Moving means, it would seem, rolling your red plaid old lady style shopping card that your mom named Malcolm along St. Laurent at 1:38 am with a Mountain Equiptment Co-op duffel bag backpacked on your back, in danger of falling backward because your bag weighs more than you do but it's okay because you happen to be wearing your Mountain Dew EXTREME SPORTS helmet.
It's not like my dad and sister and Russell didn't bust their balls helping out on Saturday but I just have so much shit kicking around that even after they left I still had tons to do and I'm almost done maybe on TUESDAY AFTERNOON and I hope that Ayan isn't fucking with me when she says she's coming to free me of my futon at my old pad later today because if not that would be bad...
Soanyway, moving to me means that when all the honeys on St. Laurent between Prince Arthur and Pine seem to be in 4 inch heels and imitation Herve Leger bandage dresses (by Marciano), I look a lot like I'm in the midst of portage on a camping trip and it's a cool idea to go into 4 Freres and not by a ROCK STAR but settle for 12 ice cream sandwiches and make them my meals for the next two days (with fork and knife and plate, naturally.)
I tried to blog about a month ago after I got my hair cut but then my internet got all wonky and I was out of commission ever since/on holiday/trying to edit 2 years of my life on Drolet...soanyway, it saved so this is what I wrote a month ago after I got my hair cut!
The font is different. Better or worse, who knows, I apparently have no control over it anyway.
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I got snipped on Sunday.
I was in the middle of saying something when my sister took this picture. Pretty sure it was "Well keep doing what you're doing, you look great." directed at someone who grabbed my left breast with Misfits make-up when he was a high school virgin and I was at uni and it was Halloween and as a teen on vacay and I guess he didn't know that's not how you ask to have your virginity taken...
Anyway, I love my new hair and feel more like a girl rather than less. It's like I grew three extra vaginas and they all smell like pink cupcakes with buttercream frosting. It's like I'm made of fairy dust. My eyes cry buttercream frosting. And it was free and the hairdresser looked like this.
I paid him my respect with a fortune cookie and I told him to open it but he wouldn't. I could not help then but imagine him being a diva and whacking it across the room in disgust with his forearm, hitting one of the hairwash girls in the eye.
"I SAID NO CARBS!"
All this to be a hair model for an Aveda class on "CREATIVE CUTS".
Wednesday I go back for COLOUR. This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year. Which isn't to say I didn't enjoy season one of Party of 5 last week. The theme song is just so good.
................In relation, last night in the month of JUNE, I dreamt that Matthew Fox worked at Euro-Deli and mowed lawns and also was on television but did the other stuff just for fun. What a down to earth dude....
Stevie Wonder is my saviour, see you later. I don't have time to explain how much he means to me but hopefully I am even more of a changed woman after tonight. Basically, he makes my highs higher and my lows better and everything seem like it might be okay even when it seems like no way that will ever happen. Fortunately, I'm not feeling in the depths of despair lately anyway, but I definitely believe that Talking Book has helped me out of the trenches in the past which isn't to say that what Stevie pulled off as a tween isn't totally completely uplifting no matter what.
