Breakfast helps

I'm not exactly hung over this morning, but it wasn't for lack of effort last night. Blurg. I'm going to go running in a little while so I can get to my fabulous haircut appointment on time. Yes, people, I'm going to Gene Juarez. Those of you familiar with my last visit to Gene Juarez, not blogged about but written about in another medium, may express some surprise at my voluntary return. But once again I have been stricken with a hair stylist vanishing act, and it's time for a change. What they charge amounts to unmitigated, shameless robbery, so they have this one shot to get it right. If they do so fabulous a job that even I can make my hair look fabulous on a more or less regular basis with the total paucity of effort that I'm willing to invest, then I'll pay them anything they ask.

Moral of the story: Chris mixes awfully heavy drinks.

Second moral of the story: breakfast helps.

So this carpool I'm in has come together, even if it's like commuting to work in a mobile frat house and even if they're writing me awkward and embarrassing e-mail about how I've left my birth control in the car, and even if it turns out that that birth control isn't actually mine. I think the mobile frat house spirit is contageous because now Chris and I have redoubled our planning efforts for the raging party that we're going to have. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that we need to know more people in Seattle who have interest in attending raging parties. In the meantime, who's flying in to attend?