Happy aggressive jewelry day!
I haven’t posted anything recently because my guy friend who’s good at computers is helping me reformat my blog.
Just kidding, I’ve just been so busy learning about life. About me.
Actually I’ve just been lazy. But this is great.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. I don’t remember much about her, but she lived far away in a snowy northern land, bordered by a river of tears to the south, and a river of Troika to the east. Much love was gained, and much love was lost, and for the better part of two years, she locked herself in a princess tower, and read stories about heroes.
She read about all kinds of heroes. Heroes who flew. Heroes who fought. Heroes who performed great feats of strength. But her favorite stories were about heroes who survived. Heroes who performed the great feat of bearing the weight of their own burdens, and the burdens of others. And her favorite,
A letter between truth and death, he, like so many heroes in so many stories, was written into life and charged to protect, only to end up walking the precariously fine and all too human line between salvation and destruction. Still, she loved him.
Eventually, and reluctantly, the girl came down from her princess tower and joined the real world. She didn’t stop reading about heroes. She even started watching Heroes, confirming that which she had always suspected: Hayden Panettiere is a lovely girl with bizarrely small hands. Really, really tiny hands. Just so small.
Anyway, despite holding out til the end of the night, night after night
the real world failed to produce anyone strong, fast, fresh from the fight, sure, soon, larger than life, and/or adept with a black-light bull whip.
But one day, in crept the sneaking suspicion that she’s got this. That maybe the girl was alright. So she asked someone who loves her very much to help write the word on her, and bring her to life.
So there you have it 2013. Give me truth and justice, or give me death.
Ain’t no party like a four horsemen party cause a four horsemen party don’t…actually ever happen.
And I feel fine. After last week, now this? There’s nothing like the threat of an apocalypse to help you learn the true meaning of Christmas.
First, the preamble: I managed to jam my oversized noggin into this beautiful vintage leopard skull cap, which belonged to my lovely and small-noggined mother back in the good old days (when the Christmas miracles flowed like milk and honey).
One more miracle and this Christmas qualifies for sainthood. Bring it.