Island Hair

I have "Island Hair" today. What may come to mind when I say this to you is shiny, healthy, sun-streaked locks which lazily move about in a warm, tropical breeze. This is, of course, the ideal definition of Island Hair. Alas, when I say island, I do not mean a cozy tropical paradise. I mean Manhattan: The Island of Smog and Humidity.

Manhattan Island Hair is comprised of the following elements: Product, more product, a little more product, some product, probably a ponytail holder or a clip of some sort, hair shafts swollen to 9x their size, carbon particles, dust, moisture, air conditioner condensation droplets and cracker crumbs from the slob standing over you on the train eating. This hair does not waft. You are merely a host organism for this hair which, left to its own devices, would probably have voted for Bush in '04.

This is my way of bitching about the humidity. I would imagine that what it feels and smells like in New York City today is what feels and smells like in Satan's armpit. I live in Satan's armpit...IN THE GHETTO PART of Satan's armpit. Life is good!

Btw, right now, I am running Outlook, iTunes, Yahoo! Messenger, PowerPoint, Firefox AND burning a CD! I LOVE THIS EFFING COMPUTER!

Eye Status: Still terribly uncomfortable and now the good lens is starting to give me fits, too. The new lenses should be here tomorrow. A coworker suggested lasik. Yes, I will, thank you, as soon as I shit out a couple gold bricks. Would you like one once I do?

Billiards Status: Frederick kicked my ass, BUT I HELD MY OWN! Oh, don't EVEN try to deny it! I have photographic proof of you racking my balls!

Boxes of Pudding left: 7 (seven)

Loads of laundry completed: 4 (but in double-loaders, so 2 really)

Gallons of sweat produced during laundry process: 2

Pints of blueberries consumed this weekend: Just 1!

Days this weekend I woke up at the asscrack and had to force myself back to sleep: ALL

Days until Wednesday: 2

Co-workers whose apartment caught fire this weekend: 1 (no one was hurt!)

Times I successfully, if not gracefully, got out of the pedicure chair without nearly breaking my neck: 0 for 4. I fall out of that bitch every single time. I'm beginning to think the owner views me as a liability rather than a paying customer, since I almost always nearly slip banana peel-style in those tractionless pedicure booties. I don't blame her, in light of the fact that I dive out of the pedicure chair on a regular basis.

How was YOUR weekend?