Wednesday, November 23, 2005

when i was a little kid -- we're talking like 6 years old here -- my mom used to buy me those de-alcoholized 'wine cooler' thingies that they sell in supermarkets because she figured that something with pictures of fruit on the label was bound to be better for you than plain old soda... so i'd be sitting there in the lunchroom alone, washing down my crustless wonder bread sandwich with toxic-coloured 1 proof alcopops (i liked the blue one the was some kinda berry flavour); it was one of the very few perks of having parents that don't know english.

i guess i've always been a 'problem child.' not the Downright Psychotic kind, but the Ominously Silent type. i was placed in special ed & 'english as a second language' classes up until the seventh grade despite the fact that i was a freaky little bookworm even back then: i read 'beowulf' for the first time when i was 10 & knew, at least in theory, how to embalm a dead body egyptian mummy-style by the time puberty hit. then there was that entire year where i had to do my homework every day in the principal's office after school because i Couldn't Focus in Class.

now i'm typing this & self-medicating with tequila while i'm supposed to be at school. studio practice is the only class i'm actually doing good in & i'm willingly screwing it up 2 weeks away from the last class. my parents would be proud.

word of the night:
"massacre." (pronounce it 'mass-a-cree.')


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