The pink glasses are the physical embodiment of a bourgeoisie dilemma (Quick! Sociology student, interpret what I mean and let me know if it's true!) On one hand, I realize that I am a 25 year old adult who could have raised 12 kids by now, reads the Times, wears comfortable socks for poor circulation, and at this point, pink glasses are a costume I wear to feel youthful. And of course, I am not young anymore. I've switched over to Lite Sour Cream™ ages ago, after all.
But, then again ...
Fuck it. It's my fucking life. And I want to wear pink glasses whether they belong on a neon purple unicorn or not. I'll deal with the repercussions of acting my age when I turn 30. Problem solved. P.S. The tits are still growing. Of course, this implies that the rest of the body is still growing (EEP!), but I will pretend it's just my lovely hips and chest that are the sole benefactors of my beer and cheese diet.
Cheapo rose wine and the wii. Not the most ingenious combination, but we get points for drinking it out of High Life bottles.
I just think it's more polite when a cat tucks his arms under himself. Hrumpf!
Do we look like a couple? Do we look like a couple who you'd be afraid to talk to? Unless you can endlessly chat about Gn'R, you'd best be afraid.
It's not nice to piss on a lawyer's office, but it's a pleasant reminder that anything you touch in public has most likely been pissed on. Note to self: buy more gloves.
Guess how long it took me to convince them to model for me? Literally nanoseconds. The rose was kicking in about then.
It's rather odd how many fights the boys avoid by being with a sweetheart such as myself. I'm being excessively cocky - let me stop this playlist (mid-90s east coast rap) and switch over to nick drake. Phew!
This was my plastic bag floating in the wind object that night. 'It's ... it's ... so ... cryptic ... sign of ... our ... times ... just ... breathe.' Yikes. My iPhoto is filled with this glittery leaf. If I could have only captured the moment Marc and Jay both spilled their drinks on me. No, nah, let's let that moment become swept away in the currents of forgotten memory.
ANYWAY! THAT WAS FRIDAY.
Early on Saturday morning, Marc went off to Jewish Temple™ and I raced off to the Library book sale. Walked and took the bus! This deserves a round of applause, I think. Especially seeing as I was still drunk from the night before. I'm burning the candle at both ends, hm? Worrisome.
OH WELLSIES! LOOK AT THE PRETTY LEAVES!
This is all on Columbia. Did you know Columbia the school and Colombia the country are spelled differently. I should write a Did You Know book for toddlers.
I bought a Tofu cookbook, soft cover textbook called Flesh and Fantasy, it's about who slept with whom in 1940s Hollywood, and large picture book on London.
Oh, right!
Bum Piss tunnel is now Day Glo Rainbow Acid Trip tunnel. It still reeks of bum piss.
Around this time, I got solicited by a prostitute-seeker. I'm all for new experiences, so this was muy interesting, but I refused.
The walk home was damp, overcast and very untypical Albuquerque. I wish you were there.
You'd think that this would be on the wall of every humdrum college dorm wall along with the animal house poster, einstein sticking out his tongue, einstein riding a bike, kramer portrait, and bob marley and/or che guevera nonsense but it's not.
