My birthday is Monday. I'll be 30 years old. The makers of beauty products and other types who refuse to accept reality insist, however, that 40 is the new 30, which means that I will, in fact, be turning 40 on Monday. I feel robbed.
Fortunately for me, beer slows the aging process.
In honor of this landmark birthday, I have decided to get my first haircut in about a year and a half. The child bride has scheduled said cutting of hair at a Proper Hair-Type Place, where one is referred to as a "client." Belle de Jour used to refer to the men she slept with as "clients," but I doubt my haircut will be nearly as exciting.
Now the question I'm faced with is what exactly I want to do with this mess of dead cells stuck to my scalp. So far, I have only come up with a description of how I want to look: "a classic look, but as if I've just been in a fight."
I have no idea what this means, nor how it would be manifested in a hairstyle. Any suggestions?
Have I mentioned how pissed off I am that I will be stuck working on St. Patrick's Day?
And my vitriol toward my benevolent employer increases daily as a result. I always take St. Patrick's Day off, along with my birthday -- this year, I'll get neither.
I have considered quitting, and still haven't totally ruled out the possibility. Work vs. Guinness: guess which one wins in my world.
I dream of this happening to my plumbing.
(Link sent via Huw, who can't be arsed to update his blog)
Ass. I am never flying Northwest again -- they want me to pay an extra $15 to sit in an aisle seat.
Dumbest hip-hop simile I've heard today: "(I've) got a bill in my mouth like Hillary Rodham."