I think I’m anti-social.

OK, bear with me now: I’m not referring to the “serial killer” type of anti-social– don’t get me wrong. I do, however, admit that I have a vivid and fearless imagination and am able to visualize and feverishly explain the behavior of such characters.

Take Stagger Lee, for example. He’s absolutely horrible– a horrible person. Have you read the “stagger.txt” play, yet? It’s not for the faint hearted. Keep in mind when reading that I wrote this as a -play- … for the stage … to be performed live.

How brutally, graphically violent is that?

I suppose I kind of wanted it that way. You’ve heard of shock rock, right (think Marilyn Mason)? Well this is shock plays. Not -nearly- as catch, I know, but even more gut-wrenching in its delivery than someone in fishnets, excessive and overdone black make-up, and one bulgy eye.

I mention this because I’m obsessed with beauty. I want to be beautiful. I want men to stop and stare, I want women to be jealous, I want people to approach and talk to me, I want the girls at the MAC counter to ask me for tips.

That’s how Natalie Wood was, right? Audrey Hepburn? Dita von Teese? Mila Jovovich?

Oh, I’m not ugly by any means … but I don’t look the way I -want- to or I -think- I should.

Now, that being said … I have come to the conclusion that -even if- I could magically find myself in that top 1% of the standard deviation curve of beauty …

Drum roll … drum roll … tension … building …

I’d still be anti-social. Whew.

I’d probably hang out at home, write stories, and only want to see those close to me.

I can be a socialite when required– but I’m an introvert by nature.

So much for loved-by-all exquisite beauty.

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