man alive, i'm going to lose it soon
1. WHERE THE HELL IS MY DSL MODEM?
2. as i go to mail my big brother survey, i noticed the control number is my social juxtaposed- and not even all that well. GRR. i should have jizzed on the envelope to seal it to give them a dna sample. wish i thought of that earlier.
3. and as for the haircut... got as far as union square, but decided to go shopping instead: in the store, i looked at my hair in the mirror and thought, nah, maybe later this week. or next. besides, she's actually thrown me out of the chair when it's too short for her to play with. 'no no, too short short. no to come back next week or two.' just. cut. my. fucking. hair. but it's ok, i love her. we have this tacit understanding: she can eat greasy crap, take sips of her coffee, scream at her coworkers, stop mid-snip to take a phone call, go out for a smoke, etc., and in return, she never asks me anything about myself. one time her son apparently called, and blew hell at her, and when they were done dukeing it out in russian, she asked me, 'you good to your mother? you good son?' 'oh yeah.' [i knew where this was going. i'm not stupid...] 'my son. he drives me CRATZY.' 'um. wow. scary shit. a little shorter?' 'yes yes, you and shorter shorter, i know, not done yet. you like my son, more more more more.'
so i get done shopping, come home, and realize that somehow between union square and here in my little village, my hair fro'd. great. GREAT. when i'm done with my power dinner of champions, spaghettio's with muenster and some green beans (don't judge me), i'm going to get hair anti-fro goo at cvs and head to the photo place for a reprint. that is guaranteed to be a blog entry in itself...
2. as i go to mail my big brother survey, i noticed the control number is my social juxtaposed- and not even all that well. GRR. i should have jizzed on the envelope to seal it to give them a dna sample. wish i thought of that earlier.
3. and as for the haircut... got as far as union square, but decided to go shopping instead: in the store, i looked at my hair in the mirror and thought, nah, maybe later this week. or next. besides, she's actually thrown me out of the chair when it's too short for her to play with. 'no no, too short short. no to come back next week or two.' just. cut. my. fucking. hair. but it's ok, i love her. we have this tacit understanding: she can eat greasy crap, take sips of her coffee, scream at her coworkers, stop mid-snip to take a phone call, go out for a smoke, etc., and in return, she never asks me anything about myself. one time her son apparently called, and blew hell at her, and when they were done dukeing it out in russian, she asked me, 'you good to your mother? you good son?' 'oh yeah.' [i knew where this was going. i'm not stupid...] 'my son. he drives me CRATZY.' 'um. wow. scary shit. a little shorter?' 'yes yes, you and shorter shorter, i know, not done yet. you like my son, more more more more.'
so i get done shopping, come home, and realize that somehow between union square and here in my little village, my hair fro'd. great. GREAT. when i'm done with my power dinner of champions, spaghettio's with muenster and some green beans (don't judge me), i'm going to get hair anti-fro goo at cvs and head to the photo place for a reprint. that is guaranteed to be a blog entry in itself...
posted by tom at 11:45 PM
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