Thursday, March 31, 2005

Things I've Never Noticed Before... (A Brief)

Today, unlike most days, I forgot my novel at home on the way to school. So, instead of being immersed nose deep in Mercedes Lackey, iPod on full blast, effectively blocking out any sight/sound, ( unfortunately, I can't block the SMELL of some of these people, Since I HATE people on public transit.) I actually had to pay attention to my surroundings while staring out the window, and I noticed a building on the way towards Main Street Station.

Now I certainly don't think this was deliberate since that area of town is a very concentrated Asian community, but damn, do I ever wish I had my camera at the ready as I zipped past. The building was titled "Hung-Gay Food Enterprises." (number 32 on the list. Yes, these places DO indeed, exist. I'm not making them up.) Brilliant.

That ranks right up there with "Pho-Bich-Nga" (Just say it phoenetically.... You'll get it.) A Vietnamese restaurant on the corner of Victoria and Kingsway in Vancouver, that my friends and I shout out the name of amidst laughter whenever we drive past it on the way home from the bar. (I admit, it's rather politically incorrect, but when you're drunk, lots of stupid stuff is hysterically funny. Hell, I think everytime we drive past it we yell it out. Drunk OR sober. I need no excuses. You would yell it out too, it's fun. Try it! "PHO BICH NGA!") And "Super Lucky Hair 2000." (Also on the list, it's number 5.)

Ooo, I could say SO much, but I won't. I can't blame them for having a mediocre grasp of the English language when some syllables aren't even included in their first language most of the time. I can give them an A for effort, but that was too funny to not write about.

Right now, I should be doing my HTML homework, but I'm comfortable in my grey sweats, kickass huge grey fleece Old Navy sweater and "Chicks Kick Ass" slippers.
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Wednesday, March 30, 2005

I Sold My Soul To Hershey's...

And I signed the contract in chocolate syrup.

Argus was torturing me today on MSN during my Design Communications class, bragging about his conquest of the local supermarket and the subsequent arrival of 7 chocolate bunnies in his shopping cart at ridiculously low prices. He was bragging about how "gooooooood" it tasted. He's the only guy I know that would squeal like a schoolgirl for chocolate. (And bloody hell, that's adorable, coming from a man that looks as dynamite as he does.) Damn him for being an expressive writer, and knowing exactly how to make chocolate sound irresistible, and damn him for making me imagine his body covered in chocolate and licking it off of his skin in long, sl...OH!

Are you guys still here? Shit! Was I writing that!?

Uhm... I mean... Aw, hell. Nevermind. *looks around sheepishly* Ahem...

Anyways, moving right along.

Argus reminded me, since apparently I'd forgotten that heaps of chocolate is practically FREE the few days after Easter, and I hadn't exploited that fact as of yet, foolish chit that I am.

At the end of class, I walked past Rob in the hallway. I told him I was going to go buy out the selection of chocolate that appealed to me. The poor guy didn't grasp that I was serious. Six half-pound bunnies, two GINORMOUS bags of "Eggies" two Reese's pieces carrots and three chocolate covered egg-shaped marshmallows later, I think he caught on that I was for real. (Not to mention looking at me askance in horror.)

Keeerist, man. I'm not going to sit down and gorge myself on bunny bits. That should last me a two, maybe three weeks at the very least.

That being said, I've already decapitated a bunny, and BOY was it good. Granted, I gave my Colour Theory teacher Heidi a bunny as she walked past me in the parking lot, and also gave my Uncle Jean one when he stopped by about 15 minutes ago as compensation for driving out to Annecis Island from Mission day in and day out. (Not for his kids, it was for him and his wife... Or just him if he's greedy. Whatever. His chilluns sucked back the stuff they got on Sunday already, most likely.) The look of bliss on his face was enough to make me giggle.

What is it about horrible, WONDERFUL cheap chocolate that appeals to the majority of us? (In my opinion, if it doesn't, your one sick, sick puppy.) Why, am I a slave to my craving for this shite? (I LOVE the good, 70% cocoa dark chocolate, for anyone that feels like sending me a very appreciated gift... *hint-hint*)

It appears to be that all of my friends either online, or in real life, are chocoholics, and I'm the leader of the pack. (Okay, probably not, but I do have chocolate in my room/office at all times in case of emergencies, as do most of my friends.) I believe I have a picture of Ryan lying on his back, from a few years back on Halloween, where he dumped his pillowcase on top of him and he was COVERED in his little candy treats.

