2003-04-27 - 3:01 a.m. Kevin is a bitch, and he wants me to leave an entry about him. He wants me to write a novel about him and the week that we've been friends.I think the most pertinent place to begin is that my hair is pink, and it's three in the morning. That's about my bedtime, so I'm not extraordinarily tired, but my back is sore because the writing contest was today, and I was hunched over words all day. Michael says I look like Pink. The plan is that I will write another entry soon that will make more sense than this one, and perhaps explain things a little better. But here's the deal. Kevin and I have spent literally *hours* on my hair this week- making it look different and change colors and get shorter and what-not. And this is really strange to me. Do you realize that I had a highlighting cap on my head tonight? I'd never even seen one in person before. But I have hot pink highlights in my lighter pink hair now. I'm afraid that even though Kevin assures me I look punk rock and am therefore in the clear, that I'm going to get my feminist's license revoked. And then where will I be? Kevin smells like cigarette smoke and he loans me chick rock. And a jacket that he claims is made out of carseat upholstery and squirrel fur. Whether or not I believe him is beside the point, because it's the coolest jacket ever (again- feminist's license). Also sometimes he doesn't sleep and then he acts strange and I'm afraid that he'll break. He says it happens all the time. He doesn't do anything. He's mounting a war against MTSU. I fixed him some soup that wasn't great. But I had to fix my own chimichanga. That is a legitimate complaint. Also, he used to date my husband. It seems necessary to mention that so that you all know that that whole thing is there too. He had an orange mohawk when we became friends, but now he's nearly bald. So I rub his head because I have a think for baldness. Michael also reshaved his mohawk, so I have two boys' heads to rub now, although I tend to rub them differently. Also, Michael quit his job. Kevin and I are planning on going into industry selling really expensive human milk as a substitute for the far super, I mean, inferior cow milk that currently dominates the market. This is a bizarre list of rambles, and I suggest that no one read it or try to make any sense out of it. Except for Kevin, because I know he's going to check up to make sure I submitted this, despite it's He's going through our stuff now. Rummaging, and what not. I'm staring at him while I type this. I'm going to kick him out now. Goodbye Kevin
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