Haircut... HNT#30

It's cut. As promised, a picture (unedited!) of me with my new haircut. And my red bra. And the mirror is FILTHY... It's an antique wicker vanity in my room. You can see the camera in the shot. I don't like panelling. Really. It's dark and kinda... There's an old joke I'll tell you at the end. How's that? But I dig the hair. It's kinda cool. Down like it is, it's very "bobbed" looking, but I can product it back to give a more slick look, almost gamin. And I can still pull the 'Late 80's Jack Nicholson Samurai' schtick with a tiny ponytail in the back. And if I pull my bangs straight down instead of flipping them back, it looks almost Snow White-ish. That's Disney, folks, not Snow. And I decided not to edit it. I have the time, I have the talent, but... hey, happy snaps, you know? One un-edited/colored/cropped/fogged/desaturated picture out of the lot. Live with it, right?

IN other news (yes, get to the half-nekkid right? Wait for it, Dear Reader. Patience is a virtue, remember. Antici.....
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pation makes it worth it... or at least a bit funny, right? Tough crowd. Hm.) ANYway... In other news, the Lavender Festival is out at Jackson Square this weekend. I'll be looking to purchase. If you happen to receive an email from me in the next couple weeks or so asking for an address, it means I've purchased something that I saw and thought of YOU.. Yes, that's YOU, Dear Reader, or those of you that I especially adore. But only if I see something for YOU, not ME. Because I HAVE been shopping for myself. It's strange. I bought a new shoulderbag the other day. Not because I needed one... I just wanted one. I needed the new black tshirt (all mine were actually wierd permutations of faded black, but not grey, just faded black, which is NOT good. Quite icky. Don't like it. Hence the new tshirt), but I wanted the shoulderbag. Besides, it had skulls on it. A large skull patch and a couple small skull pins. It's sage-y green. And it's a good place to clip my pins to. Like my 'Eat Drink and Be Scary' pin and my 'No Socially Redeeming Qualities' pin and my 'Any fool can breed-most do' pin and my Pinky and Brain pins... Clever pins, like clever Tshirts, only on pins. Yes, I collect them, and if you come across anything good, let me know, I *will* let you purchase me gifts. You may insert one wink and a shoulder nudge, Dear Reader.

Also going on this weekend is the Secret City Festival. I'm considering going. But I don't know... I should. Apparently Bro is getting a bit worried that I haven't really gone out and done a whole bunch of stuff. And I haven't. I admit it. I also know that the reasons are pretty basic. (ahem) I don't like doing stuff all by my lonesome, and I have a fear of meeting new people. Almost debilitating. I'm OK one on one, or a couple at once, but crowds make me clam up and hide. Really. It's pissing me off now, though, so that's a start. Hell, it's taken 3 weeks of training for the people in my class at work to realize I can take joking and teasing. Sheila, this chick in my class, mentioned on the last day of class "You're actually kindof a freak... In a good way, I mean, but you're kindof freaky and not at all uptight!" She read the signs I've got posted on my cubicle. Hm. So I guess I give off a very uptight vibe or something. And I don't mean to. It's a fear response.

Curse the fear response. Fuck it. I'll go to the Lavender Festival AND the Secret City Festival. Even if I'm by myself. I'll let you know how that goes Saturday evening. Hell or high water (and that's doubtful with the drainage available around here), I'll go. You may picture me secretly quaking with fear, Dear Reader. 'Cause I am, you know? (ahem)
"It is hard to be brave," said Piglet, sniffling, slightly. "when you're only a Very Small Animal." "You only blinched inside," said Pooh, "and that's the bravest way for a Very Small Animal not to blinch that there is." Piglet sighed with happiness, and began to think about himself. He was BRAVE...
I think of that whenever I'm scared, whenever I feel that gut-sinking feeling of fear. Which is frequently. People think me incredibly capable. But most of the time I'm scared. Fear response. I just rarely give myself the luxury of giving into it. Hell, that happens, and I turn into the crazy cat lady, methinks. And that is NOT an option. Not for me. Not now.

So. You've been so patient, Dear Reader, listening to me ramble. Maybe next time I'll give you another full face-down shot or something. Maybe. We'll see.



OK. Joke. I almost forgot...
How do you tell the sex is really bad?
If you hear any of the following comments:
"Lighting. We need better lighting."
"Ooooh, look honey! It's time to paint the ceiling!"
"New carpeting.. Yeah. Definitely can use new carpeting."
"MMMm. Panelling would look SO good in here."
"Why didn't we get that padded headboard?"
I didn't say it was a good joke, Dear Reader. I said an old joke. And it is. I've known this one since fateful nights with Craig and Peter. That's 15 years.

Go see OSBASSO for all the details. No button. i'm being lazy today.