This afternoon, in the spirit of seeking excitement and getting work done, ALL AT ONCE, I drove to our local Home Depot to collect a few supplies in the continuation of painting my floor. Actually, the painting of my floor has grown into the painting of the walls, the rearranging of my closet and quite a few other things.

Right.

So. I am trundling through Home Depot looking quite awful. I have ripped, grubby jeans on, slept-in makeup and my USMC t-shirt on. You must understand, I wear this shirt in a spirit of rebellion and contempt. Thus, it is only allowed to be worn doing dirty work. The contempt and disdain is NOT for the Marines as a whole. Merely for a few certain members who have managed to be on the recieving end of my disgust and loathing.

Let me assure you, I do not look very Marine-esq. I do not chew tobbaco. I am not in shape. I do not wear dog-tags. I DO wear makeup. I do NOT walk like a guy. But this did not stop three different people from asking me if I was in the Marines and what it was like.



Well, I would know, but I hear it is pretty good.