The Moose Is Loose
There I am, 14 years old. Wearing tight acid-washed jeans, folded over at the cuff and tucked into three pairs of brightly colored fluffy socks that exactly matched my t-shirt, sweatshirt and teal overshirt with shoulder pads. My hair was hairsprayed with aqua net into a giant claw. I am wearing more eyeliner than a transsexual dance troupe in las vegas. My bookbag is loaded up with patches that say things like "don't worry, be happy" and "have a nice day". The books inside have titles like "Less than Zero" and "Bon Jovi Lyrics". Am wearing shoe-boots with lace cut-outs (that also show off my mesmerizing sock matching). Am dating a guy named Brian (knickname: Moose). He drives a Monster Truck with no flatbed and christmas lights. He also has a mullet and likes to imitate MC Hammer for laughs, which is quite funny since he is about 275 lbs and 6'4" tall, every inch covered in black leather (with motley crue patch), iron maiden t-shirt, combat boots, super-tight wranglers. If a camera were to go back in time to that moment, you would find Brian and I arguing over the temperamental cassette player. He wants to listen to Megadeath and I want to listen to Nu-Shooz and/or Debbie Gibson.

Secretly, however, my favorite outfit was pajama bottoms and a tank top, Erasure playing on the radio, and a copy of "Dune" in my hand so I could walk around my bedroom going "the spiiiiiiiiceeeee.....the spicsssseeee".

I still love Erasure and make no apologies for that or for the length of this post.

"Hooooowww can I explaiiiiiin whennnn there are fewwww wordssss I can choooooooose......how can I explaiiinnn when words get brooo-ooohhh-ooohhhkennnnnnn" (cue mad dancing to electropop sounds)
(Igneous, Fri 10 Dec 2004, 15:00, Reply)