jerimades

I haven't worn underwear in a week. Now that my washing machine's finally working again, I slipped on my first pair of cotton-poly blends this morning and it felt positively LEWD. I am panty-less even as I type this, albeit by choice this time. It's all a bit disturbing to me -- once you've gone commando, can you ever go back?

I've decided to be a soapmaker when I grow up. Since I've realized that the mere thought of law school gives me the dry heaves, I'm not sure what else a degree in history can be used for if I don't want to teach.

The exception, of course, would be the ability to make witty referendums to the likes of Gautier or Ganesha via: coming up with witty soap names. It's an undisputed fact that cleverly-named beauty products sell better and for more (cases in point: BPAL, Philosophy, etc.) than their mundanely appellated counterparts; after all, you're not just paying for a lump of salt in a tin, you're paying for art.

(Actual text from Philosophy label: "if you only had one more day to live how would you live? would you smile or frown? would you hang on to a grudge or would you let it go and forgive? would you hold back the words i love you? would you watch t.v. or the sunrise? would you nap or play? consider this...you aren't guaranteed tomorrow so what are you living for?" I guess people like mulling over these kinds of quasi-intellectual treatises while scrubbing themselves off in the shower? I'm living for the fact that the only alternative to life happens to be death, bee-yatch.)

Then again, maybe a comp lit degree would have been better for this sort of thing. Incorrect punctuation gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I keep dreaming about the fall of Rome.

Daniel Clowes is pretty much my dream man.