Note 1: Yesterday I buckled. I yielded to peer pressure and bought myself a cell phone. It is sparkly and silver, so is also a result of my covetous desire for shiny things. I have already been spotted walking down the street chatting with Shiv, my mother, and my sister. I am learning where to download new ringtones (as the standards that come with the phone are so ear-rendingly terrible I refuse to leave the phone on for incoming calls just yet). (Secretly, the main reason I just bought a phone is that Apple just released its magical software that automatically syncs info from my beloved Cube with my soon-to-be-beloved phone, preventing the disaster I have witnessed several times: "Agh! I lost my phone and it had all my phone numbers and my whole LIFE was in there! Pardon me whilst I commit ritual suicide!" and I simply must have all Apple-related toys.)
Note 2: Yesterday someone hit me with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly. His name was Sheldon and he was my personal trainer for an hour. While he may have forgone using an actual sledgehammer, the result today feels very much the same. As I was trying to refrain from vomiting my lunch all over the already lurid walls of the gym, I repeated a mantra of calmness: "Never again. Coming to the gym was a huge mistake and I'll never ever ever come again." I think this phrase, along with the fact that my stomach was far too tired to engage in such a strenuous activity as a full-fledged heave much less a simple hhh, is what kept my food internal. Today, the painful memories are already being blocked out, and I am thinking about going on Thursday. Or maybe Friday. Of next year.
Note 3: I have, for some time now, been training my hair to take part in a stylish extravaganza known as the faux-hawk. Mohawky without the shaved sides, it has finally grown long enough that I can shellac it into a ridge running the length of my scalp. Taking solace in the fact that at least I look like I am having fun even when I need about a week of uninterrupted sleep and it feels like I am bleeding internally, I was very pleased when one of my supervisors casually called me "Mr. Beckham" earlier today. Besides popularizing the faux-hawk, David Beckham just may be the hottest man who ever was. (I am just putting that possibility out there, mind you. I am not claiming it definitively to be so.) Therefore, any comparison to the eminently lickable Mr. Beckham is not only just OK, it is to be actively encouraged.
Note 4: The Shiv (see link above) plays tonight. Add one more stepping stone to her path towards world domination. All Hail Sleepwalking. And Judd Nelson.