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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Tripartite Demon
From the �I�m an otherwise intelligent woman� file: PART A: Sublingua, Junior Gumshoe I just could not figure out what was going on with me. So, like the good little junior gumshoe that I aspire to be, I began collecting evidence: Yes, there was an entry yesterday in which I complained about being fat. And, yes, I have been in a foul mood. And, yes, I have been looking in the mirror and marveling at how I managed to achieve the status of Ugliest Woman On The Planet while no one was looking. And, yes, I have been craving sugar. And, why, yes, my breasts do feel tender�Hey, wait a minute! Do you think it could be PMS? PART B: If there�s anything more attractive than a uniboob, I don�t know what it could be. What�s the best thing to do when you�ve got PMS and you�re feeling fat and ugly? Why, that�s right! You should go clothes shopping! You should go down to Tarjay and try on sports bras. (And don�t get me started on fucking sports bras. The designers of sports bras have their own special room in hell. I�m sure of it. They�re going to be at the mercy of any woman who ever tried to find a fucking sports bra that didn�t result in the formation of a fucking uniboob. And that�s apparently any woman larger than a B cup.) Suffice to say that I didn�t come home with a sports bra. What did I come home with? Black hair dye. PART C: Yes, I dye my hair. Lots of women do. My grandmother, for example, has been dyeing her hair this very unnatural copper penny color since god knows when. The late 50�s probably. And my mother, who is otherwise an all-natural kind of woman, dyes her hair when she�s on the job market because it makes her look younger. And younger women get jobs. But that�s not why I dye my hair. I dye my hair because this past summer, when everything fell apart, I did that whole look at how independent I am thing. I got a new tattoo. I pierced my nose. I dyed the hair. Now, I wasn�t entirely committed to the dyeing of the hair, so I did one of those �Washes out in 28 shampoos!� dye jobs. And it looked pretty damn good for a home dye job. It really did. But apparently those 28 shampoos are not consecutive shampoos because the stuff never washed out. I had roots coming in after a month. And then I realized that I had four options: one, I could endure the unendurable two-toned growing out period; two, I could let the roots grow out a bit more and then get a buzz cut designed to make me look quite butch (a look I find quite fetching on other women, but which I think is a bit extreme on yours truly); three, I could pay a hairdresser $100 to $150 dollars to fix it; four, I could pay $6 to buy another box of �Washes out in 28 shampoos!� permanent hair dye. And I�m cheap. And vain. So I opted for the $6 solution. PART D: Martial Arts Festival: Attendance suggested, but not mandatory. I�ll be attending a martial arts festival this evening with The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing. I can�t tell you how this thought fills me, a consummate cynic, with dread. I�m not sure I�ll be able to hold out for very long. But there will be pictures.
More lies:
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