I've come to a conclusion, that Chocolate isn't just an idle pleasure for my friends and myself, it's a necessity. Judge as you will, think it frivolous, but oh man, that's the shiznit. I'm such a happy girl right now with all this chocolate around.
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Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Pondering... (A Brief)

I've been contemplating asking someone to join me in creating a secondary blog, with two contributors. Perhaps more than two contributors.

The person that runs through my head on a regular basis, is actually Neurotic Monkey, who's writing is GREAT and always makes me think. Not to mention that smart men turn me on. That being said, he might shut me down like a virgin on prom night. So, If anyone is interested, send an email along my way.
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Music Is My Heroin... Tunes To Groove By Version 0.9

To the Billy Idol Fan club message board, and all the controlling individuals that stifle opinion and creativity, Fuck off. Other than the removal of the album cover, the entire article is staying EXACTLY as written.

Artist: Billy Idol

Album: Devil's Playground

Genre: "Rawk"

Let it be known, that I LOVE Billy Idol. Or rather, I loved that pissy little shit that he used to be in the mid 80's, when "punk" was in it's heyday, and Billy Idol was in his late 20's, slender, scruffy, fairly attractive, with that lovely sneer and snotty attitude that was choice for the "bad boy" lover in all of us. Yum. As much as Erik harasses me about having the hots for Billy Idol, screw it. He was deeeee-lish, and I'm not apologizing for my opinion on that.

One of my all time favourite songs is "Dancing With Myself" because who DOESN'T like a song about masturbation?

Flash forward 10 years. When, I suppose, the royalties from his album sales have dwindled, and he's spent his money on what seems to be an ample amount of plastic surgery and time in the tanning bed. Sure, his sneer is still there. However, I think the Botox for his forehead, and collagen for his lips (I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Angelina Jolie would be envious.) makes it a less... Well... Snotty statement. And now he just looks like a cantankerous 40 year old longing for his years back when the chicks were sucking his dick ad infinitum, and the cocaine was probably what kept him so energetic. (Boy! You've got stamina!) Ah, the mid-life crisis. Couldn't he have just bought a sports car or gotten a 20 year old wife or something?

No, Mr. Idol decides that since his fame has petered out, to return to the world of music and ATTEMPT to release a new album. *sighs* I wish he hadn't. The only thing that sucks about writing my reviews, (and I normally enjoy this part) is that I have to listen to this album AGAIN.

The album starts off with "Super Overdrive" the title sounding like some sort of bad Japanese anime-style comic, and SOUNDING like a rip off of The Rocky Horror Picture Show sung by a musician who used to scream death metal. No. I'm sorry. Wrong on all counts. Do not pass go, Do not collect 200 dollars. Go directly to jail.

"Rat Race" sounds like a ballad that the new "Neo-punk" (see: shite) groups out lately would produce compositionally, but this and "Scream" are probably the closest attempts vocally at sounding like he did in previous albums.

"Plastic Jesus" apart from being quite amusingly titled, is atrocious lyrically. Sexually laden lyrics that are absolutely crass. (Coming from me, that's saying something.)

"Scream" this is probably the closest to seeming like his previous stuff compositionally and vocally, and also the song released to radio stations as his first release from the album. I think the reason why is to fool the majority of listeners into thinking that this album could quite possibly be decent. Boy are they good at pulling the wool over us dumb consumers eyes.

"Yellin' At The Christmas Tree" Uhh... 'Nuff said. The title alone, could make tears come to my eyes from laughing so hard. What the hell were you thinking?

"Devil's Playground" Compositionally, it's not too shabby, sounding like something Rob Zombie would put out. (Yes, I enjoy that stuff at times.) However, the pithy attempts at sounding "Badass" are relegated to references to Satan (which linger like a particularly malodorous egg fart throughout the entire album, even in the love ballads.) scratchy, forced screeching, and TRYING to laugh like a demon, but sounding more like 'The Count' off of Sesame Street. It's pure, unadulterated cheese.

"Lady Do Or Die" Billy Idol goes Country. Garbage. I've been known to belt it along with the Dixie Chicks and Toby Keith every once in a while, as well as owning music done by Hank Williams and Johnny Cash, so I'm no Country music snob. Perhaps it would come across as fairly decent, if he wasn't attempting to bring back his former image, and then slapping this oddball song on the album.

