*smooch* (ldy) wrote,

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I'm excited, so excited; I've a bad case of the Quaints.

Mr. Plow plowed in my driveway yesterday-- ice and highly-compacted snow, about two feet tall. I was not happy.

I figured I'd have to do it when I got home tonight. So, I get home, park on the street, and lo and behold, my driveway is clear.

"Aha! Mystery Shoveler has struck again!" thought I.

He had definitely used a shovel this time. That much was certain. I could tell, you see, by the haphazard way he left it on my porch.

I checked for footprints. Small feet! I began to call Michele as I psychoanalyzed my stalker.

I had everything just about all figured out when Michele said it wasn't Mystery Shoveler at all, it was her, just being nice today because she got out early and knew I had to leave.

Someday, Mystery Stalker. Someday I will catch you.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I finally gave in and got my hair cut and coloured last night by a stranger. It was the first time in fifteen years that I've gotten my hair cut by someone other than Richard. He'll be livid when he finds out, but that's what happens when he's out for a month and I have to leave the country.

The hairdresser was a very gay man in his forties with... a mullet. Honest Injun. He claimed it wasn't a real mullet because his hair wasn't feathered. I didn't have the nerve to tell him that it was feathered and it was, without question, a mullet. Anywho, he was a joy to talk to. I really enjoyed chatting with him.

He did a fabulous job, too. It looks, well, about the same as this icon, but a little longer on the back and sides. He texturized the hell out of it. And the colour is absolutely stunning. And I was hesitant about letting him wax my brows, but even those look great.

Maybe I'll grow a mullet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm thinking about not bringing my laptop. After all, P will have his, and if I'm going to be inside somewhere instead of exploring, I should really be drawing instead of clickityclacking. Plus, it's a pain to lug around, and there's always the issue of theft or other loss.

In fact, it seems like there's every reason not to bring it, and not a single real reason TO bring it.

But still, the thought seems alien to me. My lifeline. My preciousssssss.

No computer?

My mouth goes dry at the thought.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

We're staying at a lot of different places; most are standard hotels.

But look at this. And this. Oh, and this.

I'm just about ready to pee my pants at the effluence of sheer quaintness.

Hold me?

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Enough nonsequiturial ramblings. I'm off.

I promise to take pictures.

I just may have to ask him to marry me.

And I should probably pack, non?

Yes, I really should.

Be good. I'll miss you.

Seriously. I've never been away from you this long.

Don't forget me. Don't leave me. Don't sell all my stuff.

I'll be back, I promise.

And I expect I'll have wonderful tales to tell :)


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