Afternoon.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Owen, my friend and stylist. But he has an agenda as regards my hairstyle: he thinks I need the dyke cut. He does the same thing to Heather, too, but her hair looks good all short and spiky. Mine doesn’t. Also, I think it’s funny that he should arrive at this conclusion, even though every time I see him we spend the entire time gossiping about boys. It’s strange. So, my hair is kinda shorter now, and I think I like it, but it takes a lot of work. Also, I’ve discovered that when it comes to hairstyles, there’s about a half-degree difference between punk-rock and soccer-mom, and it has everything to do with the amount of gel you use. Jenni P.S. I wish I could make a documentary film about work today. The project manager is out, it’s a million degrees in here, and we’re all goofy after lunch. Three database geeks crowded into my office and started shouting to each other: “What happened to my BLOB? You broke my BLOB. Stay away from my BLOB. Don’t mess with a man’s BLOB! I need my BLOB.” DBA humor. I want to go home.