Wednesday, June 07, 2006

going to california with an aching in my heart.
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didn't led zeppelin wail that at some point? it seems to recall faint aromas of patchouli and high school angst.

i think the aching is really more in my brain, which is reeling (positively reeling) from all the events and projects and thoughts and issues that have been crashing on its hard floors, leaning heavily against its rickety walls, overstaying their welcome like relatives in a national lampoon christmas movie.


so i am trying to vacate the place. air out the rooms, turn off the lights - and get totally empty-headed.

i am sitting here on a wednesday night waiting for my parents, rather than Godot. they will pick me up and start our californian adventure. we will fly out at an odd hour on an odd, slightly ramshackle airline to a place where the stuff that dreams are made of is made. i think it's called silicone. and i know we're going to LA.

isn't it funny to think about where you'll be this time tomorrow on the eve of a trip?

i'll be looking at palm trees soon. and hopefully a big plate of mexican food.

california screaming for more.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

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hate hate hate hate the rain rain rain.

i mean, it's pretty and romantic and all, but there really is nothing delightful about soggy pant bottoms and toes.

and oh the number it does on this hair of mine.

why was i cursed with curls? and not even the pretty bouncy kind, like elizabeth shue in adventures in babysitting. these are the wavy half-assed ones - like ringlets that didn't try hard enough in ringlet class, and so really can't even be called ringlets. just loops of hair, waving in the wind.

today i got my locks lopped yet again - mostly because i am going away for a long time, and want fancy pants hair for my trip. anyhow, the straightening job i got was divine.

glossy, severe, sheer.

and when i had to sheepishly tell my hairdresser that i had no umbrella, he actually said, "i hate you!"

such was the intensity of this straightening.

and so i had to step out into a spitting Saturday and feel (not see, just feel) my hair turning up at the ends. flipping up and in a sense, flipping me and my straight-loving self right off.

i guess my hair is headstrong. which might be the worst joke i have ever written.

and once again, i'll blame it on the rain.

just like milli vanilli did.