October 11, 2001
Hip Hip
Currently listen to the Flying Lizards, 'Money.' Damn good song. As is the two movies I know that have featured it: The Wedding Singer, Empire Records.
I don't need to define my art for you, Warren.
So I tried on the Maid Marian costume today and have decided I need it because it will make me attune to the needs of my characters, will inspire me, will... look... pretty.
"I'm soooo fat... nobody likes me... nobody liked me in high school..."
Maybe I should lay off the drugs. At least for a couple of hours.
Dude, a guy came into work today and was totally bizarre. To be specific, actually, two weird guys came in today, but only one of which I had to converse with.
This guy wanted a Dracula wig. But he couldn't just say that. He had to say the word 'Dracula' in a weird Russian accent (or whatever the hell Stoker was) and then apologize to me, saying, "Well, the english pronunciation is (insert the way NORMAL people say Dracula here)." Not to mention the fact that the guy talked just above a whisper and I had to get way too close to fucking understand him.
Thank God I was wearing the Medusa costume else he would try and talk to me the next time he comes in, since he was looking at me far too familiarly, if you know what I mean.
Unless of course I resemble Medusa.
But I don't think I've turned anyone to stone lately.
I stress 'lately.'
And then there was another guy who entered trench coat clad and started accosting some girl looking for a nurse costume. First I thought he knew her, but he was just hitting on her. She was 17. He revealed his age as 23.
Then he went and stabbed himself with the retractable knife and went wailing up the aisles about the pain.
People just come into Cappel's and play with our stuff. They don't buy it, they just trash it.
Bastards.
Despite the fact that I have recieved the letter, I am now eyeing the mail box with only a hair less expectation. I mean, he must've written more, right? And I am rather agitated as the angry bitch letter is likely already in his hands. But I don't feel that way anymore. And he won't know that until the next letter comes and he will think I am still pissed. And the reason I was pissed is no longer even relevant!
Damn the postal service!
astera at seven eleven