in with the old hair
Tonight is Round 2 of my birthday celebrations, an event I like to call “Dance Cave with DJ Shannon: Are You 30 Enough?” Or maybe “Are you 30? Enough.” Hee. That makes even less sense.
I was hoping to get my hair cut before the big event, but Poison Ivy is closed and I have no desire to take a chance before I meet between 2 and 10 of my nearest & dearest. So instead I’m thinking about taking back the bee antennae that Blake claimed last week. It’s a distraction technique I’ve used with some success in the past. Nobody sees how crap my hair is because all eyes are focussed on the silly thing perched on top of the crap hair.
Herm. I probably should be packing. This will be another night in which I dress in a strange bathroom, as I’m meeting the Boy (and some others) for dinner 4 hours before the Dance Cave starts a-spinning. I used to be the kind of girl who could brazen out an entire evening in corpse makeup, but that ability seems to have faded out along with my ability to stay awake past 11 p.m. I need to figure out what to wear, and if I need to make any attempt to match the antennae. Like that would help, or something.
I saw Scherezade on Friday, and she said something that I’ve been pondering ever since. I was continuing the various stories of local people (okay, I was gossiping) and she stopped me at one point to say, “I think there’s something about the people you want to be friends with. They flake out on you when they get upset, rather than calling you or something.” I find this an interesting statement, because I always assumed that there was something wrong with me that most people can’t seem to stay interested in being my friend for more than 3 years or so. I still haven’t thrown that theory out, but this is something else to brood about.
The contents of this site, unless
otherwise noted, are copyright Rocketbride 1997-2009.
Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*