The leaves are well past their autumnal color changing peak, but no matter. I’ve been following the progression of hues in my numerous bruises. They’re lookin’ good, covering a wide range of yellows and purples. What a spectacular show.
It seems that someone turned the slut dial up to eleven on campus, today:
“Break out the glitter, the strumpish pastel mascara, the plunging necklines! Let the color and brand of your bra not be left to question! We’re gonna give these testosterone-laden men a visual taste of all that their tiny brains deem Holy! If they aren’t staggering into each other like headless chickens, squirming like a handful of leeches, averting their eyes like a horde of schizophrenic Madagascarian chameleons, we aren’t trying hard enough!”
I mean, I’m not entirely complaining; I enjoy the view as much as the next guy… but I get off a bit more from a shred of dignity than from a shred of cloth… or the general lack thereof. These poor girls seem unaware that Halloween isn’t until next Wednesday.
I had forgotten how cool Happy Apple is. Damn I feel refreshed. No sleep for me. Ever again.
We carved pumpkins over at Mark’s place tonight, and everyone had a great time wielding knives and making threatening gestures. We threw down tons of newspaper on his porch, and I ended up with the front page of the Star Tribune from September 13th. It was an errie juxtaposition, to say the least.
Then it snowed. Finally. Everyone was ecstatic, and we danced around Mark’s front yard catching snowflakes. Just a matter of time and we’ll be cursing the heavens, but for now… boundless excitement.
Time flows on, the seasons knit together, and eventually we look up from the ground and realize we all need sleds again. It is not trivial. It is life.