mychai's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm a sorry excuse for a man.

I hate to depress the lot of ya, but I am afraid I have to pass on some pretty bad news.

I think my hair is getting thinner. As in, falling out. I don't know for sure, but things are starting to look pretty grim.

It started several years ago when I was still living with Mandy the Psycho Lesbian Ex. I would take showers and notice a big blob of hair in the drain. "Mandy has long hair that looks like mine. Must be hers." This was a good excuse because her brushes were coated in her hair, and her hair was always on the bathroom floor.

Geez. I hope hair fall-out doesn't cause one to turn gay.

But you all know what happened with that whole debacle. Yada yada yada, she moved out, but the hair continued to accumulate in the drain. "Ghosts of Mandy Past." This was a good excuse because I figured there was enough Mandy hair floating around the apartment to cover a whole pack of cocker spaniels, and I must have tracked some in on my feet.

Then the Jackass roommate moved in. Good excuses aplenty. Then the Current Roommate Who Isn't Supposed To Be A Roommate Anymore moved in. Again, tons of excuses.

But then I went and got my hair cut last Wednesday. I said to the hair cutting woman, "Clean it up a bit around the sides and top." She took this to mean, "Shave that bad boy!" This was the real reason I expedited the purchase of a new hat. My melon does NOT look good with a shaved head.

But I was noticing today at work every time I went to the bathroom that you could definitely see a lot more scalp than the dark brown locks that used to inhabit my noggin.

It's depressing, man.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I was using gel today. But then again, I have a bud who has hair as dark as mine and uses gel. You can't see even a hint of this guy's scalp. My head is basically a cue ball that someone drew on with a black ball-point pen.

Cripes. What girl wants me now?


On to a topic that is a bit easier to handle: I'm dying.

That's the worst of it. The good side to that is that I'm dying a very slow, agonizing death that I should succomb to in roughly 23,746 days. I regret to inform you that I will die promptly at 12:19 am on Thursday, September 22, 2067.

Sucks, don't it?

I'll be 90. But if I change my diet, take a multivitamin, and floss three times a day, I might possibly make it to the sweet, sexy age of 99.

Oh. I found all of these numbers at this website. Go there and find out your very own demise.


Now, on to the good news!

I think Roomy the Moocher is moving out. Slowly. I have noticed a few things gone over the past couple of days. Thankfully, they are her things and not mine. So, I think she has finally gotten the subtle hints that I DON'T WANT HER HERE. I thought *I* was slow.

I'm seriously considering taking her stuff and setting her room up exactly how it is right now... except out in the front yard.

If it were up to me, I'd change the locks on the door and toss all of her shit out. None of it is really worth selling. When Jackass was living here, he left dirty Tupperware in the kitchen sink for well over a month. You know... the good Tupperware. Not the gladware stuff.

I tossed it. And I have yet to feel bad about it.

Now that I have someone living here who refuses to leave, even though her name is nowhere on any lease papers, and she won't completely pay her bills, I think I have a right to confiscate and do what I may to her things, right?

Sounds fair to me. I'd consider it helping her move out.

Our My landlord is back in town from a bike-riding trip across Europe. I gave him today to rest up. Tomorrow, I am calling to see if he can expedite the removal of said Lazy Roommate.

No more roommates for me. Nosirree bob.

You know... until I go into the Air Force, where I will have about 30 of them.


Finally... I'll leave you with yet another piece of bad news.

Well... it's not too terribly bad. More like "relatively" bad. It's a failure of mine, really. Something I feel VERY insufficient about.

I, JP, have never in my life been able to make a paper airplane.

I realized this a week ago when I went to the U. of Missouri football game. I was enjoying watching everyone getting their football funk on when I looked up and saw that someone way up in the nosebleed section made a nifty little paper airplane and it was cruising quite happily all the way down.

I've tried to make paper airplanes, but people said it more closely resembled a giant spit ball. And gravity seemed to have a larger-than-usual effect on my sorry excuses for airplanes since they would traditionally nosedive to the ground with no survivors.

I think paper airplane making is one of those skills that, if I haven't learned it now, I never will.

Like spitting through your front teeth so that it makes a nice little arc in the air accompanied by that nice, sharp "thhht" sound. I never could do that.

Oh, I've tried. But it ends up coming out as a blob of goo and running down my lips and onto my shirt.

I'm a sorry excuse for a guy is what I am. I am balding. I can't spit, and my paper engineering skills can best be described only as "deficient."

Anyone want a date? Hellooooo?

11:19 p.m. - Mon., Sept. 16, 2002

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next

latest entry

about me

archives

notes

DiaryLand

contact

random entry

other diaries:

sinnamon
unclebob
kitty-kaboom
mariel
stwig
eibisch
wicked-sezzy
johndavid
racer96
epiphany
switchcraft
roklobster