I know that I usually only review albums that I love, but I figure tossing in a few junkers every now an then would be a nice change of pace. I don't recommend purchasing this album, I want my 18 bucks back from Virgin Records.

At least I've got a new coaster for my coffee.

Out of a Glamazon Shoe Rating of 5 shoes, I give Billy Idol -- "Devil's Playground" a rating of 0.5/5 shoes.


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Monday, March 28, 2005

Haloscan...

Because of the fact that Blogger comments take friggin EONS to pop up on the screen, I've jumped on the bandwagon.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to The Glamazon Shoe Diaries, and it's MUCH faster than waiting ages when time, (as I well know) is so short in abundance. I'm sure Cryptic, with his HaloScan affinity, will be tickled pink. That is, if he had time to read blogs instead of having University give him a chauffed asshole by working him so hard. Poor Cryp. I feel your pain. I really do.

Unfortunately, that means that comments that I had up from Blogger before this integration of outside forces are hidden, but not lost. (Because daggumit, I archived them all, being the smart cookie I am.) I haven't quite yet figured out how to reinstate them. So it's not that I'm phenomenally unpopular, I'm just HTML retarded at the moment.

I'll get on that. Y'know, when I have time. Tell Shera what's on your mind already.

And Hey, ladies, it's absolutely delightful that I'm gathering these fine examples of gentlemen on my guest map, (well, except for the fact that Shaun decided to wear a dress... *sniggers like a 'tweeny' in Sex-Ed class*) but I know for a fact that I have female readers that are lurking. You know I love the wimmins too.
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Linds in "The Dungeon"


Linds
Originally uploaded by Duchessdocktrash.
At 2 am, hungover and very tired, I snapped a picture and went at it in Photoshop. Ten minutes later, I looked human.

I wish I looked this good on a daily basis!
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Porkchop Sandwiches!! Oh SHIT!

(Please note that you need a sound card and Quicktime/Windows Media Player to view these cartoons)

I hang out with an awful lot of mid 20-something males at school, and they are commonly found browsing ebaumsworld.com watching these G.I. Joe Cartoons and laughing hysterically from doing so. Okay, I watch them too. Repeatedly.

I'm easily amused. Sue me.

I must admit, the particular one I've selected is my favourite, mainly because of the absurdity of the entire dialogue that's replaced the original. Granted, I really have NO idea what the kids are saying in it, but I think that was the entire purpose, to make them sound mildly retarded. The guy's dialogue, however, is so damned funny when you compare the hysterical tone of his voice, and the calm gestures that he's displaying.

If you're interested in seeing any more of the redubbed safety clips, go ahead and visit this here page.

My Gawd that smelled good.
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5 am...

And all's well. Okay, not really.

I'm still awake, Damnit. I'm going to bed.
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Ugh! Enough With The "meme's" Already...

Apologies. Sometimes, I go on those stupid internet "Personality Test" benders.

You know what I mean. You get intrigued by a Quizilla test, and end up stuck there for two hours, learning shit about yourself that you probably already knew. Either that, or the questions are so obvious that it's easy to manipulate the answers into usually getting the result you want. However, I'm usually brutally honest when I do them, so sometimes the test has pretty surprising results. Like, that I'm respectable, or a role model and some shit.

Plus the ability to copy and paste that GDHTML into a website comes along with the territory, leading to some font being smaller, when it's supposed to be normal sized. I always end up getting frustrated because apparently Blogger needs about THREE THOUSAND font opening and closing tags, to work properly. My mouth could make a sailor blush when I'm fucking around with HTML coding, and it's giving me the shaft.

Happy Easter, to all you Catholic and various assorted Christian-oriented religion goers out there, and Happy Cheap Chocolate Day to the rest of you heathens. Myself included in the latter.

Can you tell that we follow a Roman calendar, since they decided that the day the holiday would be on, is the day that Jesus DIED, and not the day he was resurrected on? I still get four days off, so I really don't give a damn either way. Sorry, J.C.

I just spent my afternoon and evening in the company of about 20 assorted relatives circling about the kitchen and dining area like so many starving Nigerian children, gorging themselves on turkey and everything else under the sun that we had stacked on the table. (I'm not joking, there was about 25 assorted dishes on the table not including appetizers, and assorted sweets.)

Man, I'm going to hell for that Nigerian children comment, aren't I?


And your ALL coming with me!

