My boyfriend shaved his facial hair and he now looks like a twelve year old. It’s my fault too. For the last two weeks we’ve had the flu (though I think I still have it thanks to the awesome medication that shuts down my immune system- thanks Crohn’s disease!) and all attention to and care for our stunning good looks had gone out the window thus reducing us to over furred seventies porn stars look-a-likes. So I begged, coughing and wheezing, and he sweetly complied then crawled into bed hiding his nude face in shame. Of course, he still looks amazing. He’s annoyingly blessed with the kind of bone structure that could only be ruined if I pulled an Ed Norton from Fight Club and tried to destroy something beautiful with my fists. Which, after two weeks speaking only to each other, seemed like a spiffing good idea. Seriously when you’re with someone non-stop for that long and you each have nothing in common but the desire to see the other person naked, but you’re too sick to want to see that person naked, or you’re disgusted by their disease riddled body, nerves start running a bit thin.
You may have noticed (Or not. My ego is going to insist you have.) that I haven’t written in a while. I’ve tried, believe me. But the zombie thing was lame and my mother reads this blog so talking about the only thing I have been doing for the last few months (my boyfriend) is a bit awkward. And I’m sorry but I will not be a southern version of Sex and the City. Sex in the Sticks. Sex in my Pick-Up Truck. Sex in the Barn. Sex at the Family Reunion. Aw crap, that’ll never work.
Mostly I’ve been actively poor and wondering if I need to quit doing hair and switch to a job with a little dignity and possibly some goddamn benefits. Like flipping burgers. Or prostitution. Wait, no benefits there. Is there a union? The FUFF. Federal Union of Felatio and Fucking. Wonder what the card would look like.
So what do you do when your boyfriend looks like jailbait, work is slower than molasses, your social life is non-existant, and you enjoy writing but have no subject? Seriously, what do you do? Ramble inanely? Yes, apparently.
How about this, I’m going to make an effort to write once a week about whatever in the hell is going on in my life. For example, today I had a lady come in for her full highlight and color and also her three small sons to get their hair cut as well. I foolishly assumed that after cutting the boys hair their father would come and retrieve them. Sadly, I was mistaken and those screaming bastards stayed the entire three or so hours it took for me to do their mother’s massive head of hair. After they left I contemplated scooping out my uterus with a plastic spoon to save myself the slender chance of reproducing and creating a mini-monster. This was a thing that happened. Interesting, no, but a thing and a thing about which I can write. Wheeeeee. Let’s just see if I stick to my promise. If not, you have permission to harass me on Facebook.