Welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. Please take a number. Her Evilness will be with you when she damn well feels like it.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

anatomy of killing a migrain by poking it in the face with a sharp stick

jesus fuck, my head hurts.  quick, attack the headache with an ice pack!!!

fine, you bastard migraine.  not going away?  i'm gonna eat your fucking face.

or maybe just smoke a crap ton of pot ahem, perfectly legal tobacco products in hopes that the fucker headache will buckle under the pressure.

still not gone?  ::attacks with more weed::  bitch, i'mma smoke your ass!  (heh)

or, you know, you could take the great advice of Peaches, and fuck the pain away.

and shit, if that doesn't work, i don't even know what to do retire to your bed and moan and piss and whine with a lavender-stuffed pillow and hope that your dude/lady will bring you a nice cold caffeinated beverage, and stop playing that goddamn music so loud because OMG MY HEAD IS POUNDING.

or, just smoke more pot.  eventually that fucker will go away.  even if i have to kill it with a spear.

 or my gofuckyourself gun.

or maybe you should try drinking.  cuz that hangover isn't gonna go away all by itself.

Friday, June 24, 2011

"don't feed the trolls." but shooting at one with a blow dart is hella fun.

ooooohh, more stuff to make fun of!!!  i sincerely enjoy this too much.  i will eat your face!!! 


my comments in bold, of course.

"Obviously you don't have kids as your EWW factor for poo is still quite comically high. 
Well!  as a matter of fact, i don't.  nor do i want the little buggers.  let other more competent, less crazy people run that show.  
The shit, literally, wipes off. It is no big deal, just a little smell. 
apparently SOME people don't mind being covered in shit.  ya know, there's a fetish for that...  
(that link is not porn.  don't be afraid.)
Also, this story is quite common, so common in fact that it is no big deal. 
of course it happens all the time.  and it's fucking hilarious!!!  (when it's not your toilet.)  ah, the things i do for a laugh.  you did see the "humor" description on this blog?  no?
You are not special, your bathroom is not special, you are just a run of the mill attention seeking blogger writing about a common occurrence like it is something shiny and new. 
OMG you're totally right!  my bath tub isn't even marble or anything!  *sobsobsob*  i'll never be a writer! [slits wrists in not-marble bath tub]
i'm special-er than you, nah nah nyah nyah nah!  my daddy tells me i'm a fucking unique snowflake or some shit.
i'm pretty sure every single blogger in the world is blogging so because they enjoy writing about crap, and having other people read it.  soooo technically, every blogger is seeking attention.  everybody likes an audience.  : ]
Small chance you are going to post this, but just maybe you'll read it and realize your stink shits just like the rest of us. Come join the party. "  - Sean P
oh HELLS YEAH i'm gonna post it.  you gave me a good giggle.  fuck, i love making fun of people!  can we do this again sometime? 

"shit stinks," indeed.  we've got a genius here, minions!

UPDATE:  the Matt just informed me that it actually reads "stink shits," not shit stinks.  EVEN BETTER!

maybe next time he can focus his energy on telling me my hair sucks.  at least that has room for creative interpretation!!!

"i'mma gangsta.  gonna shoot you with my gofuckyourself gun." 

for my fourth of july present, can i please, please, get a batshit crazy email?? they're so much funnier when they ramble. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles get REVENGE.

i blame last week's MNDC for all of this.  as usual.

normally, pizza night would be a regular activity of ours.
not this night.

list of things on the pizza menu:

tuna fish, peanut butter, and grape jelly (looks like cat food!)
peanut butter and avocado with extra pickles
marshmallow and pepperoni
chocolate chip (that one wasn't bad, actually)
chocolate fudge with extra garlic
chocolate fudge and sardines (now this one... noxious)
pepperoni and hot fudge (not so bad, considering the previous)
shredded coconut and sweet pickles (HATE sweet pickles, ugh)
popcorn pizza
and finally, pickles on cheese pizza.

now, that one was good.  i would even order that.  but the rest???

they spawned a bit of discussion...

BURN IN HELL, Michelangelo, for even coming up with that nasty vomitous nonsense!

we may have idolized the TMNT when we were kids, but man did they sure show us.  fuck you, turtles.

