The word "scab" has been used on this website entirely too much the past few days (not by me I might add). But I love you guys to death and appreciate all your words of wisdom to the extent that a few classy emails archived their way to my "comments" folder (a rarity normally reserved for the stuff from psychos and celebrities). You guys rock my world.
Your curiosity is overwhelming, so here's the update. The healing process feels well ahead of schedule (as far as I can tell), and my problems have maxed out at 2. I consider this a victory; however, let my problems be known...
The first problem is that I have to wear pants. I'm guessing cavemen had similar issues when they got around to inventing the wheel and selling their soul to FedEx. The best solution I've come up with is to wear *the* most low-riding pants I can find... which, funnily enough, brings me back to a pair of polyester pants purchased in Finland when I was 21. Hello awkward situation since I wasn't at all aware I've lost 20 lbs. in the past 7 years (or month in a half, as it were). But I guess that explains why I woke up today and they're low-riders. Hmmm, guess this means I'll just have to *le sigh* go shopping. Raych, where are you when I need you?!
(I'll try to be back in pants by our little photography outing on Saturday. Everyone's gonna be there, right?! Right? I'm just letting you know, cuz if your name is LEAB! and I catch you or any of your cohorts awkwardly zooming by on a Vespa, I will be armed with multiple cameras, a hot latte, and a whole posse of thug friends. Consider yourself warned.)
Here's my second problem: Unconscious Margaret has grown fond of sleeping on her back. As in, for the first time ever. I'm not normally a back-sleeper, but the past 2 nights I've repeatedly woken on my back with a mildly uncomfortable tattoo irritating me. Unconscious Margaret has been enrolled in therapy to work through her masochism issues. I gave her a pony too, so eventhough progress is slow but she's getting there.
I'm told tattoos are incredibly addicting and have already been forewarned that thoughts of a "second" will begin creeping in faster than I can digest all that Big Bowl food I ate a few nights ago (the food, there was so much). No worries there, this tattoo is the only one I've ever wanted permanently attached to my body. One is quite enough for me.
Speaking of permanently attaching things to my body...
Wouldn't a huge set of fluffy, feathery, white wings would be so pretty? Yesterday I realized they'd probably bump in to doors and get caught in dirty elevators more often than I'd like (and probably not get in the faces of people I don't like as much as they should... ha ha ha, that'd be funny and you know it), so this idea is nixed. Plus molting would probably get embarrassing and itchy (like wearing a set of paleolithic pants!). Clearly we're getting off the subject of tattoos but I can't finish this post without revisiting my desire for a tail. A long, pretty, long-haired tail perfect for attaching a pink bow to the end of. Hair color doesn't really matter since I'd probably dye it all kinds of crazy colors anyway. White, black, pink, candy red.... you know, whatever matches my shoes.
You just wait. Someone like Paris Hilton is gonna get drunk enough to do it, it'll show up on MySpace, parents everywhere will freak out, and every red-blooded 15 years girl in America will want a leopard-spot patterned tail for Christmas. It's only a matter of time...
Comments
Just ignore the guy across the street with the Nikon.
Pay no attention at all.
On a side note, if that is the Starbucks you frequent, then it wasn't so much a joke. I wasn't sure, but perhaps that was a certain freshly tatted gal I saw the other day (though she was not inked then).
Good try but nyet. I'm usually at the Starbucks in St. Louis Park, although sometimes I look haggerd and worn at a Starbucks in Uptown late on a Sunday morning.
Plus, you've only seen about 10 BILLION photographs of me on my photoblog. In fact, I don't know how you could miss me?!
Pants on for the walkabout?
Bah, you're no fun. Remember it's all fun and games once someone's pants come off. Or something like that.
I wore pants the next day, although I'm not a tattoo novice.
Here's *scab* once more for the record books =)