Hook, line, & sinker.

Things have been getting REALLY steamy in my bedroom lately, and it’s not because there’s S&M involved. The summer temperatures are steadily climbing upward, reaching unbearably humid and torturous levels. My air-conditioning-less apartment is 500 degrees. It’s not right. My living room is like a giant crock pot. It’s like one big slow cooker, and I am the pot roast. The vultures are circling overhead. It’s only a matter of time before the heat takes us all.

We actually did finally get one of those LG space air conditioning units for our bedroom at least. I am a Caucasian. I can’t sleep in any room that is above 68 degrees. I prefer a chill 65, but I’m attempting to be somewhat energy-efficient.

Actually, Trent just bitches at me when I put it below 68. I would willingly fork out all of my income for a frigid room. Also, I care about my comfort far more than I care about the environment. Sorry, pandas.

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I really jacked up my exquisite auburn locks. I accidentally dyed my hair Rihanna red last night. I look like a firefighting lesbian. It’s not great. Actually, it’s really bad. Instead of going with my usual L’Oreal Feria color, I chose a redder shade, hoping it would be a sharper auburn color. Instead it turned out to be fire engine crimson. It bled into my blonde highlights, and now my hair is pink. I look like a troll with a bleeding scalp.

.

Seriously. I look like I went to the state fair and got cotton candy stuck in my hair, and then someone pulled a Carrie on me.

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It’s like I dyed my hair in my sleep and used Pepto Bismol instead of L’Oreal.

I think you get the idea.

I guess the only thing I’ve got to redeem my trashy hair do at this time is my “bubbly” personality.

….

It was a bubble gum hair joke. Bubble gum is pink. Like my hair.

Nevermind.

SO. Moving forward. A lesson for this week, besides the obvious hair coloring fiasco that I hope you learned from:

Anchor belly button ring

+

Netted loofah

=

Ouch.

It might not be a real anchor, but it certainly works like one. You can’t get lazy with the lathering when you’ve got a fish hook in your navel. That thing hooked my loofah like a rainbow trout on a fly rod. I did not suffer any real painful consequences, but it was a good scare.

WELL, time to go. I hope you all had a miserable time reading this. I’ll be off to compare my hair with Pink’s.

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“I drank for sixteen hours yesterday. My head hurts from that, and also because I slammed my face into a checkerboard table last night.”