UPDATED:  never realized how cheesy this song was before... but i'm sharing it anyway.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Summer from Hell

 last summer, i was desperate for a job (hmm, not unlike this year), and i finally got one:  on Bourbon Street (much to my dismay) - as a "go-go" dancer.  it wasn't a stripping job.  i've done that too, as you all know; this one was worse.  i was hired on at the Bourbon Cowboy.  it was pure hell and misery.  i had to listen to the same shitty songs every single night, and i unintentionally learned every lyric to all the country songs i've always wanted to forget existed.  it was high summer, and the entire time i was dancing and waving those stupid 3 for 1 signs, i was dripping with sweat.  i hate sweating.  i'm not from the south originally, and the humidity down here makes me feel like i'm wearing a thick, wet wool blanket in 120 degree assholeness.  ahem.  anyhow.

last summer they also opened the Bourbon Cowboy 2 - as if one wasn't enough.  this one had a stage, and before they started having live bands, they had us "go-go" dancers dancing in the open windows.  evidently i didn't have enough opportunities while dancing in cowboy boots, cut off jean shorts, and tiny tank tops, to get harassed by every drunk idiot that walked by.  at least the other Bourbon Cowboy had our little dancing stage away from the street, where bouncers could shoo away the creepy guys.  they switched all the dancers back and forth between the two Cowboys, and i ended up at Bourbon Cowboy 2 a lot.  the dancer "manager" hated my guts for some unknown reason, so she wanted me out of "her" club (Bourbon Cowboy).

One night, as i was dancing on their stupid stage at Cowboy 2, (three feet away from the open windows, mind you) some stupid goddamn popped-collar frat-boy douchebag LITERALLY climbed through the open window, got onto the stage, and slapped my ass SO HARD i stumbled forward a bit.  i whipped around, grabbed him by his fucking collar, and followed him out of the window - choking him with his own collar.  the bouncer at the door was yelling - "HEY! what the hell! WHAT DID YOU DO???" he screamed at the frat boy - because i am not the type to start choking out a guy with his own collar on a whim.

i was yelling at the popped collar douchebag - "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???" while alternating between pummeling and slapping him with the hand that wasn't choking him with his collar.   "i didn't do nothin' man, she just went all crazy on me!" he said to the bouncer. "BULLSHIT!" the bouncer and i yelled, simultaneously.  the bouncer had to forcibly remove my hand from the guy's neck, and pushed him off the sidewalk.  "Get the fuck out of here!" he said. then he turned to me.  "You all right?" "NO i'm not all right, that fucker just assaulted me!!!"   i stormed up to management's office, and commenced to screaming.  the fucking asshole bullshit male manager basically told me that "you're a girl on Bourbon Street, people are gonna do shit like that, what do you expect?"   Well.  i didn't take that sexist bullshit lying down.  i started screaming louder.

and that's my story of how i got fired from a shitty club on Bourbon Street, because i wouldn't take getting assaulted and sexually harassed lying down.   i was glad to go.  and i was even gladder to go out swinging, and choking some frat-boy dipshit with his own shirt.  that part was worth every moment.

that there is Bourbon Cowboy 1.  the "go-go" dancers also had to ride the bull, if it was slow, to try and attract other riders and dipshits into the bar.

i can ride a hell of a lot better than this chick.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


"Kids, Do Not Fuck That Shit.  That Shit is GROSS!!!"  - Bob Saget 

the poo gods must HATE me this week.

we (the shit gods and i, i mean) got off on bad footing on saturday, when i had a hideously horribly embarrassing experience AT A WEDDING GIG, the TMI awfulness of which is to such an extent that even I am not gonna go there unless copiously begged and even then i'm emailing people the story, at my discretion, if i can even trust them never ever ever ever to repeat it, and YES IT WAS THAT BAD.

tonight, while having the least amount of "gastric distress" since this weekend, i was feelin' pretty good about my damn self.  i was eating some of my contraband froyo, that i got to take home from my gig, when i was like, "okay, cool, goin to the bathroom now."  i went, and brought my book, cuz i roll like that.  i do.  me = shameless.

we all shit.   

don't know about y'all, but i think poo humor can be lifted to a high art.  (if y'all don't go read that short story, and it is REALLY short, then i will DISOWN you as Minions.  READ IT.  it's hysterical.  take the time.
i might be immature, but i love humor of pretty much all stripes.  hell, i spent copious amounts of my time at a previous law office job (where they were presumably paying me to be "respectable"), reading this website.  shit?  it's funny.  funnier than hell. (i'm twelve, and i LIKE it!!!)

