T-minus 15…
…to leaving for Small Group. So this has gotta be quick and dirty. That’s really my whole point.
Anyways.
I have curly hair. Now I have curly short hair (shortest it’s EVER been! Ah!) and I’m not quite sure what to do with it. It seemed great right after my hair-girl made it all pretty and straight and perfect, but now it’s back in my inept hands, and it kind-of looks like an unkempt cat landed on my head. I feel rather like a sleepy toddler most of the time. You know the kind, with a juice dribble on her front and adorable curls sticking up all over her head and one finger in her mouth and the other looking for Cheerios to munch or a finger to grab? Except I’m 25, so I’m not sure that works for me. At the very least I guess I should stop spilling juice on myself.
I can’t paint numbers on trash cans. I discovered this today when our trash can inexplicably disappeared and new, bigger one appeared in its place. How I wish that happened with cooler things than trash cans. Anyways, I rushed out with my little can of paint to claim it (216! C! Don’t steal! Play nice!) and my sixes are a little drunken-looking. Numbers have always been my nemesis – apparently even a can of paint, one of the most creative things in the world, can’t redeem them.
Yesterday while out shopping, Adam and I walked into a strange sign on the ground. It read: CAUTION CURB FACE in large yellow letters. I get that they’re trying to keep klutzes like me from breaking something, but really? That was the best way to articulate this problem? At any rate, Adam and I have been calling each other CURB FACE ever since, so… I don’t really know what that means for the city, actually.
Annnnnnd BREAK!
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