all i want is to be punk rock.

it seems that yesterday was one full of hair-care preening goodness all around. biscuit went biblical and lopped off his curly blond locks (why, my darling, whatever with your sister say?). as did seastreet. i did not chop off my hair (considering my head is not entirely unlike that of frankenstein's monster--flat and huge--that sort of endeavor is simply never fated to be considered a good idea)...i merely rereddened it. the time had come to relight the fire atop my skull, considering it seems that the fire is slowly starting to smolder and sputter within it.

that's right. having a project is very, very, very good for me.

but, just because i have something productive to do doesn't mean i haven't been wasting a lot of time on frippery (as i'm sure you noticed with my shoe rant yesterday). and, as i sat in my apartment watching sex and the city while the reddening chemicals penetrated my skull, hair was a matter of great concern. could i train my hair to be huge and curly like carrie's? or sleek and dark like charlotte's? perhaps that fabulous shade of red that miranda's got? so many ideas, so many...

then i realized that i'd just spent a half hour thinking very seriously about my hair. at which point i ran into the bathroom to rinse out both the dye and the insanity. and i slowly returned to my senses.

in other news...

i find that the deeper i delve into online social culture, the more finicky i become. example: using "u" and "r" in place of "you" and "are" fills me with such inexplicable rage. my tolerance for it has fallen through the floor.

and yet, still, i remain in the flickering glow of the computer screen, despite the fact that it's causing me to develop strange vernacular neuroses.

is it desperation? perhaps. boredom? possibly. morbid, morbid curiosity and deep fascination with the notion of a fourth dimension? most certainly.