With my departure from my day job nearing, I’m stealthily trying to use up all vacation/personal time without anyone really noticing. My beagles are apparently aware of my plan as evidenced by the fact that I spent five hours yesterday scouring the neighborhood for Zeus. The boy managed to unearth the coiled metal thing that his thirty-foot tie-out is attached to. Thinking that he would inevitably get tangled up in something not far from my yard and would be easy to find (ha ha), I became panicked after three hours of searching. After riding my bike two miles in every direction, calling three police stations, stopping at the pound, driving around looking for a dead dog lying in the road, and wondering if he fell in the river, I finally found him. Four houses down. Yeah. We had a tearful reunion. He was pretty-wild eyed by that time (the steroids that he’s on make him pretty damn thirsty) and we collapsed together, exhausted.

I also discovered the perfect man. His name is Lance and he’s a hairdresser. He has a salon that specializes in long hair. He actually (*gasp*) LISTENED to me and did exactly what I wanted him to. There were forms to fill out and everything. We talked about my hair for fifteen minutes before he even took scissors to it. He’s also, I jest not, a magician or something. After trimming the perfect amount from the ends, he went through my hair SECTION BY SECTION to cut off every single split end. My hair feels fabulous. My hair feels SO fabulous that I can’t help but walk up to random people and say, “Touch my hair! Doesn’t it feel fabulous?” I’m very excited. I love Lance. Lance will also be coloring my hair a very bright red next week. Apparently, Lance mixes a special shampoo when he colors red hair so that it does not fade into that nasty orangey-blonde color that my hair really wants to be. I’m so thrilled. Doesn’t Lance sound fabulous?

*Sigh*

I’ve also been having way too much fun. Aside from a friend’s birthday party this week, a day or two off next weekend, and another wedding/rehearsal the following weekend, I will be working every night. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT! No more hippie concerts (let me tell you how disappointed I’m not about that). No more relaxing with A. No more “oh I’ll just go out for one drink” evenings. That’s it! My broke ass will work eighty hours a week for the next three and a half weeks! This journal will be filled with exhausted railings about the stupidity of the populace and interspersed with lots of whining about how tired and crabby I am!

Yeah, I know. Something tells me I’ll barely work 45/week. I’m pretty work-resistant these days.