Annette had kissed me. Who would’a thunk it?

There are really no guidelines whatsoever, because this is the kind of thing that only happens to ME.

...my little blurb wasn't going to win me any speaker-of-the-year awards, but at least I hadn't tripped and fallen off the stage, crushing and killing three elderly jazz fans.

Mr. Watras asked me whether I was practicing, and I told him I was practicing my tissue basketball skills.

I tucked him in with his stuffed-animal pet dog—cleverly named Dog-Dog, by the way.

Note to self: It's hard to attain a state of no-mind when you're incredibly pumped up on tea and sugar and have to urinate every three and a half minutes.

Finally the kitchen clock said 5:17. It was time to roll out. I shouted for my mom, woke Jeffrey up, ran upstairs, changed into my concert clothes, put on my shoes, and was standing by the door to the garage by 5:19—chanting “Let’s go! Come on!” (Feel free to try that at home, by the way; moms love it!)