An Open Letter to the Guy on Ecstacy Playing With My Hair While I'm Trying to Take Pictures Last Night:

Stop.

Plus, while I appreciate and love slam dancing, you do it obnoxiously. Everyone was annoyed. You are lucky you left before I put away my camera to um, "join" you.

Because in the world of moshing and slam dancing, if you can't beat 'em, then join 'em and beat the living snot out of them anyway.

An Open Letter to Every Stranger Who Asks Me to Send My Pictures to Them Later:

No.

I have some dishware at home, would you like that too? Oh, and WHO THE HECK ARE YOU?

Do you know what I do with the email addresses I collect when I'm out? No, seriously, do you, because I don't have a clue. Sometimes I find one on the floor, but I have no idea who it is or what they wanted.

Alisa (did I get the name right?) from Saturday night, this doesn't mean you. You're cool. You came with good references. Since I took the pictures down, I'll have to actually email you something.

listening to: crystal method, call me lightning, the tyrades.
in my sink: a bowl, a spoon, a cup