Hi.

I'm still here, even though, for a while there, things exploded. Thanks to all concerned parties, I am keeping my cool.

I've come to terms with a few things in my life. Things are changing and that's good. The timing for me sucks, but I haven't heard of fate giving anyone a timetable to work off of, so I guess I should just work with what's in front of me.

Things are bad and they may get worse. But I am stronger than all of that. I mean, I'm smart! I can solve problems. I am solution oriented.

And I think quickly and clearly in crisis situations. So now we wait. I get all proactive and help my family and we all play the waiting game.

*~*

In related "my life is a shitshow, come sit upfront and watch" news, I had a hair catastrophe this weekend. In an attempt to even out the platinum evolution, I added some copper, not realizing that my problem is that my hair is too overprocessed from all the coloring and can't hold color anymore.

To help myself, I cut a shitload of it off.

So what we have here, is something reminescent of "Frenchy" from Grease. That's right. Beauty School Drop Out. Except, the strange thing is, instead of Frankie Avalon appearing in my dreams, I have this bizarre reoccuring hair dream that's a send off of "Bring It On."

The cheerleaders are all perky and cute and young and cheering at me, "U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi...you UGLY!" And I am sitting on the sidelines, just horrified and trying to hide.

What does that *mean*?

*~*

And here's my "Highway to Heaven" moment of the day:

This morning, I had $1.70 until Friday. So, I went and bought two bagels and a side of butter, to ration for the day.

I got in line behind this trader/venture capitalist looking young, blonde guy. He's like 25 or 26. Impeccably dressed. Perfectly coiffed. He pays for his stuff and stands there getting organized while I am being rung up. I don't even look at him, although, since this is my diary, I will admit I was checking his ass out and I don't think he was wearing any underwear under his v. expensive suit pants and I found this intriguing. At first I thought he was wearing a thong, but he didn't register on my gaydar, so I decided he was commando.

So my total is $1.70. I put a dollar and a quarter on the counter and dig for the rest of my change, Frenchy head down, staring at the counter. Before I know it, Mr. Boiler Room has his hand under my face and it's filled with change. He says "wait...here," and thumbs the change I need to get to the total.

In Frenchy style, I am totally flustered. But I think I hid it well. I totally ignored the fact that I look like a Beauty School Drop Out and just smiled at him and rolled my eyes, trying to convey "you know how it is...all this change...the pressure to dig it up..." and said thanks.

So I had a bagel for breakfast and a bagel form dinner. Someone at work took pity on me and bought be a turkey sammy for lunch.

Things are looking up!

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