October 01, 2003 @ 10:06 p.m.
Of Girly Blather and Monster Trucks

Allow me to get all girly and shit for a moment. In between bouts of elbow moisturisation (they're like sandpaper) and air geetaw to Jon Spencer Blues Explosion.

I hate fucking hairdressers.

Well, that's easy, I hear you say: don't fuck them.

Smartarses.

Anyway, I fucking loathe hairdressers. Always have. In my experience, when they're not bleating on about some inane boring shit, they're finding subtle ways to insult you. I fucking hate that bullshit.

The other thing is that all the girls I hated in high school became hairdressers, or at least gave serious consideration to doing so. I don't know how you personally feel about having your mortal foe/s standing behind you wielding sharp objects, but I'm no fan of it.

So I've always hated hairdressers, and consequently my hair has usually been shitty and straggly.

That was until fate and a matter of scheduling threw Geoff and me together.

I cannot sing this man's praises highly enough. For one thing, he's the first person ever to actually understand how to cut my fine, thin, limper-than-a-porn-theatre-janitor hair. I visited him today and I'm all gleeful and shit. No more looking in the mirror and screaming for me! Well, that's possibly an exaggeration. But there'll be less of it.

The coolest thing about him, however, is his conversation. See, considering what a good job he does of my hair, I could just about deal with any old blather. But he's actually a good conversationalist! We talk about a lot of different stuff, but the general theme that seems to run through our conversations is how people are generally inferior and people like us should rule the world. I think it all started the first time I went there, because he'd just finished Utopia and we started talking about our personal ideas of a perfect communist society. We also have very similar views on God and religious people (which can be summed up quite nicely by the phrase "point and laugh").

Well, that's pretty much the end of my girly shit for one entry. Although tomorrow I trek to Brunswick St to have scintillating conversation with a lovely lass as she rips out the vast majority of my pubic hair. Tomorrow afternoon will inevitably be spent walking like a cowgirl. Because of the spurs on my boots and the size of my holsters, of course.

In other news, there's monster trucks on this weekend! I am not going, partly because I have to work and partly because it's at the Rod Laver Arena, which is a byword for craptacular. I'm a bit disappointed because Stuart and I have been wanting to go see monster trucks together for a long time. But it has to be the right scenario and stuff, preferably somewhere rural or at least redneck. Stu will be dressed like a bogan (an obviously huge departure from his normal attire), I will be dressed up all trashy (see previous brackets), and I'm going to suck him off in the parking lot. We have it all mapped out, you see.

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