Look out, ya’ll.
Today is hair day.
Give me a few more hours and I will be a new person.
Are you excited? I’m excited.
Don't worry, my pets, you'll see it soon enough.
In other news, I know I mentioned that one of my most favorite people was coming to see me this weekend, so I thought I’d give a little rundown of how that went.
I love my friends and our escapades, by the way.
There were four of us: two of my best girlfriends, my visiting friend’s boyfriend, and me. We crowded into a room in the Motel 6 at the socially acceptable hour of midnight.
The rooms beside and below hated us for the next four and a half hours, I’m sure.
Then we proceeded to have chocolate pudding shots (complete with chocolate boobies and peepees purchased at a lovely store in Santa Cruz especially for this occasion). We ate cookies and goldfish (the crackers; no animals were harmed in the making of this adventure… Except maybe the ones to make the pudding. Do they use animals for the pudding like they do the Jell-O?). We drank beer and champagne. We donned corsets, fishnets, and short dresses and danced to this.
That's right. We're nasty.
We got six hours of sleep. Maybe.
Then I wandered home to shower and wash the hotel sheets off my skin.
And try to snack and hydrate away my mini dehydration hangover. Gatorade was not as helpful as I had hoped it would be.
A giant fucking burrito and a root beer were actually exceptionally helpful. Until I got indigestion. Those burritos get me every time. But I am weak for them.
I must say, though, my favorite part of Saturday was wandering around FoodMaxx with my arm around my friend’s shoulders and her hand tucked in the back pocket of my new favorite pants, which she has very appropriately named my “dyke jeans”.
They are hot.
I’m just saying.
Actually, they are so comfortable that I might be switching to men’s jeans. Permanently.
If I want to be uncomfortable, I’ll wear tights and still not be as raped as I am by women’s jeans.
Denim can perform acts of fellatio on my figurative male reproductive organs.
Don’t worry, though. I’m totally not giving up shaving my legs (once a week) or my armpits (when I remember or am pretty sure I’ll end up wearing a tank top). If I ever decide to make the full transformation to sasquatch, though, you’ll definitely be the first to know.
We also saw the movie “Paul”, which I had actually never heard of. That’s surprising because I’m usually all over anything with Seth Rogan in it. I can’t explain why, but I find him completely hilarious.
I loved it for various reasons. The biggest one was the amount of references to nerdy sci-fi shit, which we all kind of got off on figuring out. There was even a Blues Brothers reference.
I can’t resist that. I just can’t.
The best part, though, was after the movie when we sat through all of the credits and were the last people in the theater at midnight. Just sitting and talking.
Some random dude none of us had seen before this moment wandered into the theater (while there were still credits) and discovered us sitting in the second to last row of seats and talking (actually, I think he caught me talking with not my inside voice because I have no shame) about yeast infections.
The more I tell you about my real-life conversations, the more you’ll come to realize that the way I write is pretty much how I actually talk. A little bit more articulate, yes. But generally the same.
Anyway, random dude left and we continued talking. Mostly because he looked like a farmer and I didn’t think he could possible work for the theater.
Then he came in again as we were talking about something at least equally as bad. It was probably orgasms. Or vibrators. Instead of just interrupting the conversation with “Hey…” or clearing his throat obnoxiously like a normal person, he shut off all the lights in the theater. And I panicked a little.
It was really dark in there, guys.
And I’m kind of a klutzy person.
There are so many things that could happen, should I decide to try to find my way out.
Also, I don’t want to get raped.
Especially by someone I find in no way attractive at all. Which is, I suppose, one of the reasons why rape occurs.
My friends went home Sunday morning. I think the only reason I got through it without weeping was the knowledge that I am going back to Santa Cruz in two weeks to celebrate my birthday (early, because I’m stuck at home on my actual birthday).
Since I didn’t have much else to do (except homework, and who wants to do that?), I had a fabulous coffee and cleaned all afternoon. I found pretty much the best coffee place ever and now my mom and I are both pretty much addicted. Since I’m no longer on Lentventure and can eat whatever I want. Which is definitely not the same as before, let me tell you. But I am weak for this coffee.
Now I want some coffee.
Instead, it’s time for me to get mah herr did (thanks, Patty, for making that seem less weird to me by using it as well). I promise I’ll post pictures of it. I’m sure it will be lovely. I obviously really trust my hairdresser.
By the way, Oose, I miss you like a fat kid misses naked cake.
Which is to say, quite a lot.