Maybe I miss some things more than I'm willing to admit. Maybe to admit that I miss them would be torture to my <3.
'Jess is a little wild...' my coworker said to her sister. Why? Because I was wearing crazy patterned socks with my black suit [I figured twenty minutes of fighting with pantyhose was more than enough time wasted on frivolity]. Not to mention zebra print top. ha! And Modrobes lounge shoes cause I broke my toe. wee-oo.
Tonight is a night for Sloan covering cheezy 70s power ballads, Bob Kemmis singing about Hollywood & nouveau Lister eps. Tonight is a night for goodbyes to old favourites and greetings to youngbloods.
I am now the sole proprietor of a huge [empty] house. For way too long.
I will paint Matt Good manifestos on the walls. I will blast James at all hours of the night. I will auction off the things I don't like to the lowest bidder. The things I love to no one but my closest friends, so when I'm lonely for my vintage radio, I know where it's at. I can visit it, say hello, inquire as to its health on a regular basis [it still works].
Trade Sanity for Love. Love for Satisfaction.
blatant propaganda: i <3 text messages. [e.mail: [email protected]]
'Rants are the official communication mode of the nineties.'