here in atlanta, we're moving chad's stuff into his extraordinarily well-located apartment, to hit the road for The Big Push North tomorrow.
the apartment building is nice, and (but?) is occupied by several flocks of sorority girls who wear a lot of Coco Mademoiselle perfume and short flouncy skirts, and go out at 11 p.m. in groups of three or four, all talking on their cell phones.
as we were unloading this morning, two of them came out of the bldg. to get in an SUV. i have long ago understood that i am not of their tribe, age, fashion sense, or even possibly species. at this moment, our differences were especially pronounced, as i was wearing a stained white men's t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, no makeup, crooked pigtails and a bandana around my forehead. plus i'm kind of blotchy and take up a lot of space. they were tiny and tanned and had very very very short skirts on. my fantasy in this sitch? to make like deadwood's calamity jane and yell, "HEY!! YER F*CKIN' BUTTCHEEKS IS HANGING OUTTA YER SKIRT!!"
would that i had. i dream of being able to do things like this.
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i know that i'm late to many trend boats. but better late than never. we watched about 9 episodes of deadwood in the past week. now, it's impossible to get through a normal conversation without dropping at least one "cocksucker"
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