so, back to my night.  i had the first non-shitty (heheheh) merde i'd had all week, and went to flush. 

of course it didn't flush. 

our toilet does that all the time.  it doesn't really get stopped up, so much as sometimes we just need to flush it twice to get the bowl to empty completely. 

annoying?  certainly, but no big deal.  our house is OOOLLLDDDD.  so is the toilet.

nuh-uh, not this night.  couldn't have happened that easily, NOOOO. 
i waited around, flushed the second time. 
the water rose ominously.

well, that happens sometimes too, here.  it usually goes down quickly, no worries, right?

but no.  oh, no.  nononononononoooo! 

water kept rising.  i started panicking.  then it hit the top of the toilet seat.  i didn't wait around.  i did what every single idiot has done in the history of ever, and beat it into the kitchen, screaming "MATT MATT MATT MATT!!!  EMERGENCY!  EMERGENCY INVOLVING THE TOILLLLEEEETTTTT!!!!" 

i know, i'm classy.

Matt comes screaming through the house from the living room, skidding around the corner and miraculously not tripping over anything.  possibly because he's thinking i'm dying, or flushing myself, or whatever else that could go horribly wrong with me in a room alone (read:  a LOT).

of course, the second i left the bathroom, the rat fink bastard motherfucking toilet finally flushed.  finally. 
but not before spewing dirty poo water ALL THE FUCK OVER my entire fucking tile bathroom floor.  i can only be grateful it was tile, and not, say, wood.  or carpet. 

Matt and i just sat there, staring at it for a second (and it's very hard to get two of us in our bathroom period, much less with the poo water puddle on the floor).  we didn't even know what the hell to do.  (this actually hasn't happened to me before, believe it or not, in spite of my incredibly  bad luck with weird incidents.  guess it had to happen sometime.)

then, turning to look at each other with EEEEEWWWW faces squarely on, we looked in the direction of the bath towels. 

things i can be grateful for: 
  • no one tracked poo water through the kitchen with their shoes.
  • no one *coughMEcough* dripped shit water through the house as she carried incredibly filthy towels straight to the washer and turned that fucker straight on.
  • i did not get shit on my hands this evening.  

so, cinderella signing off tonight, with two things for you: 

a quote of mine, to Matt, as he laughed at me:  "no! do not kiss me for that! this isn't funny, this is a poo-filled catastrophe!!!"

and this:

proof that my bathroom is not a disgusting hellhole anymore.  (seeee how tiny that fucker is?!?!??!?)

 now, i am going to go eat some more fucking frozen yogurt and glare menacingly at my toilet every time i walk into the kitchen. 

yes, the bathroom is off the kitchen.  it's a shotgun house, and the floor plan looks like this:

UPDATE:  Matt just told me i missed a spot while cleaning. 

i missed the underside of the toilet seat.  it wasn't a "spot" so much as the entire fucking toilet bowl rim.  GAH.

his words?  "it was SCARRING."

oh yeah, that reminds me.  i need to go wash the towels, again.  twice.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

the affects of letting a fasion sense-less kid dress herself.

well i'm about to make myself laugh hysterically embarrass myself here.

even as a child, i always had a bit of way too much dramatic flare.  i think i was taking my cues from all those old movies my dad watched (not that he doesn't still watch them today.)  so i think the below picture was my interpretation of some scene in Hello, Dolly! 
also, note the results of letting me pick my own coats, in the eighties.  (and the fact that i'd outgrown it a year ago...)

i was terribly blonde as a child, despite having been born with a shock of red hair.  i would show you some terrible baby pictures too, but my mom still has custody of those, and isn't giving them up until i pry them out of her attic while she's sleeping.


my love of cats began pretty much as soon as i saw one.  (before that, it was trying to befriend dead pigeons on the side of the road.)  i was constantly begging my mom for a cat.  it didn't work so well, until i was so persistent that she finally gave in, just to shut me up.

above, i'm holding my best friend's cat.  his name was Sally.  i have no idea how i still remember that.  people used to mistake J and i for twins or sisters, in this time period.  we were both insanely blonde, to be sure.  and our mothers had been close friends since before we were even born.   but i'm going on a tangent, here.

