Google Photos likes to show me what I’ve been up to in other years. Three years ago today, mom came to visit me in my Year Abroad house. Tallulah was happy to see her gramma.
Someone mentioned in the comments the other day that they wondered if my more curls/less Voltaire hair was a result of doing Curly Girl, and yes.
Chuck Voltaire liked him some layers.
I have been reticent to do a How To Do Curly Girl tutorial because I didn’t want to steal from the person who actually WROTE the book The Curly Girl Method
(here’s a link to it on Amazon) who is trying to sell a book and so on.
But everyone and their curlies has put online how to do this method, so if you want me to, I will, too. It varies by person, which products work and which methods, but for me almost all of the stuff they tell me to do in the book works.
I just won’t plop. I refuse to plop. If you want me to do a tutorial you will learn what plopping is and why plopping can suck it.
Not that every day is a perfect hair day for me, but this above was second-day hair, meaning I didn’t co-wash it and start all over again with products. But it was also a rainy day, and trust me, my hair could look a lot worse than this. It’s like my cleaning lady Alicia’s best comment to me: There are a lot of people who look a lot worse than you.
Also, hey, June, why don’t you try to turn your camera OFF sometimes rather than take 29 accidental selfies a day.
Anyway, please let me know in the comments or through telepathy if you’d like that. A tutorial. I mean.
Anyway, I’m tryina think of what’s new, over here. I’ve been busy at work, but the good kind of busy, where there’s a lot to do but you aren’t OH MY GOD WHO CAN DO ALL THIS. There’s a new-ish but not Jewish copy editor who sits behind me now, and maybe if you asked her she’d say I sit behind her.
The point is, we’ve become a little bit of a team. We work on a whole bunch of accounts–which differs from how I used to work. I used to be dedicated to just one client. Now I’m spreading my talents all over town, like my college roommate.
So, they pretty much assign everything to both of us, and we dive on it like jackals. Or, alternatively, we both shy away from it like my kittens are doing with the dry, less-expensive kitten food. Oh my god they won’t eat that damn Kitten Chow. I leave it there overnight and when I get up, most of it’s gone, but they don’t mean it. It’s just to tide those motherfuckers over till the eleventy cans arrive.
Does anyone else follow Love and Hisses? Did you ever notice her kitten room is pristine? Believe it or not, that floor is swept and I Shark it often, but that floor looks a mess.
When the kittens DO go back to the shelter, I AM GETTING THAT FLOOR REDONE. I’ve got a little freelance work to do this month, and that’s where my big dollahs are going. Toward a real floor. How long have you known me to hate that floor? Six centuries?
Does anyone remember in 2014, when our president didn’t tweet and I was preparing to rent my home out for my Year Abroad? I scraped and prepared and painted that floor with alleged paint that was JUST for concrete, then I sealed it and died of exhaustion?
Does anyone remember that?
Yeah. That lasted. The floor lasted as long as my relationship.
I want old-looking linoleum, which I may have mentioned, but even if I haven’t I can’t imagine you’d be shocked at this info. June likes old stuff? June likes it vintage? She always struck me as sleek and minimal.
Alf my ridiculous handyman says I’m not allowed to measure or purchase tiles without his participation, and I am down with that plan. Because maths. “Alf, the room is 38484 by 31. I need one tile.”
I guess that pretty much sums it up, although technically I’ve told you nothing.
I had a guest over last night, to try to socialize the shy kittens, but they’re really effing shy. Do you recall a month or so ago when I was offered a job by the company I freelance for? I’ve gotten friendly with the person who offered me the job, and she stopped by last night to drop off m’freelance (under/over on how long June stares at her freelance work and doesn’t start till she’s panicked?) and meet the kittens.
She’s allergic to kittens, incidentally. And even though Ben and MaryEllen and Donald Trump barely let her touch them before dashing off hysterically to hide under the chair (I have no patience for shy anything), she still broke out in welts.
“I knew I would. But I don’t care! KITTENS!” she said. For she is my people. There really is something incredibly rewarding about touching their little walnut heads. Even when their walnut heads are shy and you have to drag them out from under a bus to pet them.
Other than that, I finally got a pedicure…
…and tonight I was gonna go to the cat cafe, because I don’t see enough cats, and then maybe the hookah bar with Wedding Alex, where I planned to ask her, “Whooooo are youuuuu?” but now she has to work, so I will come home and look at my freelance and put it off till I’m panicked.
And that’s the way it is, Wednesday, May something, 2018.