Lately, seems that no matter what I do, something wakes me up. Maybe it's some jackass outside. Maybe it's the phone. Today, I was rudely awakened by my front door being slammed open and a voice yelling "PAINTING" at the top of it's lungs (they are repainting a lot of the apartment complex, and today happened to be touch-ups on the doors, so this was legit, the notice warned me it was coming). Still, a rough way to start the day.
Luckily, I installed Postal 2 yesterday...so I most definitely have an outlet. >:)
1. You own concert T-shirts older than most of the goths you see on the street. - Yep, that's me.
2. Sales clerks at record stores ask you with concern if you know what that old Christian Death CD sounds like, concerned that at your advanced age you couldn't possibly know about anything other than John Tesh or Yanni. - Been there.
3. You get a Cleopatra Records sticker in the mail, and for lack of anywhere else to put it, you plaster it on the side of your toddler's car seat. - Close enough.
4. You stop jokingly calling the lead singer of the Cure "Fat Bob" because people think you're talking about a used car salesman.
5. The smell of cheap hairspray brings tears of nostalgia to your eyes. - *sigh* Meeeeemories...
6. You remember when alt.gothic was a tiny Usenet group and Take A Bite was new.
7. You realize with a shock that your black stompy boots have been around long enough to have become associated with several different subcultures, and now you suffer from "shoe ambiguity." - Yup.
8. You consider buying life insurance or a cemetery plot out of practicality instead of morbid thoughts. - Haven't yet, but would, I guess.
9. Your old mix tapes of bootlegs and "goth night" college radio programs don't play anymore, you haven't got a tape deck to play them in anyway, and the handwritten liners are so old you can no longer read them, but you won't throw them away, ever. - Hell yes!
10. Younger goths think you're a bit passe for wearing an ankh a la Death from The Sandman. - Damn whippersnappers...
Ah, the 'good ol' days'.
Decided to dust my desk today. Now, there's a LOT of stuff on my desk, figures, stacks of objects, what-have ya....so this is a major undertaking. Never sneezed so much in my life.
Unrelated to that:
A missionary suddenly realized that the one thing he hadn't yet taught the natives he served was how to speak English, so he takes the chief for a walk in the jungle. He points to a tree and says to the chief, "This is a tree."
The chief looks at the tree and grunts, "Tree."
The missionary is pleased with the response. They walk a little farther and the missionary points to a rock and says, "This is a rock."
Hearing this, the chief looks and grunts, "Rock."
The missionary is really getting enthusiastic about the results when he hears a rustling in the bushes. As he peeks over the top, he sees a couple of the natives in the midst of heavy sexual activity. Flustered, the missionary quickly says to the chief, "Riding a bike."
The chief looks at the preoccupied couple briefly, pulls out his blowgun and kills them.
The missionary goes ballistic and yells at the chief that he has spent years teaching the tribe how to be civilized and kind to each other. "How could you kill these people in cold blood that way?" he demands.
"My bike," the chief replied.