I'm So Great: The Rantings of a Jaded Youth

When I grow up, I want to be just like me.

Bruises May 23, 2010

So a friend and I have a habit of punching the crap out of each other when we’re drunk. This wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t have huge fucking Lincoln knuckles. My little paws never leave the kind of bruises his knobbly hands leave. Unfair! But despite the fact that someone will eventually assume that my boyfriend is the one beating me up and the soreness everywhere, I just can’t stop punching. So I get lots of firsthand looks at the way bruises form and the interesting colors they turn. Wait a second, I never did a post on the Easter Zombie Walk in Eugene, did I? Well now’s as good a time as any!


So I have a vested interest in bruises in that I’m always trying to recreate them in zombie make-up. For as long as I can remember, zombies have intrigued and scared the shit out of me. For some reason, I have a habit of edging slowly toward things I’m afraid of. I always feel the need to explore in greater depth anything that gives me the creeps. And when I explore those things in greater depth, they become less creepy to me and I inevitably move on to something that still weirds me out.


Also for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved dressing up in costumes. If I could always be in a costume, I would. When I am inevitably a crazed billionaire, I will never dress in a t-shirt and jeans ever again. These two personality traits have led to several zombie capers, the most recent of which was the Zombie Walk in Eugene, Oregon, which consisted of three awesome people. I fell in the cemetary, we promised not to eat any of the bar patrons, and we had a delicious dinner. Not much of a story, I guess, but it was fun and Ms. Danielle has a much better grasp of zombie make-up than I do.


Sorry for the convoluted post but I apparently had much more on my delicious brain than I realized.


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