I've been remiss in my blogging. Probably because I've never 'kept a blog' or any such nonsense.
I find that I really hate wearing bras lately...so I don't. It's so liberating! For instance, a few hours ago, my mom was lamenting her lack of apples (as in, Granny Smith, Gala, Fuji, Red Delicious, etc.) and didn't want to go to the store specifically because she didn't want to go in. Despite still being in my pj's (yes, at 9pm), I agreed to go in if she drove. I swapped my flannel pants for jeans, slid on some flip flops (in Connecticut, at the end of November. WTF?), and walked out the door in all my bra-less, close-fitted tee, glasses-wearing glory. I haven't gone bra-less in public before, and I rarely wear my glasses, because, well, they look fucking ridiculous. I strolled on into that grocery store like King Shit, not giving a damn because I still have a concussion. And y'know what? It was awesome.
I also find that I don't have any money. Which really sucks, because last night, I was up until 4 in the morning researching and designing and fantasizing my next tattoos. It's kind of like having a perfectly seasoned, medium-rare sirloin in front of me. In a solid Plexiglass box. Wrapped in chains, zip ties and secured with a few MasterLocks. Set into 6 feet of concrete. And all I've got is a butter knife.
In other recent news, the shitstorm continues; my father used the insurance money from Johanna to get himself a red 1990 LeBaron convertible (with red velour interior...turns out he's a pimp!); I'm beginning my involuntary herb hiatus; I'm plowing through all of the Harry Potter books yet again, but not in any particular order; and found the most perfectly-fitting Italian leather car coat at Salvation Army for $15.
As always, the good comes with the bad, and the bad with the good.
I find that I really hate wearing bras lately...so I don't. It's so liberating! For instance, a few hours ago, my mom was lamenting her lack of apples (as in, Granny Smith, Gala, Fuji, Red Delicious, etc.) and didn't want to go to the store specifically because she didn't want to go in. Despite still being in my pj's (yes, at 9pm), I agreed to go in if she drove. I swapped my flannel pants for jeans, slid on some flip flops (in Connecticut, at the end of November. WTF?), and walked out the door in all my bra-less, close-fitted tee, glasses-wearing glory. I haven't gone bra-less in public before, and I rarely wear my glasses, because, well, they look fucking ridiculous. I strolled on into that grocery store like King Shit, not giving a damn because I still have a concussion. And y'know what? It was awesome.
I also find that I don't have any money. Which really sucks, because last night, I was up until 4 in the morning researching and designing and fantasizing my next tattoos. It's kind of like having a perfectly seasoned, medium-rare sirloin in front of me. In a solid Plexiglass box. Wrapped in chains, zip ties and secured with a few MasterLocks. Set into 6 feet of concrete. And all I've got is a butter knife.
In other recent news, the shitstorm continues; my father used the insurance money from Johanna to get himself a red 1990 LeBaron convertible (with red velour interior...turns out he's a pimp!); I'm beginning my involuntary herb hiatus; I'm plowing through all of the Harry Potter books yet again, but not in any particular order; and found the most perfectly-fitting Italian leather car coat at Salvation Army for $15.
As always, the good comes with the bad, and the bad with the good.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
horror_head:
Does your concussion have anything to do with rock-climbing? 
(Not that it's funny; just being facetitious.)
(Not that it's funny; just being facetitious.)
_whiskey:
Nope. I wish it did, though! Rock climbing is much more fun than crashing your car.