It's gonna be the future soon...

Why, why why WHY does it take tears and anguish to make a man DO something? Why can't important matters be resolved before they cross that line? I'm not lying when I say something is serious, even if I'm not crying about it yet. When I cry about it is when the LAST straw is breaking.

And where are Goldbug and Rachel (and Troy and Scott and Jed and Nick) when I need them?

To summarize the quite lengthy OMP2K1 story I linked to in the previous note:

- I had a kickass time
- I exercised my 21-year-old privileges, but within reasonable amounts.
- Corch kicks ass. I love him to death. He now stands on equal ground with Troy, Scott, Jed, and Nick.
- some funny stories were born
- cuddling is wonderful
- I'm tired

Told you I'd be back. Have a few more things to say.

First off, I guess I have to plug other friends' sites. I linked to Rachel and Goldbug in that last post; related to Rachel is her husband (and one of my best friends) Nick's site assbabies.org.

The best friends I probably ever had, and alas seem to have the most difficulty getting in touch with, were The Department of Surrealism. I have a link to that page but it's horribly dated; it's not even the current page, so I'm not going to put it up until either Troy or I get off of our asses and contact one another. But here is my official salute to Troy, Jed, Scot, Mike, and Jason "flutter". I love you all more than any of you will be able to understand, methinks. And that's not the vodka talking.

Oh, also, the pic posted here is the latest semi-decent facial shot of me (heh heh I said "facial"), but that streak of hair is no longer blonde in real life. It's a rapidly fading shade of purple that sadly looks blue under artificial lights. I -used- to be blue, but I rebleached it and I think at that point the hair refused to take any more dye. The purple took rather strangely and isn't one solid streak of color. Any suggestions on what to do next?

Well, I just sent this URL to half of my ICQ list, the people whom I would actually allow to read my thoughts. If you got it, feel proud or something. Or at least feel that now you have bona fide ammunition the next time you get upset at me.

This is me, signing off for the second time.