Call It Chicken Salad

It Wasn't Until Kiffney-brown, When I Met Jason Talbot, That I Really Thought I Might Actually Have One Of Those Boyfriend Kind Of Stories To Tell The Next Time I Got Together With My Old Friends. Jason Was Smart, Good-looking, And Seriously On The Rebound After His Girlfriend At Jackson Dumped Him For, In His Words, 'a Juvenile Delinquent Welder With A Tattoo'.

It Wasn't Like I Was Some Expert On The Meaning Of Being Supportive. Was It Being Loyal Even Against Your Better Judgement? Or, Like Olivia, Was It Making Your Displeasure Known From The Start, Even When Someone Didn't Want To Hear It?

As If It Didnt Matter What Was On, But Instead How Hard I Was Listening.

The Kind Who Live For Music And Are Constantly Seeking It Out, Anywhere They Can. Who Can't Imagine A Life Without It. They're Enlightened.

I Wondered If Emotions Were Like Menstrual Cycles, If You Get Enough Women Together. Give It Time, And Everyone Was Crying.