1. Making your own sugar wax and doing yourself is possible, but it’s one of those things where paying someone else is worth it. Like baking bread or cooking crystal meth. There has to be an affordable non-Oriental esthetician in the city who isn’t a total fuckwit. Maybe I should try the Greek neighborhood. Fuck it, I’ll just bite the bullet and see that expensive Russian again.
2. It always takes longer to hide your diaries than you planned, because they’re so interesting. I can’t believe I did some of the shit written there. I can’t believe I wrote some of the shit I did there. Naughty me! Naughty, silly me! It was a good time, though. Doing it, not reading it. Though reading it was interesting.
I think I’ve decided against the haircut, possibly because I’d rather spend the money paying the Russian to tear out my fur out by the roots. More likely because I’ve realized my hair looks crappy lately because of my bike, not because Alex fucked up the last cut, and getting it cut again won’t fix that. Silly of me to have doubted Alex. That’s like doubting Wonder Woman.
So I've been keeping this blog as a sort of replacement for a diary, which was a time-effective but not really perfect idea, since in a diary I can write explicitly about booty and emotions and lots of other things that'd make you all puke, gentle readers. I mean it's been a good exercise to concentrate on writing something every day that everybody can read, except maybe Mummy and Daddy, but I should really still be keeping a diary. Or should I? A quick glance through them last night demonstrated to me there are at least three people whose little hearts would break if they ever saw the contents. But then comes a monstrous sort of selfishness, I suppose, because I'd rather be able to write whatever I want then never break anybody's heart.
I want McDonald's hashbrowns.