopted." .."oh gigi??!")

.......

Let me stop you right there and elaborate a little on the back story to the example I just gave...Bear with me as I venture down a few rabbit holes before making my way back to the tip (hehe)...

Grandma Sue has a black cat. His name is Max. Max apparently has adopted my filthy mouth, which has indirectly landed me in the doghouse...again. My Dad called Mom the other morning and fussed at her about how Max has been using profanity around the house, and targeted me as the rhyme and reason (he'll say anything to get attention--what a decrepit piece of crap).

It all started with the text messages I got from Max earlier this week. Of course he's all jealous because I'm more feline then he'll ever be. He's made it lucid to me, on more than one occasion, he's sick of my prancing and prissing around when I'm in his mother's house (refer to the cat-scratch fever post). I'll just recreate the conversation for you to get a better idea of what kind of mutant I'm dealing with:

Max: I've never met a real live gay.

Julian: who is this?

Max: Max.

Julian: Well, I've never met a cat with no tail... how did you get my number?

Max: I wasn't born with a tail, and Matt left his phone on the table so I memorized it.

Julian: Actually, Max. You were born with it, but Grandma Sue cut that beast off because Matt's allergic to you. I believe he said, the less cat he has to deal with, the better. Your eye-soar of a nub was actually once long and fluffy like mine. Hence, I'm more of a cat than you.. Burn.

Max: Yeah, I don't believe you... Funny thing is, I overheard your mom and dad talking about how Matt's allergic to your meechums, and that's why you're only allowed 3 a day... Burn.

Julian:....grow a tail, pussy.

Max: Oh, gigi? One more thing... you're adopted.

I didn't respond to that last comment because I was already dialing my mom's number to confront her about what the cat said. She vehemently denied it, and promised Max was full of piss crystals and was doped up on medication (probably anti-depressants, if I'm allowed a guess). Regardless, I'm not adopted. I'm not adopted. I'm not adopted. But I will be adopted when my dad decides to stop being a tittelbaby and sign the papers (hint-hint, cough-cough, nudge-nudge, daddy-o).

I gotta get the hell off of here and clean my closet. We're moving in two days! Skeet!! (that's the big news...Oh! And that I got my first chest hair--what what big boiii!)

Hugs & Meechums,

Joe