like warm apple pie

My life is a scene from American Pie.

In unrelated news, today I am removing hair from a variety of places in preparation for our trip. I have heard that it is easier to be in Europe with less hair, so I will test this theory with perfectly groomed eyebrows and bangs that aren’t hanging in my eyes obscuring my vision and giving me headaches. Afterward, I shall celebrate my reduced hair by filling the many prescriptions I received from my 30-second doctor yesterday. In addition to my standard refill of the crazy, I also asked for assistance on my ears and face: my ears are apparently impeccably clean but scaly like lizards, so I get to put ear drops in and try to take it like a man instead of the inevitable squealing I foresee in my future. My face shall be dealt with via a medicated cream in which I am to slather upon myself once daily in the hopes that my very, very delayed teenage acne fucks off already. It would be nice to be able to stop referring to myself as “Grievous Ruin” when I look in the mirror.

I wore pants to work today, because I woke up freezing my ass off and figured the day was going to be chilly. I had to ride in today because of the aforementioned hair removal and drug collecting, and I was in such a bad mood* when I got up that I wore some hate pants. Three people have commented on my pants today, which makes me laugh. I am not the only one who notices these things.

*: The bad mood was caused by some formative relationship trauma gushing out in an unexpected manner, and the wholly unanticipated return of the Spine Snipper. SS has made his home under my office window, and he was screaming at nothing all fucking night long. I do not like the Spine Snipper, and I enjoyed it when he was someone else’s problem. Normally I am not very guilty of the raging NIMBY, but in this case he really really needs to be locked away somewhere because he is clearly mentally ill and a danger to himself and others, and maybe not outside my window like a fucking deranged Lloyd Dobler.