The Pig in the Face
2003-04-15 � 4:41 p.m.

Pigface last night.

Loud, booted, dark, dyed, rock, painted, seething, corseted, sweating fun.

Or so I found it.

I re-discovered yesterday that I am terribly poor at painting my fingernails. You would think this would be something easy to remember, but I keep facts like that tucked away with other important stuff like "car insurance due on..." so you can probably understand why it would slip my mind. I also discovered that I am out of polish remover which, when combined with my complete lack of skill in the painting arena, equals a big fat mess. My keyboard may never recover.

Why is it so hard for people to accept gifts? From me, anyway. I tried to give away Built to Spill tickets to some of my friends last night, and they argued with me. I caught one trying to stuff money into my coat pocket. Hello people! It makes me feel nice to give you things. I enjoy it. It bolsters my nearly non-existent self-esteem to be able to provide fun things to my friends. I feel valuable, and I don't get that very often, so take the freaking tickets. It's only money.

(I hate money.)

I am quite certain that none of you know this, so I wanted to make it explicitly clear: it is really, really hard to be such a complete loser. Not in that it takes effort — no, of course not. I mean yeah, for some people it would take effort to be such a dork, but it comes quite naturally to me. No, I mean that it's stressful. It's mentally fatiguing. It hurts what small bit of soul and/or spirit I have left. It destabilizes my already whirling and spinning center.

It makes my adrenaline flow and my tiny emaciated little heart go "boom! boom! boom!" inside the cage of my chest.

On my better days, I pretend that I am one of those lucky few that have pushed past the far side of the loser barrier and been able to loop back over into the "cool" side of spectrum. Like, I'm so freaking lame that it makes me kind of okay.

On my better days.

Which today isn't one of, I guess.

-t

Currently Aurally Inducing: The Willies, The Steps of Uncle Bliss
Selection of the Lyrical Vocabulary: "Staring at my heart, hanging on the wall like a piece of art, you're so critical!"

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