today's brief adventure

I went back across town today, back to my favorite punk rock barbershop on SE Division, for a "re-cut" -- which is what they call it when you realize you hate the way they cut your hair and you want to go back and give them another chance to fuck it up more, but this time for free. Fortunately, the woman who cut it last time wasn't around, so I got my re-cut from another chick, who was nice and moved veeeeeeeeerrry sloooooooooowly, but she did a good job cutting it like I wanted it, so I gave her a substantial tip, since she was there correcting somebody else's mistake.

Then I left and headed in the direction of Fred Meyer (like WalMart in the Pacific Northwest) for a lightbulb. That's when I saw the dreaded CB sitting outside at the coffeeshop we used to hang out in way back in the day. First I saw her truck, then I saw her. I got a weird little shivver, then I thought about how she's currently unemployed, living on loans and more or less drinking her life away. Then I got another little shivver along the lines of "Yuck! What was I doing with that crazy woman??" At least she didn't see me.

Then I stopped off at Powell's on Hawthorne to buy my dad a very late father's day present. Because, when it comes to my family I'm a pathological liar, I told my grandmother the other day that I was avoiding my dad's calls because I felt bad about not sending his father's day gift. Of course, I hadn't gotten him any such gift, but I kept spinning out the lie by sheer force of habit and ended up explaining that I had a book for him and I needed to take it to the post office to get postage on it so I could send it and I kept forgetting and yadda yadda. So I roped myself into getting my dad a father's day book. I spent all of one minute picking it out -- I went straight back to the Oregon history section and grabbed the first Lewis and Clark Anniversary picture book I could find, chock full of interesting factoids and drawings and reproductions of maps and letters and diary pages all relating to their big, fat Northwest Passage, or whatever it's called. It's right up his alley.

Now I have to send it, and this is where the lie will meet reality as I procrastinate indefinitely on taking the thing to the post office to mail. Oh well.