1. Touching. Not a big fan. I just don't like it. Getting touched beyond a hearty handshake really really creeps me out. It's a good chunk of the reason I avoid haircuts, though I do need one before Wednesday. I'd just prefer it if we all kept our hands to ourselves. Or at least away from me. You can touch each other all you want, I guess. This is probably a good thing to talk about with Therapist, though.
3. Soul/old R&B music. I love the kind that basically has one goal: to make your ass shake (i.e. "Breaking Down the Walls of Heartache"). A proclivity for listening to this on a portable music device can cause problems if you're going to keep a job that is centered around not looking like a mental patient, though. The key is to realize you need to make a separate playlist for all of this and filter it out from the mopey indie stuff that you can cram into your head in other situations.
(Here's my problem with hip hop: there's horrible logical gap between arguing that hip hop "culture" and your "hip hop" is important to you and should be regarded as such by the larger community and then start singing a song about how long and desirable your penis is. You cannot and will not be taken seriously if all you do is sing songs about your penis. It's a fact.)
I've finally picked up studying for this lingering exam. You know, since I have 2 1/2 months, it's probably a good idea. I don't know how well I know this stuff. Work is swallowing me whole, but once this is over with, I'll be able to THROW DOWN on my grad school applications without lying.
I did spend a nice chunk of the weekend looking for the recipient of the Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Iced Tea Excellence, Independent Coffee Shop category. The early leader is El Diablo.
Using the word 'party' as a verb has to be one of the leading indicators of impending idiocy.
