I'm not ashamed

so, that's right. I've got rod stewart on my ipod. and not the faces rod stewart, either. or even early solo stewart, à la maggie may. I'm talking downtrain train, reason to believe, gag-me stewart. and while we're on that, I've also got the carpenter's superstar on my ipod. not the transcendent sonic youth version (which merits its own posting, btw), but the original, in all its lo-fi warbly am radio glory. what else? let's rip off that bandaid while we have our fingers gripping plastic. also hidden, and not so hidden, on my ipod playlist one can find: whitesnake, matchbox twenty--a lot of matchbox twenty, tons of christmas music, and 11 versions of nessun dorma. I know.



I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you're going to try and insult me, you're going to really have to dig deep. pictures of me from the 8th grade attest to the fact that I don't humiliate easily. a 4-inch wall of aquanetted bangs hovering over thick smears of kohl liner and the reddest lipstick ever seen on a teenage hooker? check. and memories of me from my senior year attest to the fact that I really can't be shamed. white patent minidress with matching platform gogo boots and granny purse? with white lipstick and nails? to class? check and mate.



so go ahead. sling your worst. especially if you can come up with something I haven't already. I'd love to hear it.