Coffee house blues

Dammit. I wish there was a 24-hour coffee house somewhere near me. Cave Dwelling Eyes has been asking about my really bad poetry. It's frightening, looking at this stuff with new perspective.

Once again, I'm crashing really hard from the socializing high. I do note, with no small degree of ironic self-mockery, that nearly every time I've come back from a trip to Pgh, instead of going straight home to a luke-warm welcome, I go out clubbing with someone.

Found this gem while hunting for a completely different poem (also under the LJ cut). College-aged slacker angst, at it's finest, folks. You saw it here first:

(circa 1996 for both of these)
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Even MORE spoilers

Have I mentioned how much fun I'm having? I'm surprised more people aren't trying to guess.

I was talking with Cold Pale Coffee and, actually, everybody, about how cool it would be to make these T-shirts. Spoilers that are only spoilers if you know what movie I'm talking about.

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Oh, and the latest question in the category of Things I Really Should Have Learned By Now:

How often do you change your bedsheets? Thorn Chain suggests you change your pillowcases weekly to avoid acne (apparently, the oil in your hair gets soaked in and then sits against your face).