would.the.real.vanilla.coke.please.stand.up

I went to get my haircut this lunch hour with depressing results. I walked alllllllllll the way down to the little shop where they do that thing, and the woman who normally cuts my hair was on vacation. This is going to be interesting, I was thinking, as the shaggy mop has taken on a life of it’s own and I’m going to have to start calling it by it’s own name soon. Hmmm… I’m thinking something along the lines of Brad2 or Bradzilla.

The resulting anxiety brought me to walking a little further down the street to where I came upon this sign that said “Cheap Haricuts” hanging in the window of a little building. I followed a maze of smaller, little arrow signs, each of them reading “HAIRCUTS” and leading me into the back room where this little chinese woman was nattering on the phone and smoking SOMETHING — I’m not sure what. Fortunately she had another customer, and after sitting akwardly on her pink sofa for a few minutes, I told her I had to get some cash, and snuck out — never to return, hopefully.

Frustrated, I wandered back toward the office, and picked up a Vanilla Coke in which to drown my sorrows. How meditative is that? (Okay, not really, but do I really care?)

plans.for.the.twenty.sixth.twenty.third

Karin, Chris, Poornima, and I had plans to go for dinner on my birthday. I was thinking something simple, like Malones, where I can kick back with a beer and maybe some ribs… mmmmmm, ribs…. How does that sound?