|
2004-04-15 - 1:27 p.m.
The day before I got on that infernal airplane to come here I went and got my hair cut. Not because I wanted to look good...nah, I don't give a shit about that, I simply KNEW my behavior and KNEW that if I didn't get a haircut before I left I would find myself in front of the tilted, always falling on me mirror in my French bedroom with my cuticle scissors in hand snipping away at my hair. It happens every single time. Usually because I will be sitting on the couch watching Cuisine TV and will be idly playing with my hair and notice the multitude of spilt ends...and of course one cannot have spilt ends so I ALWAYS go in my room and start snippng away...with cuticle scissors. I lasted two weeks this time. And, we have real scissors now because last week I cut Eric's hair. And did a good job, by the way. (at least he hasn't run out YET to get it fixed or anything, he might just be saying he likes it and the second I leave he will run to Paris to get trimmed by some svelte French hottie who doesn't leave chocolate finger prints all over the house...) I just peeled myself away from that mirror before I started actually snipping at anything more than my bangs. Hopefully Boy comes home before I give into the temptation. ANYWAY... Trip here is good. Nothing major, nothing minor. Airplanes are still not my friend. In fact, I think that I have SO MUCH airplane anxiety that it might be necessary for me to either go on some form of medication or go to therapy for a while if I have to continue flying around this planet every couple months. Weird fucking dreams lately. I get SO tired when I have weeks and weeks of anxiety driven dreams. It will almost be nice to get back to that other home of mine (though I am finding the thought of being Boyless even more intolerable than ever) and be sleep deprived so I won't have to deal with these dreams anymore. All I want is one night where I can sleep for eight hours without a fucking dream...unless it is a nice, peaceful dream, like the rabbit dream I had last year. Sweden was pretty cool. My best memory from there and the only reason I will ever go back is because I didn't feel as though I spent nearly enough time at the Rock Bar in Goteburg and need to get back to it. It is Boys hangout when he is there on business and for the last two years I have been on the receiving end of calls from that very bar, very loud, ear shattering calls...so it was cool to actually BE THERE. But we were only there for one drink and didn't go back the next night because Boy had some sort of intestinal break down and we had to go back to the hotel for the night. Which was disappointing because while I did meet Magnus,who can do an incredible impersonation of Arnold in any movie, I didn't get to meet the bartender that always pours my darling boyfriend way too much Jack Daniels...nor did I get my fill of eighties rcok for the night. It was really awesome to be somewhere where I could totally get into Alice Cooper and not look like an idiot. Not that I care, if I ever get a car stereo again I plan to play Alice Cooper ALL the time, REALLY loudly. Alice Cooper is the king. And so that it is all. Everything else is the same old, same old. I haven't been able to go to the grocery store on a daily basis because my FUCKING CAR broke FUCKING TWO DAYS BEFORE I LEFT and I STILL DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH IT WILL COST TO FIX and so I can't spend a dime until I know in case it is the usual $1,000 repair. FUCKING CAR REPAIR SHOP...I SO KNOW THEY FUCKED THAT CAR UP. FUCK. And so... Boy still not here... I need to go cut my hair some more. |
| 