Marc
Sooo ... I was jonesing for some Taco Bell a bit ago, and I'm in totally unfamiliar territory (read - shithole, or read - Gary, Indiana), so I decided to just get in the car and drive around until I found one. I ended up in an industrial park, with an old, beat up, Cadillac sporting no headlights following me, at every turn, and I almost shit my pants with fear. Maybe it was unfounded. Maybe I was overreacting a tad, but, seriously, my stomach started to get all queasy and I pulled a real quick U-turn and took off, leaving the Caddy in my wake. All I can think about is those creepy car thiefs from Adventures In Babysitting, and that little girl with the Thor helmet coming to my rescue in a blues bar.
Or, maybe not.
Besides that, the day was pretty uneventful. Worked in an old post office, alone, on the second floor, with the tunes blaring, and the hair flopping around on the top of my head. Apparently Jeff, the roommate who told me the back looked fine last weekend, was on crack. That shit was hella fucking crooked. Like inches off from left to right. Luckily, I brought my scissors with, just in case (kidding - or am I?), and found two mirrors facing each other, which allowed me full view. Problem kind of solved. Ah, the trials and tribulations of a DIY haircut.
I'll probably be throwing around that DIY abbreviation often in these next few weeks as I get more and more into Our Band Could Be Your Life. I'm through Black Flag and the Minutemen, two bands who I knew very little about. Very good so far. Ta ta. I've got to go back to the bed, and the book, and letting that KFC (or the Not Taco Bell) settle. Night.
Sooo ... I was jonesing for some Taco Bell a bit ago, and I'm in totally unfamiliar territory (read - shithole, or read - Gary, Indiana), so I decided to just get in the car and drive around until I found one. I ended up in an industrial park, with an old, beat up, Cadillac sporting no headlights following me, at every turn, and I almost shit my pants with fear. Maybe it was unfounded. Maybe I was overreacting a tad, but, seriously, my stomach started to get all queasy and I pulled a real quick U-turn and took off, leaving the Caddy in my wake. All I can think about is those creepy car thiefs from Adventures In Babysitting, and that little girl with the Thor helmet coming to my rescue in a blues bar.
Or, maybe not.
Besides that, the day was pretty uneventful. Worked in an old post office, alone, on the second floor, with the tunes blaring, and the hair flopping around on the top of my head. Apparently Jeff, the roommate who told me the back looked fine last weekend, was on crack. That shit was hella fucking crooked. Like inches off from left to right. Luckily, I brought my scissors with, just in case (kidding - or am I?), and found two mirrors facing each other, which allowed me full view. Problem kind of solved. Ah, the trials and tribulations of a DIY haircut.
I'll probably be throwing around that DIY abbreviation often in these next few weeks as I get more and more into Our Band Could Be Your Life. I'm through Black Flag and the Minutemen, two bands who I knew very little about. Very good so far. Ta ta. I've got to go back to the bed, and the book, and letting that KFC (or the Not Taco Bell) settle. Night.
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