English: I speak two languages, english and arabic, but my arabic sucks lol
Fear:
1. that I won’t make a difference to at least one person in life
2. what comes after death
3. at the moment, that i won’t learn how to be financially responsible
Naughty:
my dad dissaproves of pretty much everything I do but he doesnt know about 95% of it hah (like me being queer and me dating people and me going to parties the only thing he knows about is me dying my hair blue).
Quality:OK FAV BLOGS I love these art blogs: muu-muu and mmcoconutand I love frightbot cause gemma is hilarious
Might end up using a title that is another Circa Survive reference since I'm just stealing this working title from my opening line.
___
“It’s beautiful,” I said to Kyler.
“It looks like it was welded together with crushed sequins.”
Kyler and I had entered the store looking for something gaudy, like a hunter green Canadian tuxedo, or a purple ceylon-print oxford, but it became clear we would leave with something transformatively ugly. I would destroy the competition at Catherine Baker’s costume party and win that $25 Panera gift card. I handed the dubious cashier three dollars, threw the muu-muu on over my head, and heard Kyler sigh audibly behind me.
Ignoring him, I thought out loud, “Now, I need a wig and some pillows.”
“Rach—” Kyler began to say before the cashier chimed in.
“...We do have a selection of wigs back where you were shopping before.”
I turned back to the store proper and scanned the racks. How could I have missed them? At eye-level, nappy bundles of hair nestled between the shoes and hats. To say I pranced to the back of the store would be an understatement. There was a tightly curled salt and pepper wig, if I wanted to go old-couture. I thumbed through a haystack of blonde wigs not quite different enough from my own color to make a difference. And then I found it, dark brunette, done up in a bun, straight bangs, only a few knots. I grasped it on both sides by the internal webbing and lifted it up and onto my head.
“Woah woah lice!” Kyler yelled from the register counter.
“Relax,” I said, fixing the bangs that fell over my forehead, patting the lopsided bun. “How do I look?”
He looked me up and down. “Like homeless Cinderella.”
“Belle wore the golden dress,” I corrected him with a grand curtsey, lifting the hem of the muu-muu just above my brown and yellow argyle sock.
As far as I can tell, humanity sees Space Aliens as one of two archetypes: Marvin the Martian
and the Gray Alien.
Both, along with our Fastest Possible Space Alien, share freakishly-large eyes and a small-to-nonexistent mouth. In addition, Laurea's tossed in a robe and the archetypal flying saucer (with lights).
Both Marvin or the Gray Alien have a reputation for aggression, invasive surgery, and/or ray guns, but our Fastest Possible Space Alien--though he or she has left the spacecraft--bears us no ill will at all. Whatever happened to "We Come In Peace"? Why have we forgotten the goofy and enormous alien space tubas from Close Encounters of the Third Kind? Even the visitors from The Day the Earth Stood Still were peaceable folk. So, then, is our Fastest Possible Space Alien--a chum from beyond the heliosheath, by whose comfortable muumuu we ought already to recognize a kindred spirit.
Hail, Fastest Possible Space Alien! We come in peace!