this is me and my grandmother (mom's side) here.  above is my beloved Stevenson Panthers shirt.  that's the elementary school i went to.  wish i'd gotten that large enough to swim in.  i cried when i outgrew it.  no, really.  i did.  i would still be reasonably thrilled to own that shirt.  after all, i own a softball hoodie from my high school.  and i never even played softball.  it was one of my friend's.  has her name & number on it and all.  

as far as i was concerned as a kid, one of the best things my parents ever did was move us out of the reasonable city of Louisville, KY into a teeny tiny small town in rural Kentucky, the likes of which i've never lived in again, thankfully.  but it was great as a kid - i mean, LOOK AT THAT HOUSE!  how many kids do you know who wouldn't give a limb to live there?  so many trees to climb.  and i'm pretty sure i scaled them all, each and every one.


my parents moved us into this house, and proceeded to completely renovate it.  before, it was filled with falling paint and gross beige carpet.  this is the after picture of the grand hall.  that's actual antique carpet that my dad found who knows where.  of course, my dad was an antiques dealer (still is) and had no problem finding antique fixtures, like those chandeliers there.  


 this here was the snooty parlor (with slightly less grand chandelier) which we kids really weren't supposed to be in, without supervision.  not that it stopped me.  and i have fond, fond memories of climbing onto antique sideboards to hang up heavy antique paintings, while my dad sat by, "a little to the left.  no no, LEFT!  okay, now a bit to the right..."  the other kids thought we were rich.  HA!  not a chance.  but, as they put it, "but you live in, like, a total MANSION!"  and in that, they were not wrong.

just in case you're ready to stab my in the face with a spork after seeing these pictures, did i mention that i was homeschooled in this house?  yeah.
(believe it or not, that didn't damage me for life.  my mom actually is a great teacher, yo.)


as you can see, i was your proverbial eighties child.  i certainly picked out this combination myself.  except for the belt.  because i hated belts.  that there shirt says "Cookie Magic," by the way.

one of the things that has stood the test of time, is that i am almost inevitably far, far whiter than all my friends could ever be (not that it's hard or anything, look at how ghost white i am.  only thing that has changed is now i'm completely covered in freckles).  i'm pretty sure that The Matt is the only person i've spent copious amounts of time with who has skin just as white as mine.

this is another of my very best friends A here.  we were always jealous of each other's barbies.  i wanted her pretty dark barbies, and she wanted my crazy-blonde ones.  we always meant to switch them around a bit, but it never happened.  i blame our moms, because we certainly would have done it.  she was also one of the first people to put my hair in copious amounts of braids.  (she also was the first person to cornrow my hair, so many years later...and she was really good at it!)

have i mentioned that the childhood bangs i was rocking scared me off bangs until i was in my twenties?  good going, MOM.

i've never been into team sports much (i was really terrible at softball, and quit after third grade.  that's what comes when you don't quite have binocular vision because your eyes are separate prescriptions, and you can't see in 3-D so well.  to this day, i still can't see those motherfucking Magic Eye 3-D thingys.  no, i'm not bitter or anything, why do you ask?)
but i was a very sporty child nonetheless.

i was completely obsessed with horses, like most Kentucky girls.  that's me to the left, J to the right.  the horse's name was Midnight.  he was a Tennessee Walker, and had originally been trained as a Performance horse.  he was trained to pick up his forelegs high as he walked and trotted.  it made for quite a beautiful gait.  he also had the amusing quality of trying to occasionally scrape a rider off against a tree.  and this is how i became very good at staying on a horse.  they can flat-out gallop, rear, or buck, and i'll still be on their backs like a burr. 

he also once stomped on my foot, accidentally, and just stood on it until a few adults came to my rescue.  did a hell of a number on my right big toe, i'll tell you that.  they told me my toenail was only saved by the fact that i was wearing cowboy boots.  whew!  never mind the bruising for weeks...

