While I admit it’s more than a little depressing that it’s nearly fall and I won’t be heading back to classes any time soon, I have to say that I really like my job. The whole money thing isn’t so bad, either - between us Chris and I now have two healthy incomes, one low rent, and no kids to spend it on. Although Tigger probably counts as half a kid, considering how much we spoil him.
We’re both saving (for new computers and a move to a nicer neighborhood next summer when our lease is up) but still have enough money left over each month that I don’t have to feel like a poor student anymore. Who knew life after college would mean I could stop emptying out my checking account every month? Well, me. But still.
The head-scratchy continues unabated, although I assure you my scalp appreciates your concern, as well as your wildly creative and occasionally upsetting treatment suggestions. Aloe? Hey, why not. Olive oil? Maybe (but let me be totally clear - my head is not for eating). Bodily fluids, toxic chemicals, and animal byproducts of any kind? You’re fucking fired.
I’ve been keeping things more or less under control with hydrocortisone, ibuprofen, and loratadine. The worst of it is my poor burny ears. Oh, the fire of death and flaming doom that has engulfed my ears! Unfeeling hairdresser, I curse thee!
I may be too tired and itchy to spend a great deal of time bitching about NBC’s craptacular Olympics coverage, but that doesn’t mean that Yahoo can’t provide you with a healthy dose of Olympian Ass. Speaking of which, Chris and I tried to keep track of the number of ass pattings per event, but lost track early on - women’s beach volleyball and men’s team gymnastics are still probably the standout ass pat events, though.
If you ever make the mistake of letting a stylist named Flash color your hair with a dye to which you are allergic, the important thing to remember is not to scratch your head, no matter how itchy and burny and awful it is. To that end, it is essential to keep busy:
1. Knitting is pretty much perfect because not only does it distract you from the horror of your scalp, it keeps your hands busy so you can’t even scratch absentmindedly.
2. Watching Chris play SSX3 is also entertaining, and can even be combined with knitting.
3. Take three to four showers daily, during which you shampoo your hair up to fifteen times in a single twenty-four hour period. Short of shaving your head, this (plus the occasional well-placed dab of Cortaid and a healthy dose of bitching about Flash the Fuckhead) is really all you can do when you suddenly find yourself allergic to your hair.
4. Be grateful that your hair is no longer waist-length, and that you are ultimately willing to shave it off if things become unbearable.
1. Never trust a stylist who calls himself Flash - especially when he suggests that if you haven’t shown an allergic reaction to that black dye after twenty minutes, you must not be allergic to it. Even if he does give you a really nice razored cut.
2. Don’t assume that you’ll have time in a single lunch hour to walk over to Borders and pick up the August issue of Gourmet and to read (over a cup of soup) the remarkably lengthy article by David Foster Wallace on the Maine Lobster Festival. (Remarkably lengthy for Gourmet - not for DFW.) You will only get halfway through the damn thing, and then you’ll end up engaging in mid-commute magazine acrobatics so you can read the rest of it on the way home.
3. Those tiny, tiny, tiny little umbrellas you can buy at Duane Reade to carry in your purse are tiny for a reason. The reason is that they suck.
It took less than a month before the pimp drive started dying today, perhaps because of its own massive and poorly ventilated heat. It won’t mount, Disk Utility can’t see it, and fsck has been hanging for longer than I’m quite comfortable with. I expect to find it cold and dead in the morning, but right now I need to go to bed, and grieve for my backups (which will not run tonight).
Update: Left to its own devices for long enough, fsck_ext2 successfully fscked my drive right up. I luv you, fsck.
I liked The Bourne Identity (because it’s impossible to dislike something filled with Franka Potente and assassins), but it sort of takes the edge off the dramatic moments when you know perfectly well Matt Damon isn’t going to get killed since they already made the god damned sequel, and they couldn’t very well have done that if Matt Damon were dead.
Capri pants, Victoria’s Secret shopping bags used to carry lunches, and those shoes with the tips that extend three feet beyond the ends of your toes: these are all horrifying things. And I’m pretty sure their prevalence in my city means that the terrorists have already won.
A couple of my favorite eyeshadows were lost back in January during the Moving Day From Hell, so I finally stopped off at Macy’s on my way home from work to replace them with some new stuff from MAC. I did get a couple of shadows, but what I’m most pleased with is finding the best foundation in the world - I tried on five different shades and found one that’s absolutely perfect. It’s also SPF 15 and is amazingly light feeling. I have always avoided liquid foundations because of the tendency the crappy ones have to look cakey and weird, but this one was invisible even after I wore it for the rest of the night. Now I just need a decent makeup case to replace the stack of IKEA boxes I’ve been using to store everything in.
Since we opened a Netflix account less than a week ago, Chris and I have watched six movies and our queue has grown to a whopping 104 DVDs. Whether or not we’ll ever actually make it through everything on it given that we add around a dozen new items a day is another question, but it’s nice to know that we could watch them all. In theory.
