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fearlesstempJust went downstairs to get my little Diet Pepsi (which I had really jazzed myself up for -- such is the sorry state of my life), only to discover the door to the lounge where the soda machine lives decidedly closed. Dammit.
See, normally I'd just walk in. Maybe knock. But last week a friend came in and told me a horror story about how a friend of hers did the same thing at another lounge in the building only to walk in on a couple mid-coitus. Now I'm skittish about bursting into any closed-door lounge. Bastards! I want my soda.
Anyway, on a lighter note: I called to make a hair appointment the other day, and when trying to arrange a time my hairdresser told me to come in fifteen minutes earlier than the time I'd asked for because (and I quote from my often-inaccurate about specifics but generally good about gist memory) "I've got someone coming in after you and I want to make sure I give you a full forty-five minutes." My first reaction was -- Is my hair *that* bad? Are my friends, family, and acquaintances calling her up, telling her that it has just gone too far -- that she had to do something, and that when I came in, she would need to set aside extra time because I would need a massive overhaul? I mean, okay, so it's been a while (three months! eek!), but it's not like I've got roots growing out. I'm too wimpy to dye my hair.
Anyway. Am going to go work on paper, despite lack of carbonated beverage. NOW!
See, normally I'd just walk in. Maybe knock. But last week a friend came in and told me a horror story about how a friend of hers did the same thing at another lounge in the building only to walk in on a couple mid-coitus. Now I'm skittish about bursting into any closed-door lounge. Bastards! I want my soda.
Anyway, on a lighter note: I called to make a hair appointment the other day, and when trying to arrange a time my hairdresser told me to come in fifteen minutes earlier than the time I'd asked for because (and I quote from my often-inaccurate about specifics but generally good about gist memory) "I've got someone coming in after you and I want to make sure I give you a full forty-five minutes." My first reaction was -- Is my hair *that* bad? Are my friends, family, and acquaintances calling her up, telling her that it has just gone too far -- that she had to do something, and that when I came in, she would need to set aside extra time because I would need a massive overhaul? I mean, okay, so it's been a while (three months! eek!), but it's not like I've got roots growing out. I'm too wimpy to dye my hair.
Anyway. Am going to go work on paper, despite lack of carbonated beverage. NOW!
