stab in the dark.

 so tired i am so shaking. 

so tired that riding the bus home with Z we cackled at top volume about how she should just write her research paper about the identity of Batman. Since everyone's so concerned with identity. How she would spend the first 3098 words leading up to the final two: BRUCE WAYNE.
At this point in my sanity I cannot even consider something worthwhile if it is not tongue in cheek. Luckily I already think everything is hilarious.

Anyway about last night. Made another friend named Sarah. She was dressed as the Guggenheim museum and yelling about Marx outside the front doors. Somebody said her costume was too obscure and I punched him in the face, verbally. Art parties continue to be ridiculous, in case you were wondering. Saw the Virgin Mary with a glowing heart, saw a man in a suit wearing a zebra head, saw Jesus Christ, saw a Lichtenstein, I think I glimpsed Frida in the beer queue. Saw three people in identical platinum wigs singing out of tune and limply clapping their hands. I knew them, they walked me home at three in the morning. Somehow the walk took a lifetime and we spent half of that life talking about Malevich. Why is it that the only times people really want to talk about art is when they are outrageously intoxicated? Except for you Laura. You know how to push my white-on-white buttons.

Success: Remembering the name of the architect who built the World Trade Center
Failure: forgetting that Islam came after Rome. DUH