One thing I will say about my new hair cut is that is gives me profoundly more interesting bed head. Which, given my lack of patience for styling my hair or doing anything that requires more than five minutes, really means that it gives me a much more interesting working professional hairdo.
It's times like these that I am grateful I work at an art college, because I am fairly certain that the bouncy hair police on the LMU campus would try to ward me off with holy water and garlic. Because apparently being a hair transgressor is the same thing as a vampire? Well, you don't have to look far past my sullen and pasty white exterior to see the resemblance...
Even a grimace in the sunlight. (Or is that a sparkle?) No. Stop. We will have none of that none sense here.
So what was I saying? Ah yes, important things of value. You see, I sometimes catch a glimpse of myself in the windows of buildings as I walk around campus and think: My! What a fine hair cut. Don't I look stylish?! But then I move about fifty feet closer to behold the matted medusa mess that is currently gracing my scalp and I quickly flee in terror. And no matter how many people reassure me that it doesn't look stupid, I can't help but brand them all liars and go sulk in my ugly corner. So I guess what I'm saying is: I am still getting used to it.
Of course, my grouchiness about my shorn lady locks probably isn't helped by the fact that I'm coming off a weekend high of sheer splendor at the beach. Moses and I had decided to high tail it out of Los Angeles for a few days to relax at his grandmother's condo in San Clemente. We played board games and lazed around and napped and read and wrote and walked around town and watched movies. Oh heaven, thy name is three day weekend.
After a solid Sunday morning of indoor activities, we decided to peruse the mostly closed shops along Avenida del Mar. We found ourselves wandering into Rocket Fizz, where I misguidedly bought a box of Hello Kitty Cupcake Sprinkle Bites (it was the ultimate betrayal) and where Mose and I thought it would be fun to buy some candy cigarettes (I picked out the one with the horse packaging, naturally).
I thought I'd go for effortlessly homeless that day.
Turns out that they tasted a lot like the stick part of a tootsie pop. Don't ask me or my teeth or my taste buds how we know that.
Oh yeah. And they contained beef gelatin. A clever anti-smoking campaign if I ever saw one...
On Monday, Mose and I rolled out of bed at the late hour of 9:30 AM only to discover that we had tragically missed the donut part of the local Surfin' Donut Breakfast Shop but we consoled ourselves with a breakfast burrito con avocado. We ate it too quickly to get a photograph; I am sure instagram will never be the same.
We did manage to capture this, however.
Yet further confirmation that Moses has been spelling his name wrong all these years.
Sigh. Back to the land of dishes and Jillian Michaels and hair cuts and answering emails written by people who apparently learned how to read and write English off of cat meme websites.
Can I haz mor weekens now plez?