Hey, the majority of us are French-Canadian and Nova Scotian in background, I think we were lucky that the table didn't break under the weight of the grub on top of it. Us east-coasters and subsequent hatchlings (My dad is fond of telling me that I was hatched, not born... Gee, thanks Daddy.) of east-coaster transplants LOVE to cook and eat. Our ever widening arses thank us for it, I'm sure.

And now you're going Aaaahhh! NOW I get it, she's a trollop because she's FRENCH! NOW it all makes sense!

Yes, and not only was I stuffed to the proverbial gills with poultry and such of the same holiday fare, I was hung over to boot.

Okay, hung over... Not so much. I only had four drinks over an eight hour span and drank water in between those drinks. However, I think I pulled a few muscles that haven't been exercised in the past while from dancing so exuberantly in my gothic knee-high boots, Fishnets and mini. Yeah, that's right, you read it. No shirt, just tattoos and piercings.

Fetish Night (a.k.a. The Body Perve Social Club) at the Lotus Sound Lounge, is a much more relaxed event than SinCity, at Club 23 West is. I had scads of room to dance like some sort of E-tard. (No, I don't do that shit, though some chick thought I was SELLING it for some reason, the ditz.) Zoning out to the beat of heavy deep haus, trance, and cheesy 80's hair metal songs that had been covered by bands like Groove Coverage doing a version of Alice Cooper's "Poison" (being sung by a girl, which makes it eminently HOTTER in content.) and SNAP! Singing whatever the hell it is that SNAP! sings. (Usually, crap.)

I do, however, have a gripe. I fekking HATE the fact that strippers have decided that Fetish events are the hip thing to attend, when they aren't even into kink in the first place. Go practice your pole dancing moves at the Drake, instead of prancing your obviously fake titties around The Lotus. First it was this group of wannabe "swingers" (Usually, horny men that think women that attend fetish nights are whores) and now, it's strippers.

To the gorgeous male stripper that looked at me, sneered, and told Allison and I, in an atrocious FALSE French accent "Toi Fumez Pas."

Fuck. You. It was such a poor attempt at ACTING like you could speak French, that I had to ask you to repeat yourself three times. It sure as hell wasn't because the music was thumping. Go back to Studio 54, and work on your linguistic technique. I'm only half French, and my accent could kick the shit out of yours.

Granted, you were pretty damned hot. That is, until you opened your mouth. The next time, only open it if you're going to put it to good use. And for fucks sakes, get your grammar right. Maudit Anglais.

What you should realize, is that my friends are fairly well acquainted with the people that arrange The Body Perve Social Club, and that we've been told that unless a security member asks us not to smoke in the club, they honestly don't give a shit. Stuff that in your pipe and smoke it, you pretty asshole. The next time you prance your arse off to Velvet Steele to tattle on us big, bad smokers, realize that she doesn't give a flying fuck, and that perhaps you should go stand somewhere else and attempt to look pretty. Just don't SPEAK and it should work fine.

On another note...

I've been talking to a few employees of a Street Youth Service volunteer organization, called "Dusk Till Dawn" that helps Street Youth find employment and quite simply, basic human necessities like blankets and some food to make it easier to bear the horrors of living on the streets. I've come to the conclusion, (and I've known this for a while now...) that I'm so damned priviledged, I've got it SO easy, compared to others, and it's time I started helping the community on a more one-on-one level.

Unfortunately, I don't have the education background (ie: Psychology, Social Worker status , etc...) to actually WORK for Street Youth Services, but I'm sure a sympathetic ear, as well as someone that will give them a bit of a boot to the bottom when they are down in the dumps, will be beneficial. I'll manage to fit it into my schedule somehow.

I hope you guys got enough chocolate to kill someone. I was pretty disappointed that I didn't get a single item of my favourite treat, not even a hearing impaired bunny from my mom. (She eats the ears before I even get the damned thing. It's tradition, and I plan on inflicting the same annoying form of torture on my OWN kids some day.)

Okay, this is a horrifying long entry. I'm going to shut up, and go read my new fantasy novel now. (Mercedes Lackey -- "Phoenix and Ashes")

Ta!

*kisses*
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Sunday, March 27, 2005

Grabbing Life By The Numbers...

