So I got a little sick today, but last night I was fine, and my friend called me and another friend to come out and have a drink, not mentioning until today that Eric McCormick (Will!!!!!) was shooting pool a few table down from him:

Kat: geez, and just think of who we could be out gawking at tonight, were I not barfing and fainting?
...
Ian: i hear that jon stuart is a HUGE fan of barfing and fainting
Ian: maybe we should take you out
Ian: bait him
Ian: so to speak
Kat: hmm...Jon Stewart, eh? I *have* been known to lure middle-aged comedic men away from their wives...
Kat: haha! wow...I'm warning you, this might make it to the blog.
Ian: the infamy of kat's blog
Kat: hey, man. It's the reality of the mass media.*

*Above passage is slightly reordered to allow for greater clarity...or...clarified for greater...reorder...or....something nerdy to that effect.

Hair stylists of America, why are you in league against me?

Really. This is bad haircut number two since leaving my beloved Whantana behind in Berkeley. Why though? Why?

I mean, this time...I tried. Believing that I had learned my lesson from last time (aka, the "unhappy poodle" or the "glorified mullet") I even went so far as to arrive at the hair place with picture in hand. I spoke to the stylist, she was Russian, I figured "somehow, this is fate. This good woman would never lead my hair astray. I am glad that I have come." and other solemnities.

But no. It appears that a picture of hair that you would like, in actuality, is meaningless. It might as well have been a picture of Queen Elizabeth II. Or Bruce Willis. Or Homestar Runner. Because apparently there is an unspoken hair stylist lingo that I am no privy to. Probably involving gesticulations and significant looks. From what I can tell, it looks something like this:

Me: So I printed this out, is this alright?
Stylist: Of course! This will look very nice on you, it will frame your face well...etc. (Translation: Ha! Ah, yes! You would like me to cut the bottom veeeeery close to your head, so much so that you fear for your life as my swift razor just misses grazing your skin. And then, you would like me to add hundreds of layers on top, so that the whole upper part will burgeon out, as if floating around your head like a mischievous little cloud. The whole effect will, of course, be mushroom-like.)

:::sigh:::

it will grow out...

Disclaimer: This post may be barfsome.

Okay, so BJ has a web page/blog of his own making (he is not chained, as the rest of us are, to blogger or xanga or any other huge internet journal posting robot...) and, again, I know it's *way* lame to post things that are like, "I love my boyfriend. He's so great. And I totally love him so so much" and crap. But, umm...arbitrary rules that dictate lameness fail to take into consideration boyfriends that read Austen and become, consequently, even more effing rad.

From BJ's blog:

Nov 17, 2005 12:35

So last night I did something I never thought I would. I started reading Pride and Prejudice. I actually am enjoying it a lot so far. Mr Bennet is effing awesome.

I know, I know....it's a girly tea party book...I have to admit, though, that I'm doing it to get a girl to like me. Well, I'm pretty sure she likes me a lot already, but I think she likes me more now that I've expressed interest in reading Victorian literature. After all, this particular girl did take a semester-long astronomy course cause I bugged her enough about it so I suppose the least I could do for her is read a silly book (which happens to be one of the greatest novels of the 19th century, if not ever, and the pinnacle of the novel as a form blah blah blah, yes I know, Kat).

In other news, this weekend I plan to drink beer, watch football (Cal v Stanfurd. Go Bears!), play with fire, and do other manly things in a manly fashion.

Oh my god. SO hot.

Holy crap, what a great weekend. It's amazing what you can do when you, you know, don't sleep that much. So I know that it's a huge writerly no-no to format your writing as if it were merely a laundry list...but....ummmm...I don't...care.

My quintessential Berkeley weekend, in rougly chronological order:

- Flew from LAX to Oakland on a plane packed with USC fans. Was informed by one (35ish year old man who nonethless persisted in calling me "dude") that, as I had gone to Cal, and am now attending UCLA, I'm like "totally [USC's] worst nemesis." Yes me. All by myself. Rar!
-Went to Candice's new place (holy crap, it's nice.) Ate her homemade lentil soup (holy crap, it was good...)
-DESERT AT YOGURT PARK. You can only imagine the importance bestowed on such an occasion.
-Saw Lauren and Dan on Sproul.
-Hung out at the boys' new place.
-Went to Berkeley Bowl!!!! Was mesmorized by gluten free cookies and fresh veggies!!! Bought falafel mix and chai tea and some other stuff to bring home. (mmMMMmmm...health.)
-Random hanging out.
-SF!!! Bar hopping/ dancing in the Castro!!! (so totally way fun. Am aware of sororitiness of such explanation.)

-After some sleeping and breakfast, we went to the football game. er...ummm...the expected beat down involving a very good football team and one that has seen better days. (and worse ones, I might add!)
- Cleaning up/ girl talk. (Can't write this all out. Chances are, males read this blog. And you know, we work very hard to maintain our feminine mystique. And plus your head might explode.)
-Bar hopping in Berkeley- Beckett's and Thalasa before Kay & Julie fell asleep. (Awww...) Heard The Doves on the radio at Beckett's. Got a White Russian. Shot the shit with everyone. Perfect moment.

-Woke up.
-Got a piercing. Did not cry.
-Bought new blazer. Talked to my Mom in the store. Thought it was hilarious that her first reaction to "I pierced my ears!" was "What?! What is that Candice doing to my daughter?!" heehee...
-More hanging out/Crepevine!!
-Back to L.A., Emily related what I missed (John Cusak, Ian references, Dave, and Celine Dion. Damn!)

:::sigh:::

It's nice that there are so many places around that are starting to feel like home.