On the Twenty-Eighth Day of Christ*&^%

On the Twenty-Eighth Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

I even waste time in an efficient manner.

I am now the proud owner of five pairs of black boots. They are all vastly different.

I almost popped a baby.

Babies dig the sounds I make.

I leave some Christmas decorations up year round.

I think it would be fun if I could travel in my very own personal green screen.

I thank the god I don't believe in for leggings.

Two and a half weeks after they cut it, I still have funky expectoration from the haze machine.

When they invent a hazing fluid you can imbibe, then I will not complain about inhaling it.

I believe New Years should be spent doing things you hope to be doing all year long.

I have no resolve.

I spent way too much money this Christ*&^%$.

I met (and slugged) Gregory Peck.

I drank with Paul Newman.

I got Joanne Woodward to confess.

I was dismissed by Lauren Bacall.

Samuel Ramey grabbed my ass. I never wiped again.

"My Man Godfrey" cures everything.

"Born Yesterday" cures everything.

"Roman Holiday" cures everything.

"Philadelphia Story" cures everything.

John Denver songs make me wanna blow my head off.

I was an opera singer 'til I was 30.

I can sing ridiculously low.

I can sing ridiculously high.

I can sing ridiculously loud.

I am a shambhalian.

Twice in my life I've gone into mind meld. It is pure love.