I do not know what string of circumstances made me arrive home at 6:30 p.m. feeling so beat-up-from-the-feet-up. All I know is that it was a desperate state of affairs. I was on the verge of tears for no reason other than it was Friday and I was suddenly really, really tired. My mom asked me to call my cousin and I just could not handle the thought. A phone call - me?? It was so overwhelming that I almost wept. What a weenie.
Enrique cut my hair and I must say he is a genius. It looks fab. He did, however, spend half an hour blowdrying it straight, using up to 2 round brushes at a time. This, my friends, will not be happening in my own home. I wish I had the will and the talent, but I know I don't.
He complimented my color job, too. Clairol, $8.99 sucka, in my own bathroom. Haha.
Note to my father: beans do not belong in an omelet and a bean omelet does not belong in my dog. Dad, you do KNOW I live in a 500 square foot house? With my dog? If they find me asphyxiated, it will all be your fault.
Something is up with my feet. For the whole week, the soles of my feet have been feeling like someone has beaten them with a ball-peen hammer. One hurts, then the other. Alternately. Rarely both at the same time. If one feels ok, the other hurts. Damn. No dog walks, no exercise. This makes me and Goldie cranky bitches.
New goods over at True Employee Confessions. Now with more gassiness.
And I plan on a Linkateria post too. Woo hoo. Watch me go.