So. Courtesy ILB, this story. Which is all fine and good, and I've already made my requisite and not-at-all creative "JT Leroy" joke nd then promptly forgot about reading the article thoroughly. But I started thinking. And thinking is dangerous.
I went to the MySpace page of Mr. Pollis? And I'll be goddamned, but HE AND I HAVE THE SAME EFFING STYLIST!!!! Seriously. For those of you who know where to find my Flickr photos? Where there exists a picture of me punching my friend T. in the face during a wedding? You know. You SO know. We are TWINS, except he is a skinny DJ in Williamsburg or whatever and I am a housefrau with a cube job who is wearing a stretched-out TJ Maxx sweater set! Or maybe I'm his mom, although you'd think I'd remember something like that.
I'm not usually one to sport coathangers and Mr. T bling, but screw it. If that gets me in with My Chemical Romance, then count me in. Swooooooooooooon.
If the internet can start convincing me to post photos of myself, it might just be worth it to chronicle my transformation into this kid. I am so close, I can taste it. I just need to learn to stomach the Scissor Sisters, and score me some skinny jeans. Smells like EXCITEMENT in here!!!!!