Ok, nobody click anything.

Plastic People

We went to the mall today, shopping for Christmas presents.
Now, I'm not going to get into ragging on the season right now. It has good things,
it has bad things, whatever. I'm not going to get into them right now. What's bugging
me right now is...well, the people at the mall. Ye gods. The people who work in
Those Stores (You know the ones I'm talking about: The Bonmarche, the Gap, etc.)
and the people who shop in Those Stores make me want to scream sometimes.
They're so fucking careful and so fucking fake. The women who work in the
Bonmarche all look to me as if they're made of plastic. I can imagine them going home
from this overly-polite job to a completely false existence. And I'm not talking American-Beauty-
where-there's-emotional-undercurrents-and-unspoken-drama-running-through-their-family-life here.
I'm talking these people don't even see that their lives are fake. If they run out of some
obscure color of Mary Kay lipstick, it is as real to them as September 11.
Alright, maybe that's a little extreme, but I'm trying to make a point.

I don't know...maybe everybody's lives are like that. Maybe you can't really care about
anything beyond your immediate life. Hell, maybe I'm like that.
I hope not. I don't want to be plastic.

~Miss Lemon
Heehee! Austin just finished watching Trigun. Now he wants an evil twin brother.

Monday, December 17, 2001



Eating: Rice
Reading: "Neuromancer" by William Gibson
Listening to: "Trouble" by Coldplay
Playing: Neverwinter Nights

craving: Coconut Pocky & Caramel cappuchino

Spike Puchiko Lain! Inuyasha Ryoga

Fight Club
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