Sunday, May 16, 2004

Got new shoes today. Very pretty. And a total rip-off of that wedge slip-on from Dior's Girly collection.

Rose and I discussed philosphy. And by "discussed," I mean, referring her to some philosophers she might be interested in (Hume, Spinoza, etc.) And by what "she might be interested in," I mean what interests me. And by what "interests me," I mean, everything.

Counselled her on how to politely rid herself of her stalker. I told her if it were up to me, I'd just knock some sense into him: "Die, fucker. Die."

But she's so innocent and child-like:

"I've always been nice to him, and he's fun to joke with."

"Yeah, 'cause he wanted to joke himself right into your pants!"

Ah, in this modern, post-"I am woman, here me roar" era, I realize we've only evolved from using skirt analogies to ones with pants.

Molly Murphy, eat your heart out.

Viva la revolution!


Feminism is so turn of the century. Dressing like strippers is the new empowerment.

Or is it?

Dun dun dunnnnn *jazz hands, jazz hands*

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