So far so good!

It's the weekend, and I'm not interly depressed yet! I know, its truly amazing. And here's the weirdest part.

I spent the day with my mom.

And look! I"m still alive! She wanted to 'bond' This means we went shoping where she picked out everything pink, insulted my black, and made me buy a skirt. I spent the first hour in some dress cloths shoping looking for gilry cloths and such. Only one thing could happen afterwords.

I dragged her to Hott Topic to get the Flaming Skull Offspring shirt. How I loved watching her walk into the store decked out in her pink little suit thing. It screamed "I'm a social worker!"

I think the guy with the giant snake tattoo was intemidated. How I love those guys. They just might be the nicest people in the mall. Not like the snotty people in Abercombie, or the anoying people at Old Navy. No, snake guy dosn't judge you. He dosn't make assumptions based on your cloths. He just smiles and opens up the dressing rooms.

I'm thinking lots of people at school could take a lesson from snake guy. Not the dressing room part...that would be wreird. I'm talking about the sterotype part. Because quite frankly, I'm sick of them doing it.

But this isn't the place for that talk is it now!? Your probably thinking "Yes it is! This is a blog! Talk!" Nope, not here. Not at the moment. Would be too much of a revelation for my comrads, they might burst into flame, or their heads my pop off, perhaps they'd grow an extra toe.

All the things I could do with an extra toe....wow. How would you get toe socks? It would be very difficult.

But back to the sterotype thing for one breif moment. How would you sterotype me? Today I bought a skirt, a dress shirt, 3 punk/alterntive, band shirts, and Atticus, a punk alternitve mix.

Tomorrow I'm going to the art museum.

So, where do I fit in? Tell me, I'm intrested to know. One of my friends refuses to wear make up, dosn't care abut the latest fashons, always does her school work, and will play football with me whenever. The other loves shoping, calls me on the phone to tell me I share my inability to match socks with Ryan Cabaira, and I probably would be killed if I stole her mascara. 

So which socail group do I belong with kids? Should I be classified with the gossiping socialites? Or the unfashonalbe tom-boys?

This brings us back to the issue of toe socks. It's really quite the perdicament.

And I'm sorry about the lack of funny in this entry. I may of started out being not depressed, but somewhere along the line of being honost, things got me down. This calls for a granola bar.