Tighty whiteys.

Wow. I never realized that I have no idea how to spell whiteys. Or is it whities? That doesn't look right. Neither one of them does. No purpose for that title, either. I just like it. And the thought of them. And the thought of the opposite of them. And no, I don't mean naked. I mean boxer briefs, obviously.
I just pulled out a picture of a frickin' awesome haircut. It's about chin length. Should I risk my newly grown long, luxurious locks? I think not. I'll wait for a few more months, at least.

I graduate in three weeks. THREEEEEEEEE. That's so weird. Too bad I have to "walk" as some people call it. I don't really want to, but maybe deep down I do. I'm never afraid of a little pomp and circumstance. I just don't want to buy a gown. I wish I could have a hood to go with mine. That would be sweet. Note to self: get masters or doctrate so can have v.g. outfit with hat. Well, I'm heading to bed, moochie head. I'll talk to you soon!
mucho love-o,
Dav. Dame.