Kentucky has this habit of creating ice storms.  during one of these, this HUGE tree (of which you can only see half, in this picture) came crashing down, early in the morning.  i only know this because my parents told me.  even though the sucker shook the house so hard that everyone else awoke in a panic, i slept through it quite soundly.  (now i've also slept through hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes... no, really.)  

ooh, embarrassing family portraits, YES!  note my hair, carefully styled by a light socket crimper.


typical me, at the time:  girl scouts sweatshirt, check.  jean jacket?  check.  obligatory book?  check!  my mom pushed my little ass into sports, about this time, just to get me out of the damn house.  "Go!  Go Outside!  Get in a tree or something.  NO YOU CANNOT BRING YOUR BOOK!  Just go outside and Play!!!"  (whereupon we played mud pies and she rethought this staying inside with a book thing.)

my grandma (dad's side) was the real fashion influence in the family.  so when i rocked something she picked out, i looked pretty good.  i'd still wear this today. well, maybe not the jacket.  but the skirt, definitely.  it was velvet.  very cushy.  (note my mom's legs in eighties leggings, to the left...)


an "after" picture of the house, after my dad had his way with it.  way fewer trees, far more ornamentation.  he fixed the house's columns when the iron was too rusty to stay.  he also restored the brick walls on the property, and created the circle drive, and the fountain, and the...

my mom made me help her deliver xmas goodies.  as an elf.  she even made the costumes for my brother and i.  note the jingle bell necklace.  believe it or not, i was totally psyched to be an elf.


the aforementioned sports.  for a while, i was a competitive gymnast.  i was pretty damn good, in fact.  see those medals?  they were for competing at Kentucky's State level competitions.
by the time they were done handing them out, i had 2 gold, 1 silver, 2 bronze.  not bad, for a ten year old.  

"all i do is WIN, WIN WIN..."
when we moved i had to give up the gymnastics since there was no gym nearby.  that was a major bummer, dude.

ah, the "twins" again, J and i.   funny, no one ever asked us if we were twins in the summer... hmm.

oh, the sacred hallowed grounds of middle school (snerk!).  that's my ex-boyfriend and i, engaging in a pillow fight.  i think i was losing.  the most important part of this picture to point out, is that i still have those pajama pants.  i got them in seventh grade.  i think the real wonder is not that they've lasted this long, but that they still fit.

i have had a lifelong hatred of shorts, ever since about this time period.  can't stand the way they fit.  (ahem.  that may or may not be a Jonathan Taylor Thomas poster behind my head.  you know who he was, don't lie.  he was your teen crush, too.  Simba, remember?  i may or may not have forged love letters from him to me, sometime in between the crack of intermediate and middle school.  i told you i am a dork.)

 ahem.  this may or may not be me pretending to kiss JTT.  (also note the pajama pants...)

THIS IS NOT MY BEDROOM.  i repeat.  it's really not my bedroom.  it was my best friend B's bedroom.  (you're welcome, and i'm sorry, B...)


in middle school, for reasons unknown to pretty much anyone who's ever known me, i decided that i really, really needed to be a cheerleader.  i was a damn good cheerleader.  the gymnastics experience gave me a good edge.  our squad won state-wide competitions.  but the rest of the girls were total bitches (especially to me, since i wasn't "popular," more like infamous), and that's why i eventually quit.  i had no time to deal with that shit.  so instead...


oh yeah, that's right.  i was a ballerina.  (and a good one, though certainly not as good as most many others.)  here, i'm playing the lead role in Hansel & Gretel.  naturally, i was Hansel.  probably because i was the only one they could have shoehorned into that outfit.  and the socks.  and the hat.  (ohhhh, the hat...)

now at that point, i was no longer a flat kid, so guess how i looked even that flat.  if you guessed duct tape, you would be right... (over a white sports bra, lest i rip the skin off my nipples.)
this was also my first performance en pointe, but i was not Hansel while doing that.  i was a Licorice Whip.  if you don't know what that is, well, i don't either.  we were in black unitards with red sequins wrapped around us.  that's all i know.


i do NOT look good in yellow.  also this year was when i danced en pointe with a broken toe.  to be fair, i didn't know it was broken.  at the time.  notice i was OUT of the pointe shoes by this time (pic was taken by my mom after the show).

this is one of the many years i was in the Waltz of the Flowers, Nutcracker.  (ask a ballerina sometime about whether she ever wants to dance that ballet again, after doing it year after year after year after year...)

that video is not of my dance studio, fyi.  we had actual scenery.  and really good choreography.  we were the sort of studio that tries to groom young ballerinas to go professional, (aka pushing them too hard) but in the meantime creating really excellent full-length ballets.

