Ugh. Me.

Do you know what happens when you spend the last two or three years with super long luxurious locks of glory (i.e. so long and unmanageable that you spend 99.9% of the time not using any products or hair styling equipment with which to style it and, instead, opt for putting it up in a ponytail), and then spend such a fantastically long period of time (one month) visiting your family and friends back home that you start forgetting what items you do or don't have in your apartment back in {that land of which we dare not speak}, and then decide to chop off roughly ten thousand pounds of hair off your head while home for the holidays to a manageable enough length that it actually looks modern and stylish when you wear it down?

You will go to Target (yay!) when you get back to {that land of which we dare not speak} and use the rest of your Christmas Target gift card moneyz (yay! yay!) to buy a flat iron for your hair only to find when you get back to your apartment later that afternoon and will realize after already ripping apart the packaging and using it that YOU ALREADY OWNED TWO FLAT IRONS. Ugh. I even remember thinking, as I was attacking the packaging with a pair of scissors, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if I found out that I already had a flat iron somewhere here?" Ugh, why don't I ever listen to myself?! My inside voice is always so wise...

Ugh. What in the hell am I supposed to do with three flat irons?! Anyone out there want one? Anyone? Bueller?

In other news: I'm totally applying for a bunch of arts administration jobs. This whole teaching a buttload (a technical term) of students and still not making ends meet at the end of the month has officially gotten WAY old. I'll let y'all you all know how it goes. If I get one of them that means I will probably end up working 25 hours a day. But on the upside, maybe this means I will be able to go longer than like two months without asking one (i.e. both) of my computer genius brothers to help pay my cellphone bill. Wheeee! Yergh.

UPDATE: Hey, you know what happens when you spend your Friday night at home on the couch, preparing syllabuseses and lesson plans for the upcoming semester while drinking a glass (or two) of red wine? You end up with a mild case of The Buzz and slurring along in sloppy German to the finale of Beethoven 9. The end.

ps. Aaaagh! Bernstein!! Why "Freiheit"?!?! It just doesn't sound right. Harumph.