Over my head.

I played music last night with two skilled musician ladies. They really knew what they were doing, and I did not. I'm not a musician, I don't know how to play a Bm7. I could look at this two ways. One: I can become a better guitar player this way, if I'm challenged. Two: This duo can most easily find another guitar player perfectly capable of playing Kokomo by the Beach Boys without a lot of handholding and help. And I wouldn't have another obligation to tend to when I've been trying to find time to myself.

I can't even determine notes by ear.

I own you. I own YOUUUUU.

I've had short hair for most of my adult life. Including a buzz-cut, a pixie, a black helmet and a blonde helmet among other styles. And now my hair is shoulder length. Long, even, healthy and pony tail ready. So when I see someone with short, stylish hair, I can't help but feel a longing for my old style. But then I make a couple of pig tails and shake my head about. I never could do that with short hair.

Last night a taco saved my life.

Too much drinky last night. I came home and had two tacos to slay the beast in my guts...it worked. I woke up this morning feeling like a champ, a tired, tired champ. And a relieved, feeling guilty champ for almost breaking kitty's foot yesterday before band practice. She's fine and probably forgot about it already.
Now I'm trying to register for a spanish class but I don't know if I can get my official transcripts turned in in time. Teeni, you lazy bum.

Dear people who have let me down,

You're all in the doghouse.