Go to class? Nah, I don’t want to change out of my slippers.
ingletonfalls asked: I went back 10 pages in your blog and I ended up in JUNE. a half a year ago. like some kind of internet hermit
Didn’t I tell you? I’m becoming a hermit.
I thought I’d be happy to go home, and I am, but I’ve also been crying all day.
ingletonfalls replied to your post “ingletonfalls replied to your post “For your health, don’t ever read…”I know like NINE HUNDRED people with tattoos, zero of whom have gotten subdermal allergic reactions. I mean, c’mon, Leah’s was done drunk by some girl from an…
Still, just the vague possibility is enough to be terrifying. So props to those brave enough to do it, but I’m gonna pass.
ingletonfalls replied to your post “ingletonfalls replied to your post “For your health, don’t ever read…”
I know like NINE HUNDRED people with tattoos, zero of whom have gotten subdermal allergic reactions. I mean, c’mon, Leah’s was done drunk by some girl from an art museum and she’s FINE. Just go to a real shop, you’ll be fine
well maybe it’s the 901st person who gets the subdermal allergic reaction.
ingletonfalls replied to your post “For your health, don’t ever read anything that describes what can…”
Grace, it doesn’t even hurt!!! It’s less like getting stabbed and more like having a dull, slightly ticklish point dragged against your skin. Don’t psych yourself out of it.
Yeah, no, the pain, fine. The possibility for subdermal allergic reactions and/or infections and skin peeling off? Nope. Nopenopenope.
For your health, don’t ever read anything that describes what can happen because of getting a tattoo.
Am still screaming in horror.
Listening to all the (core 12) Beatles albums in a row while doing an essay. Up to the White Album and 0 words.
I love sandwiches.
I haven’t had a sandwich in months, though.
I miss them.
So, after those glorious weeks of no work whatsoever, I’ve now got an essay do tomorrow afternoon (Procrastinating? Me? Never.) and three due two weeks from now.
I am not precisely thrilled.
All of the fun is not being had, and I think the most exciting thing I did this week was head into the city to meet up with Mr. Hwisky to go to Oktoberfest—and we didn’t end up going, because a) the line was longer than something with a lot of length, and b) neither of us is particularly fond of crowds and there was a crowd denser than New Zealand’s sheep population.
We did, however have the best shepherd’s pie and beef stew with which I’ve ever had the pleasure to stuff my face at a superb pub (superb pub, superb pub, superb pub, that’s fun to say) that was nice and quiet and sparsely populated.
After my essay on the Celtic god Cernunnos (what do we know about him? not much, and everything is based on one 1951 article, goddammit) is turned in, I’m going to see how many people I can drag to a sushi restaurant with me. Ms. Barley-water’s in, and Mr. Hwisky has decided to try sushi, so we’ll see how many people want to go stab raw fish in stress-relief with me.