You know how when you accidentally let your hair air dry a little too long before hitting it with the goo, and then you got shit sticking out where it shouldn't be and things laying flat where they shouldn't be? Yeah, I got some gay-ass hair going on right now, and I don't mean that in the positive way. Thank God for the hair party this weekend, because this ain't right. I'm thinking about changing the color to dark red with black lowlights. I've seen it done before and it looks cool, and it would work with my specs. Plus, I feel like giving myself a jolt, not unlike the time three years ago when I was chest-deep in depression and had him put highlights in my hair, only he did so many that I was for all intents and purposes blonde. Didn't lift the depression any, but it did smack me out of complete listlessness. No no no, I'm not listless now or anything; just need to shake the shit up like I do from time to time.

Greta, in the meantime, is in the throes of the major blues since she did end up losing her job after all. Except now, she's also decided that because of this book she's been reading about how 99.999 percent of all medicine is of the devil, she's gotten off her antidepressant and plans to start taking St. John's Wort when she finds the right herbalist -- none of that over-the-counter Walgreen's stuff for her, no sir. Did I mention she's OCD, too? It'll be nothing if not entertaining, for sure.

(Now, before anyone gets all hyper that I'm mocking someone for eschewing modern medicine, I can appreciate that someone would want to cut out certain crap from her diet or certain medications from the rotation, especially if they interfere with other things (i.e. taking a med for which the side effects include depression when you're already depressed, etc.). I'm thrilled that, for example, Greta got rid of the Zyrtec and Flonase for her sinuses and is using this oil stuff instead, with much better results. But unlike those goofy Scientologists -- yeah, I said it -- depression is not one of those things that can be willed away with positive thinking, and I don't believe that any good will come of this experiment. If I'm wrong, I'll cop to it, but I don't think I will be.)

In other news, part of my weekend was spent contemplating my place in the future -- specifically, am I going to end up one of those lonely old ladies who no one visits in the nursing home. Yeah, I know, morbid. It started Saturday night after Jill came over with Chinese: We were talking about how I, during another tangent, came to the conclusion that it really doesn't bother me that I'm not out most Friday or Saturday evenings with an SO, that I'm perfectly happy hanging out on the couch with the boys or hanging out with Greta or whatever. I mean sometimes, sure, it gets a little bothersome, but not so much so that I'm crying over Chunky Monkey or some shit.

So anyway, Sunday I just started thinking about what's going to happen to me since I'm not married and don't plan on birthing any babies, and then I was like, "Wow, this sucks," so I went to sleep.