no, i am not yet in Lesotho. I have completed the first and most difficult step though, which is leaving portland. now i am just mostly bored and waiting to leave already!
i'm posting because i have a funny story and nobody to tell it to... today i got a crappy haircut. (whoo! hah! man, that is funny. but wait, there's more!) it definitely is not bad compared to past do's i've endured. I somehow attract the crazy incompetent hairstylists. once in high school my hair was cut about 3 inches shorter than i asked because the lady "didn't do short hair" and kept messing up and trying to fix it. how a hair cutter can manage to charge $50 and not know how to cut short hair, i'm not sure. Another time i had this nutcase whose version of "chunky layers a la meg ryan" meant "leave 9 small random chunks of hair 1 inch longer than the rest while cackling and proclaiming 'meg ryan eat your heart out!' ".
anyway, today i may have accidentally encouraged it. So i got 3 fillings in 3 separate quadrants of my mouth, which meant 3 novacaine shots. my face was a total retard. Rather than slur, i decided to over-enunciate, and i ended up sounding just like jimmy from south park (the guy with crutch-braces, timmy's nemesis). I got a total kick out of this, and laughed muchly at myself, drooling with each laugh as i drove away.
So anyway, i went straight to "Athleticuts" after the dentist. I don't know how i could have expected a decent haircut from a place with astroturf, stadium style seating, and a one-hole put put golf course in the waiting area, and jr. high-style lockers between each cutting station, with the stylists wearing jerseys. Man, it was cheese and half; i couldn't resist! maybe i have self-destructive urges sometimes... As i explained to the lady what i wanted, i realized i was still speaking retard. both the stylist and the receptionist were so understanding and overly helpful and pitying that i didn't have the heart to tell them i wasn't actually verbally (and therefore mentally?) challenged. And this hairstylist admits right off how nervous she was because i wanted a "real" haircut, not just a trim. since i have sort of learned from my past, i sort of walked her through my hairdo, in a silly voice. (and yes, i may have emphasized my speech a little more than necessary, but i was having fun).
About halfway through the cut, my speech was clearing up, and then i got another round of funny looks, these more suspicious than "awww poor you"... so i admitted the fillings in my recent past. i was sad to end the game. this lady was pretty funny, though. when she got really nervous about a particular cutting action, she would switch into a horrible british accent, and call me things like "me love". it was so hard not to giggle and mess her up even more! and after i admitted my full mental capacity, the receptionist kept trying to convince me to shave my head and that no, really, it will look good! hah hah, sneaky receptionist, i will not fall for your revenge schemes, for i am too smart and in complete control of my faculties (if not the left side of my tongue and lower lip) for you to fool me!
anyway, here i am with a marginal do. maybe i'll try cleaning it up once the mirror returns to my bathroom (it has gone on a sudden adventure to places unknown and now i have this stained, gluey wall to look at).
the end. (!)
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