There are times when I truly believe that I am the biggest dork of all time. I have often said that I am the most intelligent air-head I know. Or, as John oh-so-nicely pronounced last night: I'm a "dippity-do".

I also have a tummy ache and am having a room temperature trauma.

OK, kids, you know how I haven't really been eating during the day for the past couple of them? Well, both nights I went home, finally able to partake of food...and then after I ate I had a tummy ache.

So today, I decided I absolutely must have something to eat because I have class tonight and who can listen to a three hour lecture on the Indian Removal Act on an empty stomache? So off I go to El Pollo Loco for some yummy chicken taquitos.

And now I have a tummy ache.

Somebody up there just does not want me to eat. Ever again.

I'm also sitting here in my office with a little jacket on (this jacket is made out of some strange fabric called "Kashmiracle"!). When I have the jacket on, I get too hot. When I have it off, I get cold.

I guess some people are just never happy.

In other news, I am supposed to go see Mike Watt after class tonight. Sadly, I totally forgot about it this morning and did not straighten my hair. I like to straighten my hair. It makes me feel like I'm playing dress-up. It also makes me feel like I have normal hair for the first time in my life and there is absolutely no substitute for that feeling, even if it only lasts until I wash my hair again.

Let me 'splain...

I have some completely wacked-out, extremely curly hair. Now hear me, people: When I say "curly" I don't mean lovely, soft, flowing curls framing my face in a sensual manner ala a much younger Stevie Nicks (you know, like 20 years ago) or some Rubenesque babe (although parts of me are very Rubenesque, but that's perhaps a topic for another day). My hair is frizzy, dry enough to poke a man's eye out and just...crazy, man. Like Chaka Kahn crazy, only I don't have quite the voice to make people willingly overlook the crazy-curls. The trauma and ridicule I suffered as a child due to my truly bizarre hair...well, it's nothing short of miraculous that I survived without any scars on my wrists from the suicide attempts (I am being light-hearted about this, but it really is no joke. Kids are cruel, I tell you. CRU-EL!). Anyway, about two years ago I discovered mankind's greatest invention this side of the birth control pill: The Flat Iron. Using my flat iron, I can make my hair look like this.

The really groovy thing is that when I say I feel like I'm playing dress-up, I really kind of do. In a way, I hardly feel like myself when I have straight hair. I look disturbingly different without the curls. Older, but in a mature, more refined and classy way; not in a wrinkled-old-fart way.

Plus, I get a lot more man-action when I have the straight hair. It's a gas, baby. And a crack-up.

But then, I seem to feel more free to cuss up a storm with the curly hair, so there are benefits to both.

Ah well...since the band doesn't go on until 11pm, perhaps I'll swing by the pad and play with my hair before I go.

There are many benefits to living in a town which offers so many live music venues. Dropping by home before you go out is one...not having far to drive home is another and perhaps more important one...

John may not be coming down this weekend. I'm supposed to find out tonight. I am bummed...Well, in truth, I'm extremely horny. But it would be nice to talk to him face-to-face, too. I suppose if he decides not to come down, I can always get some work done around the pad.

And break out B.O.B.

So you kids have a great weekend and I'll attempt to do the same.

Hasta!

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~~~~~~~~~~~peace, love and smooches~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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