rejoicingpeasant

conversation in the car yesterday with bob.

me: aw, no dude! i hate this shit! you KNOW i hate this shit!
bob: sara, uriah heep were pre-cursors to progressive metal.
me: progressive crap, you mean.
stupid bob: (rolling his stupid eyes) that wasn't even funny.
me: (slouching, folds arms and mutters out the passenger window) your mom wasn't funny.

so i suggested we smoke pot to "enhance" (see: completely bastardize) the uriah heep experience, and we spent the rest of the hour laughing hysterically at all the mercurial screams and "oohs" and fucking ridiculous lyrics that lack anything proximate to obscurity (see: "now every time I tried to set her free/i'm glad to say she comes/right back to me/but if I knew she didn't want to stay/i wouldn't try to keep that
lovely bird of prey").

so bob agreed that they're fucking ridiculous, but he still loves them. and i decided that the instrumentals were kinda cool, but i still hate them.

(nowthisiswhereibabbles'more)
in other news, i'm wearing a dress today that i haven't worn in -counts on fingers- five years. my mother and i went to this chicago street fest on harlem and bought matching hippie dresses. hers had dolphins, mine had mushrooms. when i put it on though, it was too long. her's was a little short. they were about the exact same size. she's about 5'9''.. and i was fourteen (my mom was 30). i have no clue how small i must've been then. 4'9'' maybe? everyone always told me i'd be tall like her. i'm still waiting for my growth spurt.

now it comes mid-calf. if that WAS my spurt, i'm a little disappointed, but i feel like a giant in this dress, standing 5'2''1/2.