What does it all mean?

Nuthin'. It don't mean jack-crap. Stop trying to make associations that don't exist. This is not your Western Civ class. And, if it was, I'd be one of those subvert-the-dominant-paradigm professors who would give each student an "A" just for showing up.

Hell, you could pick your nose and give me the tissue, I'd call it a brilliant anti-establishment statement against the commercialization of higher education and let you sleep through class. Whatever. Don't feel the need to bullshit my bullshit.

Now that I've sufficiently alienated everyone through unwarranted hostility ...

Staring at HTML code all day makes me want to break stuff.

Yesterday morning, I was smoking a cigarette and listening to music while waiting for the bus. (And THAT, good people, is the clunkiest multi-claused opening sentence that you're likely to see today. Unless you're reading a Bronte.) There was a cop car parked in the spot designated for the bus, because apparently, cop cars can do whatever they want. I could see the bus approaching from a few blocks away, and was getting hold of my CTA pass so that I could be a thoughtful and efficient bus-boarder, when the cop crawled from the drivers' to the passengers' seat of the squad car, stuck his head out of the window, and said, "EXCUSE ME!"

So, I was thinking I was busted for something, that maybe some ordinance had been passed prohibiting the smokage of ciggies at bus stops. I cocked my head a bit, and, looking genuinely confused, approached the cop-head.

"Can I bum a smoke?" said cop-head.

"Sure," replied I, retrieving a wee Camel from my pocket. (I've still yet to master getting it through the eye of a needle. Ha. HA!) "I thought I was getting busted for smoking or something."

"Nope, if I can smoke here, you can," said cop-head.

The bus reached my stop and wiggled it's way around the squad car.

"So, what's up? Anything?" said the (I happened to notice) rather attractive cop-head.

"Not a lot," said I, glancing with some urgency at the bus as it opened its doors for passengers. "I gotta get on this bus," I continued.

"Actually, do you have a light?" said cop-head brandishing his Camel. "I don't have one."

At which point, after briefly thinking how odd it was that squad cars don't come equipped with lighters, I got extremely flustered. I kept looking at the bus, and sputtering, "I have to go! My bus! Mine! Must get on! Go! Me!"

Finally, I basically threw my burning cigarette at the cop, blubbering something about how I wasn't going to finish it anyway, and sprinted onto the bus. My last image of the cop was him holding the unlit cigarette in his left hand, the lit on in his right, and saying "Are you sure? Well, thanks," as I ran away.

I don't know. It struck me as odd.

I like to think he actually smoked the rest of my cigarette, and saved the other for later. Because that's a little creepy, and I like creepy.

Do you remember the dapper old drunk I told you about before? The one who asked me out?

That guy lives at the pub, and is never without his little straw hat or bow tie.

I once saw him there in the company of a much younger woman with dark hair, too much makeup, and enormous tits. He looked pleased as punch. I must say, he always looks so happy when I see him, regardless of whether or not he's in the present of a big-titted lady.

Dapperdrunk and I crossed paths recently, as I was heading home from the subway. I was smoking. Dapperdrunk, upon catching my eye, stopped in his path. He raised his right pointer finger emphatically, and said, "Miss, you shouldn't smoke those things."

"Haramahamina," I replied, and walked on.

He turned to watch me go, saying to my back, "Those things'll kill ya, Baby!" before heading back into the pub with a shrug.

It was like a sweet little scene from a movie.

Has anyone ever noticed how obsessed Victorian novelists were with the brows of their heroines? Maybe "brow" had a broader definition back the the day, but when I read "brow," I think "forehead." I don't think I've ever met anyone whose forehead was particularly worthy of notice. Even if I had, I don't think I would ascribe goodness, purity, or virtue to that person based on his/her "smooth, white brow."

I specifically remember a bizarrely strong emphasis on Lucie Manette's flawless brow in "A Tale of Two Cities." As a result of this, I could never fully imagine the character's face, despite the repeated description of her ivory-and-golden beauty. In my mind's eye, Lucie Manette will ever be naught but a big, blonde forehead.

Has anyone noticed how many rhetorical questions I've asked today? Are they really rhetorical? Could it be that I just want to make things a little more interactive? Don't you love me anymore? Does this skirt make my ass look big? Do you think I'm pretty? What time is it? What are you waiting for? Is there a God? WHY ARE WE HERE?

Twizzlers or Red Vines?

I vote for the former. I prefer the more palatable lipstick waxiness of the Twizzler, over the chewier, more candle-waxiness of the Red Vine.

1. Don't eat too much.

2. Don't eat too little.

3. Don't sleep too much.

4. Don't sleep too little. In fact, it's probably in your best interest to strive for more than 3 hours of sleep per night. Any less, and your skin starts to decay.

4. Don't wallow.

5. Don't repress.

6. Don't ignore phone calls.

7. Don't feel pressured to see anyone.

8. Don't forget the extent to which your friends rock the fucking casba, how much they love you, and how good they are about (a) listening to your whining and (b) distracting you by being ridiculously wonderfully funny and sweet.

9. Don't be a hermit.

10. Don't over-exert yourself.

11. Don't atrophy.

12. Did I mention, don't wallow?

13. Don't be such a wise-ass.

14. Don't watch sappy movies that make you all wishy.

15. Don't refrain from all frivolous entertainment.

16. For the love of GOD, lay off the Leonard Cohen! Remember, no matter how much you listen to it, you will never be one of the wispy-voiced backup singers to "Suzanne," nor will you be Suzanne, herself.

17. Stop talking to yourself.

Gah. Enough. I'm done.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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