I’ve been spending all night up with Myke, (who is apparently damned attractive, no really. I have pictures to prove it. His hair is worse than mine. I love it. We could destroy entire shops of brushes with our hair; with the right kind of weather, cities would fall under our combined static.) He’s half convincing me to come down to Ohio for a visit. Yes, a little voice inside my head says, that sounds exactly like something you should do.
At one point we were picturing how I would explain such a conversation to my mother:
“I met this nifty fellow on-line. He’s an artist, yes, you like that sort of thing. Yes. No, he’s trying to talk me into staying with him in Ohio.”
*holds phone away from ear for five minutes*
“No mum, he thinks I’m neat, apparently. Yes, he’s older than me. Of course he is. Everyone is, mum.”
“Mum, I’ve been following his journal, of course he’s not a predator.”
*now ten minutes*
“No, there would be things to do in Ohio. He’s got a friend with a sideshow I could pester until they let me join. (Lemme send you a link, they’re all blockheads. No, that’s actually a term, mum). They’d love me – I have those pyrotechnics tickets which let me buy explosives, and you know I could make my own glittery out-fit. I think it could be a good idea.”
*this is where her head might actually implode a bit*
People I don’t know answered my poll with things like phone numbers. I am almost curious enough to call, but I think I would prefer to talk to them here first before doing anything as rash as showing up on a caller ID. The other thing I learned was that I should likely get this AIM thing. Speaking on anonymous oddities, however, who has been sending me the random Depeche Mode? I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t need anymore. Honestly. I don’t think I can take it. Bad enough that Daleks are attacking British Parliament.
The sun is blinding hungry today. I turned my lamps off an hour ago and the light only became more apparent. The brighter is gets, the more it hurts. The glare from across the street is already too much to look at. It will be a good day in spite of it, I suspect, if only because we can start a Jerry Falwell VS the Pope Deathpool and kids have actually started killing each other over video-games, so both the left and right get to cry verification today.
Things Not Saxophone