No news is...

really fucking annoying, but I suppose it can be construed as good news, right?

In other news, I learned how valuable it is to remember your office keys. Just as I passed the last possible place I could exit (5 miles away from the office exit) I realized I didn't have my keys. When I got to the office, I confirmed it. Then I gouged my eyes out with my car keys.

Sockets a-bleedin', I drove the hinty-bazillion miles BACK to my house. Picked up the office keys. While there, I cleaned up my face a bit, and drove the hinty-bazillion miles to the office again. Fie. When bosslady called me tonight after I had spent forever getting home, I thanked my lucky stars that I'm a sneaky bastard. Why was she calling me? Because she was a dumbass, and didn't give the press kit to the ONE reporter she promised she'd deliver one to. Of COURSE he needs the kit TONIGHT. Luckily, I had the files on a CD (along with the rest of the stuff I had done there, for my portfolio) and could email them to her, instead of hauling out the sherpas to make yet ANOTHER expedition to the office.

Instead, I will spend my night cutting out 200 &*$()*!(%&#*(#! 1.25 inch circles with our logo on them. Why? So we can stick them on yo yos. Why? For this stupid event on Friday night. (The man who gave me the Worst. Haircut. EV-AR*. is holding a benefit for us at his salon.) The lame-ass-yo-yos are going into goodie bags. Joy. (And I can't very well ask bosslady to do it, because she'll say yes, and I'll just end up doing it myself on Friday up until the time of the event.) I will, however, be counting this toward my hours this week.

Oh, and if I get that other job? I will NOT be going to the benefit. I will be wearing my new sequin-y skirt, and gettin' my drink on, in celebration.

In other hair related news, Heather, the queen of Supercuts is on a leave of absence. Noooooooooooooooooo! I love Heather because she makes my hair look so good that even 3 months out, it STILL looks good (although it needs cut now). My only alternative is to go to the salon where G. Monkey and Stoltzfus go. I don't trust any of the other folks at SC, but I'm leery of going to the salon. It's taken me a year to get over the worst haircut EV-AR*, and I'm rockin' my little flippy 'do. If they screw it up, I'm going to go kill someone.





* No, I'm not kidding. Worst. EVER. Even worse than the time my mother cut my bangs right before we went to church. She combed them straight up and WHACKED them off with sewing shears. Even the other people in the pews around us pointed & laughed at me.

This was worse. Seriously.

Now, I love rock & roll as much as the next girl. I hope you'll put another dime in the jukebox, baby, and all that shit, but for the love of the sweet baby jeebus, you do NOT give a girl with a pumpkin noggin, a Joan-motherfuckin'-Jett haircut. You just don't. I? Am not punk rock. Also, this? Not 1982. And another thing- If I pay you sixty bucks PLUS A TIP (because I thought I could "fix" it at home), for a horrible, stupid, paper-bag-donning haircut, you don't call my old hair "soccer mom hair" because I rocked that cut like nobody's business. (and I will tell everyone I know that you suck.)

THIS is why I don't love pricey stylists. Because at least at Supercuts, all parties involved know that the person with the scissors is not getting paid enough to get all "creative" and shit. They will cut your hair like you tell them to. And if you get Heather, she will make you leave a 70% tip voluntarily (and want to have her babies, and stuff), because she? Is that damned good. And you, in turn? LOOK that damn good.