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I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow, since I took the day off work and have nothing better to do with my morning. The last time this happened, it was after nearly six months of saying "I should get my hair cut" and then not doing it. True to form, this haircut is happening after six months of saying "I should get my hair cut" and then not doing it. I think, on average, I cut my hair about once a year. I should probably work on that.
On a side note, that was the summer all my jeans committed suicide. I started that summer with three pairs of jeans. The pictures in the link were the last ones taken of my favorite jeans ever, the inseam and knee of which ripped the day I moved from my apartment to my house. Then, just weeks later, both of my other pairs of jeans ripped at the knee. After that it was a mad scramble to find a new pair of jeans that I liked. Now I only own two pairs of jeans that don't have holes in them (I kept the suicidal pants for yard work; I really only need one pair, but whatever), which I guess is a testament to how little I actually wear jeans these days.
Speaking of my suicidal jeans, as of two days ago (June 29), I have been a homeowner for a year! That is very strange. It doesn't feel like it's been a year. I've done next to nothing in my house, aside from furnish it, put up like two pictures, and let my cats scratch up the floor (whoops). I have grand plans to paint this summer, but I don't know if it'll actually happen. That requires taking time off work, I think, and then buying paint and finding something to do with the cats (field trip to my mom's house?) and hoping the weather isn't too obnoxious so I can open my windows and not die of either fume inhalation or heat exhaustion.
When did I turn into such a frickin' grown up? Ugh.
Anyway.
( It's a long weekend. I should do stuff. Here's the obligatory to-do list. )
On a side note, that was the summer all my jeans committed suicide. I started that summer with three pairs of jeans. The pictures in the link were the last ones taken of my favorite jeans ever, the inseam and knee of which ripped the day I moved from my apartment to my house. Then, just weeks later, both of my other pairs of jeans ripped at the knee. After that it was a mad scramble to find a new pair of jeans that I liked. Now I only own two pairs of jeans that don't have holes in them (I kept the suicidal pants for yard work; I really only need one pair, but whatever), which I guess is a testament to how little I actually wear jeans these days.
Speaking of my suicidal jeans, as of two days ago (June 29), I have been a homeowner for a year! That is very strange. It doesn't feel like it's been a year. I've done next to nothing in my house, aside from furnish it, put up like two pictures, and let my cats scratch up the floor (whoops). I have grand plans to paint this summer, but I don't know if it'll actually happen. That requires taking time off work, I think, and then buying paint and finding something to do with the cats (field trip to my mom's house?) and hoping the weather isn't too obnoxious so I can open my windows and not die of either fume inhalation or heat exhaustion.
When did I turn into such a frickin' grown up? Ugh.
Anyway.
( It's a long weekend. I should do stuff. Here's the obligatory to-do list. )
