saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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I do know the muffin man. And the scarf fairy. And a sick cult of lassi worshippers.
Huh. In my last entry I used the words �asshole,� �assface,� and �asswipe.� It�s the Holy Trinity of Ass, y�all.
Oh, hey�you know what I hate?
Oh. You want me to talk about something new? Okay.
I have a new canker sore in my mouth. And a new crown on my recently-ravaged molar. Whew. That was a thrill ride wasn�t it?
Right. So. On to what I hate.
I hate Nazis. In addition to being vastly arrogant, seemingly incapable of coming up with a new, hip way to irrationally hate people, and in possession of ignorance so deep that it disappeared into the Mariana Trench some years ago and hasn�t been seen since�they have also tainted an otherwise perfectly good music genre.
Fuck you very much, dickheads.
In spite of that, and the fact that I�ve been listening to a lot of music that reminds me of my childhood, therefore making me ponder my mortality, my life�s goals, and the waning elasticity of the skin under my eyes, I had a really decent last weekend.
First, I received some seriously good muffins from Stephen. Blueberry and chocolate. Oooooh. Mmmmm. Gurgle. Snarfsnarfsnarf. Argh. Die.
Killer muffins.
Then, Jenni and Manda came to visit, and Manda (who doesn�t like to be called Manda, but I can�t help it, �cause I�ve known her since she was, like, eight years old, and she�s just Manda, do you hear me DO YOU HEAR ME SHE IS SHE�S MANDA GO TO HELL) had made me a superspiffy scarf. Red and black. My fav�rite. I�m ever so pleased. It is, I dare say, a sexy scarf.
You can�t picture a scarf being sexy, I see. Oh, yeah? Well�just picture me wearing it. And nothing else. And I�m about half a foot taller. And my legs are longer. And thinner. And my breasts are really taut and I don�t have this zit on my nose and I�ve had my hair cut more recently than four months ago. And I�m Swedish.
Yeah. That�s right, baby�
The scarf is sexy. Just go with me on this one.
Plus, last week I got to have dinner with Jeff, Kelly, and Mandy (different Mandy � she doesn�t mind being called Mandy, which is good because Jesus knows we don�t want to have to witness my outbursts anymore, right?). I�m telling you, nothing says happy times like malai kofta, naan, and making fun of people. It must be the sloughing off of weeks of pent-up contempt because I always leave those dinners feeling top-notch.
I�m also almost done with holiday shopping. This sounds insane, I know. But just tonight I realized that I have the entire month of December to just enjoy the holiday season. Playing in the snow. Sitting around, inside, where it�s warm. Driving past malls and stores and laughing hysterically that I don�t have to go inside. I�m telling you, I�m so giddy I don�t think I should drive or operate heavy machinery.
In other news: my hair is satanic. I am shedding. All over. Constantly. I find veritable tumbleweeds of my own hair intimidating and stealing the lunch money off of tufts of my cat�s hair.
It�s on my rugs. It�s on my pillow case. It�s all over my clothes and my coat. I find it shining in reddish-black glory as it drifts past my window at work, catching the sunshine. And the funny thing is, it doesn�t look like I�m losing any at all.
I�m pretty sure that my hair wants to be poetic, to ensnare the fancy of some romantic young man who will write sonnets to its glory. It wants a better existence for itself. It wants to be sumptuous.
And while it�s still residing on my scalp, that just isn�t going to happen.
Be free, hair. Godspeed.
9:32 a.m. - 2003-11-20
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