well-forked but not dead.

& fuck you, fuck you. Wait! I shouldn't start an entry mid-thought like that. Thing of thee day: A few punk kids I know (Why do I always use the collective term "kids?" I'm not a "kid" myself, and they're both older than I am.) were arrested for propagating anti-current-events graffiti abhorrent vandalism. Good god, they must be socialists."Deranged Socialists!""But... but... that's the only kind!"Anyhow. I was mucking through the mud puddles and Pennzoil residue taking photos when this guy I'd never seen before walked toward me and said, "My GOD you're beautiful!!" promptly turned the corner, and went on his merry way. It was bizarre. I just kind of mumbled "Uhhh.... thanks, I think." or something equally stupid. Maybe he was only quoting Happy Noodle Boy.Today I also got a massive amount of hair hacked off. The hair-cutting human and I were observing the screaming children at the other end of the shop and talking about how we were stuck with our mothers giving us haircuts when we were in grade school. Ah. I remember grade school. It was during the 80s and I was enamoured with trying to look like all the silly high school kids, so the more voluminous I could get my hair, the cooler I was. Home perms-in-a-box, crimping irons, Aqua-Net... I'm surprised I'm not bald. It was horrible. Scientists genetically engineered the first dead poodle-mullet-thing attached to the top of my head. C.C. Deville didn't have anything on me. Couple that with the makeup samples I was always stealing from my mom's alcoholic Avon-selling best friend? I was such a dirty rockstar. Now all I need is a fridge full of liquor and a drawer full of drugs. *looks around* Oh.I hate talking about myself. A little bit is normal, but... hey. Maybe that's why I don't write here every day anymore. I need to start constantly bitching about the outside world again.