The plot, she thickens...

I went home this morning to pick up the mail and newspapers, lest the neighbors discover nobody was home, and clean the place out. (Not likely to happen, but one never knows.) In my mailbox was a postcard from the creepy hair salon that creepy bosslady gets her creepy hair done. I went there once, hated it (for this was the place that gave me an overpriced mullet) and vowed never to return. On it was handwritten "Happy birthday! Please use this card as a coupon for $10.00 off any service with me. Hope to see you in our new location" and was signed by someone I've never heard of.

1. How the hell did they get my birthdate? (I know I filled out a form when I went there the first time, but don't recall that info being on there.)
2. Have they not noticed that I have not gone BACK there since June of 2004?
3. I still couldn't afford them, even with the $10.00 coupon and a really, really good job.

So.. yeah.

Also, had an exceptionally bizarre dream this morning about Paul (of the Esoteric Science Resource Center) and his fabulous wife, the Czarina. Somehow, in the dream, Paul got Harlan Ellison to come speak/socialize at some event- sort of like a con, but not quite- which was really quite nifty (and Mr. Ellison was charming). Then a brigade of loyal ESRC readers played volleyball with one of those pilates ball things, and worked on a comic strip for the Czarina. I tried to work on it but kept screwing it up, and frustrating the Czarina to no end. Also, somewhere in there, my mom was teaching a cake decorating class, and I kept eating the frosting (it was really, really good frosting). I keep saying it- I don't remember my dreams often, but when I do, they're truly out there.

Diesel has been remarkably well behaved today, no surprises on the floor, nothing mangled, and she even got off the couch promptly when I came down the stairs. She even played with me for a bit. Elvis, however, is getting jealous. (I did snorfle him today, but not for an extended period, because it is hotter than the devil's nutsack out there, and G. Monkey's house? Has air conditioning. Beautiful, glorious, penguin-sheltering air conditioning. If it weren't for the cats, I'd never leave.


(And if it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college.)