too busy singin' to put anybody down

Dear Little Girl,

Where are your parents. You are about as big as a very aerodynamic toothbrush, wearing an entirely too skimpy Princess Jasmine costume in forty degree weather, and walking around by yourself after dark. That is like the beginning of a horrifying episode of CSI, and, oh dear god don't talk to the sleazy group of older boys on the corner. They have masks, baby Jasmine, and hockey sticks.

Yours in heart-stopping terror,
Mel

God, Halloween is so nerve wracking. A group of high school boys followed me home from the library this afternoon, and they were all wearing horrible, blank masks and big black hoodies and they didn't talk the entire time! I have never been more grateful for the fact that my messenger bag is damn heavy. I swear I was about three seconds from whipping out my red pen and trying to scare them off with grammar.

Anyway, I was trying to nap earlier, and as is my wont, I was eating crackers and drinking apple cider and listening to my last.fm to prepare (naps take so much effort, seriously) and, lo, it was soothing. Then The Monkees came on and I pretty much felt five years old all over again. So I want to know, mighty flist: what takes you back. A song you listened to, a certain food you ate all the time, a specific movie or actor you had a crush on - maybe even a distinct scent that reminds you of your mom lighting candles during dinner. What makes you feel five years old?

Last Train To Clarksville
I'm A Believer
Hey Hey We're The Monkees
Day Dream Believer