Get a haircut and get a real job

Yesterday I got the haircut. That’s a start, right? I have 1/2 inch long bangs. I said “I feel suburban,” and my stylist rubbed her hands together with glee at the butchery that would take place. I like it. She asked if people really wear sweatshirts all the time out here, and I said “Oh, but they do!” and she had an involuntary spasm and cut off three inches of hair.

I am starting to see real muscle definition from my escapades at the gymnasium. This is incredibly exciting.

The man upstairs with the piano has enlisted a singing companion. Two days ago, this woman caterwauled “You make me feeeeeel like a natural….wooooomannnnn…..” for three hours straight. Further impetus to get a job that entails leaving the house, as this is no longer charming. I am updating my resume, right after my power nap. I have officially quit freelance and must simply wrap up what I already have going on.


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