Cause, y'know, we're all REALLY just numbers, aren't we?
  • You must tell 9 people about this game. (Damn, sorry guys.)
  • Devin is the one you love. (Yes, this has been established. Repeatedly.)
  • Erik is the one that you like, but can't work it out with. (Yup, I knew that too. *Sighs*)
  • You care the most about Crystal D. (Aye, that seems about right. Although I hate to categorize my friends into who I love more than the other. In all honesty I adore them all and would be lost without them.)
  • Crystal B. knows the most about you. (She should, she's known me for over 10 years now, and raised hell with me every single year we've been buds. Be it at Mavericks, or the freaky-deaky "shoplifting" incident when we were 16. Yea, I was a bad girl when I was growing up.)
  • Ryan is your lucky star. (Whatever the hell THAT means. I thought he was my ex-roomie and one of my best friends. Come to think of it, I've never won the lottery when he's in town. Get to work, bitch! :P)
  • "Little Bird" by Annie Lennox is the song that matches Devin. (That's fitting, I've sung it to him over the phone when I've gone to Karaoke, and also included it in a compliation disc I sent Stateside for him.)
  • "Since You've Been Gone (Sweet, Sweet Baby)" by Aretha Franklin is the song that goes with Erik. (Hmm, interesting. I've usually associated that one with Dev as well, but I also adore the song. Who knows.)
  • "Silence" by Delerium (Featuring Sarah McLachlan) is the song that tells you the most about your mind. (Ooo. Pretty song, but whoa, disturbing lyrics.)
  • "I Just Wanna Make Love To You" by Etta James, is how you feel about life (LOL! You've gotta be shitting me? I wanna make love to the world? I know I'm a randy girl, but I CAN keep my knees together at times. I know, I know, it just means I'm passionate. C'mon, give me some credit here. I would've thought it would be "Stormy Weather" by Billie Holiday, given my mood/situation as of late.)
Take this test!
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Saturday, March 26, 2005

"MeMe" Mania...

I don't need to post anything more with this.

I just wish I could express that mysterious technique of mine more often, and with one person in particular.


mysterious
You have a mysterious kiss. Your partner never
knows what you're going to come up with next;
this creates great excitement and arousal never
knowing what to expect. And it's sure to end
in a kiss as great as your mystery.


What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by QuizillaHASH(0x91162f8)
The Goddess of Ice and Hope. You are a creative
wonder. Always calm and collected, you hold the
awe of many people and you are exceptionally
logical. You are an inspirational beauty.


Which gorgeous goddess are you? For girls! (breath taking pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla
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Am I A Freak In The Darkness? Or Am I A Misfit?

Hah! That's about right, methinks.

Which drunk are you?

Dude, that's not just drunk...

You're freakin' us out, seriously.

*Disclaimer : Any resemblance to a real life situation is freakin' us out, seriously.

Personality Test Results

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.



Apparently, at my last birthday party I made out with half of the bar, regardless of gender. A true example of a "classy lassy", indeed. I was wasted before my friends got me to the club. It's not MY fault they kept on giving me vodka, seriously.

Gad that was a good party.

Thanks to Sex Scenes at Starbucks for having this post up on her blog with the link to the test.

And, TWO, count 'em, two, whole, precious, hoarded gold stars are up for grabs, to anyone that can tell me WHAT BAND, and WHAT SONG that title of this entry ("Am I a freak in the darkness, or am I a misfit?") is from. (Right on your forehead like Rod and Todd from the Simpsons, if you tell me the correct answer.) Cryptic is the leader right now in Gold Star collection, for guessing the "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" question a while back.
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Friday, March 25, 2005

*Gasp!* Unmatched SOCKS!

Album Of The Moment: K-os -- "Joyful Rebellion"
(Fantastic Canadian Hip-Hop artist, who has some wicked ol' school flava, reminiscent of De La Soul.)

Unmatched socks, have apparently become what my Grandmother has decided the Antichrist should be. I could think of a myriad of different things that would be better suited to the title, but I guess she HAS to bitch about something. I'm sure being 74 gets boring sometimes, what with being able to sit down, read a book or newspaper whenever you want, and watch all your favourite soaps.

Now, I realize I'm lucky that I live with this woman. She's amazingly loving in a brusque sort of way, and she's got a great sense of humour that has me cackling with laughter on a regular basis. She also folds my laundry, and given the fact that I'm so busy a majority of the time, that's friggin GREAT, and saves me scads of time. Sometimes, she even makes dinner, which always tastes good, and I love to tease my dad that I get Grandma's cooking and he doesn't, having to suffer with his own. (Which is great, and probably the reason why I love my Grandmother's cooking.)
No, she doesn't make me lunch with love notes inside, and harps on me constantly about making my bed, so it's not all sunshine and roses.