as a very good example of my studio pushing young dancers - not the year of the terrible yellow tutu (but the year of the Very Nice purple tutu).  as we were in final rehearsals for this very same dance, another year, i managed to fall on one of the simplest moves in ballet, and tear every tendon in my left foot.  of course, i still danced the ballet.  (to be fair, i didn't have an understudy.)

i have actually had the fortune to be in very good programs - for ballet, cheerleading, ballet, marching/symphonic band, etcetera, despite how draconian a few of them might have been...


this is me as Little Bo Peep.  with one of my sheep.  (Shut. Up.)  my little sheep there was actually taller than me by far, hence me standing en pointe in this photo.


after so many injuries, i finally gave up being a ballerina.  but only after i'd irreversibly damaged my left foot, my knees and my hips...
there's a reason i'm such a creaky old lady at a young age.

 as i mentioned before, i went through a period in high school when my hair was burgundy/auburn.  not my best look, but hardly my worst... (me at 15)

my utterly fabulous dad and i, at a birthday.  my brother's birthday, probably.
my mom would love me forever if i wore my hair like this all the time.  16, here.  i would bet large amounts of money that this picture is sitting on my mom's desk at her office.
because every high school student needs a catholic school girl skirt... god, don't y'all know anything??!?!?
my school's terrible uniform policy is the single reason that i won't wear khaki ever again, so long as i live.  imagine four years of this:  khaki, navy, white.  khaki, navy white.  it's also the reason i tortured my school administration mercilessly by wearing black constantly, and then constantly getting sent up to the office for it. 

once upon a time, a long time ago, when i was a sixteen year old girl, i had the stupidity misfortune of having an utterly craptastic boyfriend, who i eventually got engaged to.  yeah.  and that's why i'm still reasonably unattached, ten years later.  the idea even now gives me the willies, that i could have been stuck with that controlling asshole.  shudder.
the reason that's topical is that this set of pictures were taken for us as "engagement photos."

if you'll notice here, i'm wearing a vintage velvet dress with a stud belt, bunny ears, and doc martins.  that about sums up high school.  in a good way, mind you.  i still have every single piece of clothing in that picture.  yes, even the bunny ears.
when i wasn't busy in marching band, or ballet, or whatever the hell else kind of trouble i was getting into, i was in Spanish Dance team.  we did flamenco, and other awesome things.  when we twirled around just right, those lacy skirts made a full circle.  pretty sweet.  for a year i was choreographing all of our dances.

if you ever wanted to know how Mobile Bay looks when a hurricane hits, well, this is it.  btw - that water is about ten feet high (or more maybe) than usual. 

my mom in back right, and me, caught coming down after a toe-touch.  i was still rockin' those cheerleading skillz.  i only wish i could have found the picture of my mom attempting that toe-touch, as well.  oh, man.  hil-A-rious!  note the cow socks.  i have an abhorrence for boring socks.  i don't own a single white sock.

oh yes, i was also in colorguard, as if my dork status wasn't already written in stone...  this is me as a junior captain, flagrantly breaking the (No! Fingernail! Polish!) rules.
at the time, we didn't like these outfits.  if only we'd known that next year...


...was going to be so horrific, that we would kill to get the previous ones back.  this is my senior year, by the way.  Head Captain.  oh, yeah.  i wanted to kill our instructor, for this terrible, ill-fitting costume.

as evidenced by this picture, i have never mastered the SexyLook.

during a typical day at high school, this is what i was wearing.  after all, they didn't say anything about ties in the dress code...
i still like ties.  i probably have 50 of them.

homecoming dress, senior year.  i was using it in senior portraits. 

i had some really good senior portraits.

they weren't boring, anyway. i sent this one in my grad cards, to my mother's confusion, creating the tradition of really weird grad photos.  this was the tame version, compared to my college grad picture.

if your question is "how the hell did you get up there?" then my answer is, very carefully.  through the water, with my skirt held above my knees.

well, this is obvious.

the advantages of getting too drunk at  a camp-out party, and stealing someone's hat...

for a long, long time in college, i rocked these vampire fangs.  in fact, i wore them almost constantly, to the point that when i got incredibly sick for a week and didn't wear them, a few of my teachers did a double-take, because they'd actually thought they were my real teeth.

ah, college.  some good times, yo.  my fashion sense probably didn't improve much from childhood, but at least i've managed to pick up a raging pot habit a few tips along the way.

oh, and by the way???

i still have those vampire fangs!