A Case of the Fridays

It's been four months since I got my hair cut. It's shoulder-length and shaggy -- I'm hiding behind it. Even though I bought assorted hair products in an attempt to tame the mane -- hairbands, barrettes, etc -- thinking Product would be cheaper than the solution, it wasn't. Cut the damn hair. So I made an appointment for tomorrow morning bright and early, a severe but forgivable transgression, an interruption to Writing Day.

I sure do get a kick out of capitalizing random words.

I'm going with the Louise Brooks look.

Almost an entire entry about my hair? Egads. I've gone soft. Or maybe I was never hard to begin with.

Our office closes at noon for the 4th of July weekend extravaganza. I plan to do nothing ... except cower in my apartment wishing the sounds of fireworks away. I'm cultivating the "Crazy Neighbor Lady with Cats" persona. Mental note: one cat does not cats make.

All right. I'll share. I also have to stop by the new place of employment this afternoon and pick up Homework. Study materials. I'll probably be holed up with a trial version of something new-job-related and an instructional manual across my knees drinking copious amounts of caffeine and eating caviar. And when I say caviar, I mean Beefaroni. And when I say caffeine I mean smoking crack, because damn, everyone should have a hobby.