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the idiot's guide to origami 2001-08-14 So, I left work early yesterday and got my hair cut. I had the same guy as last time and I reminded him how he'd cut it previously and asked for the same again. He agreed. Two minutes later, as the clippers were chewing their way up the back of my head, I realized I hadn't been specific enough. Last time he had used the clippers on the very bottom of my hair--the neck nape--but this time they were going much farther up. I figured there wasn't anything I could do at that point so I rode it out and basically my hair is much shorter on the back of my head than last time. Boy saw it last night and told me I have a "bulldozer" cut, something which did not exactly thrill me. The fact that grade school kids have a name for my haircut does not make me feel pretty. But it looks great from the front and I don't have to look at the back (eh, let others suffer), and anyway, it should be significantly grown out back there in 10 days or so. Next time I will describe in excrutiating detail exactly how I want each individual hair cut, and we'll see how that works out. Remember how I said I did bad origami this weekend? Well the mutilation continues. Since the weekend I have ruined a kimono and also a pig (I was trying the pig over again to see if I could figure out where we'd gone wrong the first time). The pisser is, I have been following the origami directions exactly. I thought it would be cool to do origami because I thought it would be one form of art that any moron (i.e. me) could do, and it seemed like fun. I thought I could have lovely little origami pieces around my house and on the table when we have people over for dinner, etc, but it's not exactly working out. I think honestly the directions in the book are weird, but shouldn't I be able to do it anyway? Is even origami out of my reach? I have decided to keep all the bad origami I have done, and make a little Bad Origami Gallery--a parade of mutants, if you will. I'll keep you posted on my origami failures as they arise. Fortunately the kit included 160 sheets of paper. Also, sake is good. I have finally had my revenge on Soupstain for his loogy entry--he was very grossed out by my skin peeling story from yesterday. I don't blame anyone for being grossed out, I really don't, but isn't it better to peel your skin than to let it hang off your body leprotically and possibly flake off into someone's chocolate milk? Wow, if you didn't gag at that then you've got a pretty strong stomach. But I ask you; isn't it true? Sorry. Sorry all around. I just remembered I had vowed to Soup that I would never speak of skin peeling again. I will amend that to be, never again after this entry. This entry I'm writing right now. Period! For real this time. And along the same lines of doing something I said I wouldn't, I watched just a little bit of the Real World New York this weekend (like, 10 minutes, tops) and it made me very very angry. I hate all the fighting, and it's not even good, fair fighting. It's people getting mad and yelling and yelling and not letting the other person even say anything in their defense. It is exactly like the Jerry Springer show; it should be called Real World Springer. This time I really mean it--I will never waste even one more second on that stupid rotten show. It made me want to bitch-slap people. Ronni wrote me an email regarding that morbid camp song I spoke of yesterday, and she hadn't heard the song, but she was recalling the song every grade school kid thought was hilarious: "Glory Glory Hallelujah Teacher hit me with a ruler Shot her out the door with a loaded .44, She don't work here no more, no more She don't work here no more." This is, incidentally, the version of the song the kids at My school used to sing--Ronni's version was a little different, but still basically the same. Ronni pointed out how creepy the song is now that kids really are taking guns to school and shooting people, and I concur. I hope kids are not still singing that; I'll have to ask the Boy. Soupstain emailed to say he knew that gruesome song from yesterday, except in the song he knew it was two Scotmen dead, and they were brothers. Anyone else want to weigh in with a morbid song about death that adults have blithely taught to children? The polls are still open. Gotta run off now, but I promise that tomorrow's entry will be much less icky than this one. Oh, give me another chance! Love,
come over some time & see me - 2011-02-25 |
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