In space, no-one can hear you scream

By the way, my hair looks freaking GREAT today. Can’t recommend NOT shampooing enough. The hair-care regimen is simple! A quick wipe of soap on the grease-prone areas whilst showering, application of a thick coat of conditioner, a swift rinse, and all that’s left to do is comb it.

Fan-farking-tastic. Much love for the new soft shiny hair. Beats my former haystack look all to smithereens. See?


(Those frizzy ends? Pay no attention...that right there is a camera error....yeah. That's what it is. No wait! It's WORK that does that to my hair! I blame work air for the frizz! Stupid work....)

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Heh – I just wrote a few paragraphs about fetishes, and deleted them. It was so stupid even I couldn’t rationalize posting it, and I’ve posted some really really stupid shit before.

And now I’ll bet you’re dying to know what I had to say, aren’t you? Well, tough darts, farmer, I’m not billing the speans for you or anybody. So there.

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Cats don’t care for being put on a diet, but it’s funny to feed them when they’re really hungry. They get all beggy and stuff, which is against all rules of felinity, and therefore makes the begging even more amusing. Added hee-haw value comes when they ‘silent meow’ and stick their nose in the bowl before you start pouring in the kibble.

Or maybe I simply have a low humor threshold.

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This is a weird post. Apologies. I have fall-brain, which is telling me to run and jump and skip and play outdoors in the beautiful warmth of anti-schpring before the cold descends and the weather goes to Hades in a pocketbook.

Fall brain says things like “leave work early for a ‘doctor’s appointment, then go to the lake and hang out!”

Fall brain is wicked and naughty like that, what with the teasing and the very nearly sensible suggestions for how to better spend my time and efforts in the days of waning sunlight. Also, fall brain waxes poetical and shizz, and becomes florid in its language, putting unnecessary ‘eths’ on verbs (I shall walketh to the store to purchaseth some bread) and using ‘ye’ and ‘thee’ in fits of B Shelley-ism even HE would be proud of. Ozymandias, my eye – when a modern chick can throw down the ‘ye’ in mental conversation with HERSELF you know that it’s a good ol' fall-brain kind of day.

Y'all rock it like Sammy Hagar. Tiff out.