Tuesday, Oct. 08, 2002 - 3:32 p.m.
Have you ever stopped to think about how helpless you would be without the tip of your index finger? Just think of the everyday tasks that either directly or indirectly involve this noble appendage: typing, washing your hair, holding a cheeseburger, putting gel in your hair, styling your hair... long story short, I cut my finger last night and am now having high hair drama right now. It just doesn't look good.
In the shower this morning, I had to keep my hand up in the air to keep the band-aid from getting soaked, thus possibly contaminating my wound. I've changed said bandage three times since last night, taking every precaution possible so that I will have a fully functional finger in the near future. I don't deal well with injuries. If a cut on my finger puts me out of commission for a couple of days, I'd hate to see what would happen if I actually broke something.
But, I live most of my life indoors and sitting, so there's little chance of that happening, right?
Unless the cat knocks the TV over onto my leg or something. It could totally happen. If you've met my cat, you'd understand.
Speaking of which, Jack is well on his way to becoming a true fat-ass cat in the Garfield tradition. This works great for me, as he is slowly losing the energy to constantly bite my legs and arms, attempting to eat me alive one limb at a time. He's starting to develop this little tummy that jiggles a bit when he jumps from the couch to the floor. It's cute.
Does anybody want to go shopping at the Save-a-Lot in the ghetto with me tonight? I love the Save-a-Lot, as twenty bucks gets me about a cart full of groceries there, but I've been living on the nice side of town long enough to have lost touch with my ghetto-fab roots. I don't think I have street credibility anymore. That's not a good thing.
Of course, it would help matters if I wouldn't insist on driving up to the place blasting David Bedingfield or N-Sync. Where the hell did I put my DMX disc, anyway?
