One of those stupid writing exercises you think will never go anywhere but do.
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I live in a one of those hybrid towns, the kind that are a Big City/Small Town, all in one.
Where everyone knows Lucy from Kearney and Bill from Ogalala and, don't you know, the corn crop sucks this year?
I go to a church conviniently nestled between the Hixson-Lied College of Fine and Performing Arts and the School of Fashion and Design's fraternity (alpha omega whaddya-call-it), therefore the homosexual outnumber the heterosexual at least three-to-one.
I go to a school where everyone, even the loners, fit neatly into a tightly-configured clique, and the cafeteria Macaroni and Cheese will stick to the ceiling if you throw it up there, and never come down.
I shop in a mall where pretty much no one over 20 dares venture, and where the Lemon Days posters are always hung over the huge, blown up picture of this grisly-looking man and this blonde lady making out that's right outside the Sarah Hamman jeweler's shop.
I go to a grocery store that sells goat milk, Shitaki mushrooms, and some strange Vietnamese thing that I can't pronounce. Do you want a sack with that?
I belong to a pool where everyone's always uptight, the water's saturated with baby pee, the hotdogs are always cold, and the old fat guys get to stay in the water longer than we poor, deprived, sugar-high kids do.
I go to a library that's never quiet, Princess Diaries are checked out constantly, and the local Goth clan hangs out behind the romance novels.
I live in a state where everyone wears red and no one can live without their dang corn or their ESPN, either.
I'm a compugeek, a rider chick (who golfs on the side), Hey-You-In-The-Blazer, and a University Brat.
So what's it to you?
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ROCK ON RANDOMNESS!
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