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memoirs by me

  • memoirs by me
  • I knew I would be a palentologist by age five, I would bury my dad's car keys in the backyard and excavate them months later. In high school, I took samples from the tiles of
  • the corridor. I explained to the principal someday nothing would be left of the school but these tiles & a few skeletons. I just wanted to be like Indiana Jones, but the truant
  • officer said, "Yeah well then I am Indiana Jones's father Sean Connery." I hat this guy. He's always one-upping me. As a student, a truant officer is like my arch nemesis.
  • But I knew I had to placate him. "Look buddy, can't we just pretend that nothing happened here?" I asked the truculant truant officer. "Let's just go have a beer or something, OK?"
  • "'Buddy'? I'm no one's buddy, ma'am," said the officer. I, aghast, removed my wig and lipstick. "I'm no one's ma'am, sir, but I'll gladly be your man." "I don't date speeders."
  • "And I don't date pigs." With that, I threw the wig in his face, pushed the turbo button and left him in the dust. I realized that without lipstick, I was just another dude in a
  • pair of slacks with a heart full of nails. Chanel Rouge Noir was needed BOTH on my lips and fingers. I took the overnight flight to Paris. Stubble is enhanced by the berry lipstick
  • , at least that's what my friend Alain from work says. I rushed from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Le BHV Marais, in search of that perfect berry hue of nail lacquer and lipstick.
  • "There is no such thing as a perfect berry," said the girl at the counter. "The closest color we have to a theoretical perfect berry is contusionnĂ©e ivrogne." Life is compromise.
Started
2012-06-13 17:42:52
Finished
2014-09-29 15:20:57

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