Good boys always follow.
Good boys never win. They all fall away, and you remain. What is it with me not getting enough of Blondie this week? Yikes, that’s only a stone’s throw from the Flashdance soundtrack. That always conjures memories of my mother jazzercising away to Fame in a leotard and leg warmers. It’s no wonder I’m maladjusted!
I’m spending my Saturday morning at the hair salon while everyone else goes snowboarding. That’s right, I’m indulging in four glorious hours of inactivity (you can thank me later, my little cellulite buddies.) instead of joining those suckers up the mountain. I’m torn between sticking with the usual or chopping off as much as I can get away with. Also on the fence about keeping the red or going back to black. Amy the stylist, seems to agree with the majority’s belief that I will be shedding a few tears should I insist on going short, so it’s looking like the usual will prevail. Me and my new ‘do are cooking for the boys once their mountain adventure is done. Those hungry bastards better finish off everything. I’m not particularly fond of leftovers. I occassionally end up eating these at the communal lunchroom at work. That place is full of chatty strangers. Chatty strangers who dissect my food. Chatty strangers who ask for restaurant suggestions. Chatty strangers who always want to make friends. Ugh. I guess I just don’t like chatty strangers. (But I’m always nice at kissing them off, I promise.) The most hilarious thing I’ve heard all week was at a restaurant where I had lunch with a friend. The waitress comes around to check on our food then tells him, "I’ll be back to water you in a bit." HUH? Sure sweetheart, make sure he gets plenty of sun and Miracle-Gro too.