The only downside of her folding my laundry, which she finds theraputic, and tends to get a little miffed at me if *I* put my grubby mitts on the stuff, (and heaven forbid that I fold them incorrectly) is the fact that she teases me mercilessly about thong underwear, ("HOW can you girls wear those things?" "I dunno grandma, they're comfy when you get used to them.") and that god only help me if I have unmatched socks. That's an inexcusable sin in the house of Grandma. She's asked me TEN times today, where the other black dress sock is. I have no friggin' idea, lady.

It's useless to explain to this woman that I probably threw it out, and WHY I throw out socks that have holes or serious wear in them. The reason being that I have about three THOUSAND pairs of socks. (Seriously.)

That, and she doesn't know that I have an lingerie fetish, so I have about 25 to 30 matching bra and panty sets, with the appropriate accoutrement including garter belts, thigh-high stockings, corsets, and anything else your dirty little mind can come up with. No, I'm not going to give myself an excuse, I also LOVE to shop for them. And I'm also not going to post any pictures, so put it back in your pants, Sailor.

I got a comment from her about the zillions of bras I own. She actually said "How many tits do you HAVE, to need all those bras!?" Classic.

All I could do, was laugh.
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"Duchess In The Dungeon"


"Duchess In The Dungeon"
Originally uploaded by Duchessdocktrash.
You want some hot, dirty, dungeon action? There ya be. The shitty resolution is due to the fact that it's my cell phone cam that took the picture.

I've attempted to fix it in photoshop, but when you start with Hamburger, it's hard to make a steak. Or some shit like that. I'll admit up front that I got rid of the lovely Louis Vuittons under my eyes, since that's not a normal feature of my face... Well, it is lately, but that doesn't count.

Other than that, my hair looks GREAT!
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"Oooh, You FRESH, NAUGHTY Mannequin, You!"

I did a double take while walking past a window display yesterday on the middle of Granville Street. I had to go back and snap a picture of this with my cell phone, cursing the fact that I forgot my Digital Camera at home.

"Dude, where's my PANTS?"

I'm mildly grouchy, cynical and some of my comments are pretty straightforward and nasty the past few days. Sorry. I get bitchy when I'm stressed out, and right now is a prime example.
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Coming Soon To a Glamazon Shoe Entry Near You!

Album of the moment: Ak1200 -- "Shoot To Kill"
(Fancy-shmancy Industrial Electronica.)

A review of the new Billy Idol -- "Devil's Playground" album. (Hint: HORRIBLE! I am NOT impressed with the previously delectable Mr. Idol and his newest release. Expect some scathing commentary.)

ANOTHER controversial opinion piece. (Hint: It involves the religious right in the US, who is ever-so-fun to pick on, being the damned Commie-Pinko that I am.) That is, IF I get around to writing it before it's yesterday's news. I would write it tonight, but I need to research a few things first to ensure I'm not relaying incorrect information.

That, and I'm damn tired.

Apparently, I seem to be collecting boys on my map. That's pretty rad. I always enjoy collecting boys. (Thanks guys!) Well, except for Shaun, who decided that his icon needed to wear a dress in order to get that close to me. I'm just teasing you, hon. Damned teensy icons!

I know Melissa would be right on top of me, and with a bosom like that smothering my face, I might just die happy.

Hey, I can appreciate a nice rack. It doesn't make me a dyke. Although with the haircut I just got, It's getting progressively shorter everytime my hairdresser gets NEAR my head. I might just be the epitome of "looking like a bull-dyke" soon.
(Not that there is anything WRONG with that, It's just not my cuppa tea. I like the cock.)

Also, not in another post, but worth mentioning NOW before I forget again. (Yes, I've got a short-term memory like a sieve. Sue me.) I watched a wicked flick in my History of Design class, about the development of Skateboarding entitled "Dogtown and Z Boys" on this Monday just passed. Check it out if you get the chance. The moves in this are mind blowing, the skaters featured are legendary, having a fluidity and grace that have defined an era of skateboarding technique evolving from the surfing community in California. The music is GREAT, and the development of skateboarding marketing is a fascinating end note to the documentary.
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