Heading to get my hairs did this evening. And boy, it's about time. Tommy is in high demand, and a dear friend, so I really go to great lengths (no pun intended) not to bother him. He usually ends up texting me to come in once he realizes it's been over half a year and then begins to imagine the cacophony that might be growing from my head. Right now, all my ends are split and dried out and ready to be hacked the heck off. I brushed it last night, immediately turning it into a great, overzealous frame of frizz and static. I quickly contained it in a bun and tried not to have nightmares about my wild hair animal eating my head clean off. Trim? Glaze? Bangs? Layers? Only tomorrow will tell...
I started my Saturday with a piece of toast and followed that with a Russo's sandwich, which are pretty much God's gift to bread. I also stopped at Subway on my walk to the train to get a fountain coke.
Once I arrived in Brooklyn, I ate some olives out on the patio, sun on my back, birds at the feeder.
I then decided I had no choice but to make pasta.
Sardines, red onion, garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes, thyme, lemon and a little parmesan.
If you hate sardines, fear not. They melt and disappear completely into the sauce, leaving only a rich, nutty flavor and zero fishiness.
I then walked over to my sister's, where I ate a lemon popsicle and demanded she make french fries, which I mostly ate myself.
Then we went out for sushi.
And was I full yet? Not quite.
Thankfully, I WAS tired, so after the trek home I fell right into a deep slumber.
Woke up to no rain, which was a pleasant surprise, but I felt like a walking eye-crust.
Everything was too bright and I was having a hard time shaking the haze of my morning dreams. Until Toddy Coffee made his appearance.
And I usually only drink a very mini mug of him, because he is super strong and will wrestle you right out of your skin if you aren't careful.
But I decided on a full mug, and drank the whole thing with eggs and bacon and sprout salad.
An hour later I was a jittery mess.
I tried my best not to shake and then run screaming out the front window like an over-caffeinated train wreck.
So how about some mixed drinks?
Hours later we followed said drinks with a HUGE, steaming, utterly delicious bowl of slow roasted pork, coconut rice and creamed spinach.
Which we then followed with a trip to The Chocolate Room.
Which was then followed by visions of vomit and buttons popping off my pants. My pallet had thrown in the towel.
We took a lap around the block, trying to settle my overloaded stomach.
It didn't really work.
I lay awake until well after 1am, listening to things rumble around in my belly and watching, horrified, as the caffeine from the chocolate pummeled around behind my lids, forcing me to open them every minute or so to make sure my eyeballs were still intact.
One moral of the story? Caffeine is not my friend. No matter which way I spin it, he's just not.
This film is a trip, in the truest sense of the word. Released in 1968, it is a long, freaky peek into what Kubrick saw the future to be, what he saw life to be, and death. I saw it on Saturday and still find myself referencing it throughout my days. From the dawn of man to the depths of space, it's pretty incredible stuff. Prepare yourself for long orchestral scenes where nothing really happens, followed by scenes that have you holding your breath and nearly scared out of your mind.