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Micro-Minis and Bar Mitzvahs

Bought a suit for the brother's Bar Mitzvah. A skirt suit. *shudders* I don't like it very much, but I was tired of fighting with my mother about wearing pants. So I'm going to find the flashiest halter top I can bear to wear, and a micro-mini to replace the skirt if I think I can stand it. Take that, old-fashioned, reactionary mother and congregation.

Invested in another silver nail polish. Kitty Deathstrike will rise again!

"The Dangling Conversation," Simon and Garfunkel

It's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

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