What A Lazy Git

W00t, an extra day has been added to my weekend. Only fair, considering just how many hours I put in last week. And while I could go run errands, I really don't want to. It's so very rainy and gloomy out; I'd rather just eat macaroni and cheese, and improve my recitation of Fett's Vette in preparation for the mc chris show tomorrow night. Oh, and do actual work; I should probably get around to that sometime soon. After I keep tweaking this layout, of course.

My mom called me this morning to tell me that she saw a want-ad in the newspaper looking for young women to participate in one of those hairstyle fashion shows--the kind where you sign away any rights to your hair and hope the recent beauty school grad hovering around your head with scissors knows what she's doing. You get a free hair makeover, but you have to spend a lot of time letting people stare at your head afterwards. And of course, there's the risk that something could go wrong. This is something I might have done years ago when my hair was waist-long and I was sick and tired of shutting it in doors, but not now. Not after how long I've been trying to grow my hair out long enough to wear chopsticks again (about 3 years). Plus, my hair is very fickle, having been bleached for so long, and I don't want to end up with green lockes because someone used the wrong type of dye. Not that I'd mind green hair per se, I could make it work, but I'm actually in the mood for something a titch more natural. I'm thinking I might just end up dying it black or a very dark brown (I've never had black hair) but then that'd just make me look very cliche goth, not secretary chic. ::sigh:: Hair.

So, I have this cat. I love my cat, really. I think at this point she's about 12; we adopted her as a kitten from a local shelter. But I, and those who are ever in the cat's presence, think that she is, umm, how do I put this? My cat's special. Yeah, that sort of special. I know I've mentioned before her habit of falling off window sills and other surfaces, and her cat-like reflexes aren't quite up to par with even my own (I rule at air hockey), so she can never right herself before the inevitable landing. And now, I turn around to see what she's up to, and she's just sitting there staring at me with her tongue hanging halfway out of her mouth. Like a freaking dog. ::shakes head:: Really, I expect more from my cats--except the one who played fetch, that was just cool--nevermind the fact that she's the loudest, noisiest, most annoying talker I've ever met, short any cat of the Siamese persuasion. I'm thinking I should rename her Grizabella, but she's definitely not a glamour girl. Anyone know of a good home for fading felines?