Ahhhh... life is a freaking riot! I got up this morning and scared the hell out of myself with my haircolor. Strike last night's description: in the light of day, I am now sporting a MAGENTA mop right now. Shampooing like a madwoman was fruitless: I am peyotes' worst nightmare! This would be great for a Suicide Girl, but unfortunately, I live in Old World Conservatism, USA. Here, channeling Rainbow Brite is frowned upon. 
So, I wrapped a bandana around my head, kerchief style, thinking I would blend into the elderly onslaught at the supermarket. Instead I really just wanted to wax Color Purple and scream, "Celie, you outta bash Mista' head in and think about heaven later!" I managed to keep that compulsion under control. I bought a few apples without incident, then swung by the pet supplies store (because George has ripped his favorite catnip toy to bits).
Unfortunately, since it is morning on a weekday, I was mingling with the drive-15-in-a-40-mph-zone crowd. This stereotype applies indoors as well. I walked into the store, and a man with Johnny Cash hair was wandering aimlessly between the claustrophobic aisles; what's scary is that he was armed with a shopping cart. Off in his own world, he faked a left, then plowed right in front of me. I had to do a skip/hop/slide action to avoid being run over, but since I am about as graceful as a drunk on a trampoline, I ended up kicking myself, HARD, right on the left ankle where I have a healing mosquito bite. I yelp, but try to play it off in that I-always-pull-spontaneous-dance-moves-in-stores kind of way. When I get to the cat aisle, I realize I am gushing blood from my ankle. Luke, I've been hit! The Death Star is all yours! Rather than freak out the store clerks with a hazardous waste spill, I limped out of the store and back into my car, where I pulled a MacGuyver and wrapped tissue around the area.
I still needed a copy of the Valley Advocate, the local paper that shows the music scene for the weekend. For some reason it is imperative that I plan my weekend today. So, I drove to a local breakfast nook that I know stocks them. When I got out of my car, I was dragging tissue from my ankle like an embarrassing bathroom exit. A piece came off and flew away, stained with my blood. An elderly man opened the door for me, but I noticed he was cringing. It could have been from the tissue, my Barnum & Bailey hair peeking out from the kerchief, or simply the fact that it was a sticky 90 degrees outside and he was dressed in the traditional old-man garb: a beige button down shirt, brown synthetic fabric pants, and white shoes.
The Advocate hadn't been delivered yet. So I slumped home, paper-less (well, unless you count the tissue), cat-toy-less, but with 6 apples, one of which I am eating now. It's not a crisp as apples should be, but I see it's been flown in from New Zealand, and I would be a little mealy too after such a long flight.
I'm planning to spend the rest of the day finishing Diary by Chuck Palahniuk. It's good so far.
Shoot! I forgot to buy bleach!
I'm such an assclown, but at least I'm embracing it
So, I wrapped a bandana around my head, kerchief style, thinking I would blend into the elderly onslaught at the supermarket. Instead I really just wanted to wax Color Purple and scream, "Celie, you outta bash Mista' head in and think about heaven later!" I managed to keep that compulsion under control. I bought a few apples without incident, then swung by the pet supplies store (because George has ripped his favorite catnip toy to bits).
Unfortunately, since it is morning on a weekday, I was mingling with the drive-15-in-a-40-mph-zone crowd. This stereotype applies indoors as well. I walked into the store, and a man with Johnny Cash hair was wandering aimlessly between the claustrophobic aisles; what's scary is that he was armed with a shopping cart. Off in his own world, he faked a left, then plowed right in front of me. I had to do a skip/hop/slide action to avoid being run over, but since I am about as graceful as a drunk on a trampoline, I ended up kicking myself, HARD, right on the left ankle where I have a healing mosquito bite. I yelp, but try to play it off in that I-always-pull-spontaneous-dance-moves-in-stores kind of way. When I get to the cat aisle, I realize I am gushing blood from my ankle. Luke, I've been hit! The Death Star is all yours! Rather than freak out the store clerks with a hazardous waste spill, I limped out of the store and back into my car, where I pulled a MacGuyver and wrapped tissue around the area.
I still needed a copy of the Valley Advocate, the local paper that shows the music scene for the weekend. For some reason it is imperative that I plan my weekend today. So, I drove to a local breakfast nook that I know stocks them. When I got out of my car, I was dragging tissue from my ankle like an embarrassing bathroom exit. A piece came off and flew away, stained with my blood. An elderly man opened the door for me, but I noticed he was cringing. It could have been from the tissue, my Barnum & Bailey hair peeking out from the kerchief, or simply the fact that it was a sticky 90 degrees outside and he was dressed in the traditional old-man garb: a beige button down shirt, brown synthetic fabric pants, and white shoes.
The Advocate hadn't been delivered yet. So I slumped home, paper-less (well, unless you count the tissue), cat-toy-less, but with 6 apples, one of which I am eating now. It's not a crisp as apples should be, but I see it's been flown in from New Zealand, and I would be a little mealy too after such a long flight.
I'm planning to spend the rest of the day finishing Diary by Chuck Palahniuk. It's good so far.
Shoot! I forgot to buy bleach!
I'm such an assclown, but at least I'm embracing it
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
edited cuz its early and i cant type.
[Edited on Aug 04, 2005 6:08AM]