last night i went to get a haircut.  clay was running late, so he sat me down in the waiting room with a glass of red wine and some house music.  i’d brought dracula with me, so i settled in (as best one can settle into a wooden bench) to read while i waited.  as i was sitting there, a gray cat jumped up onto the bench and pawed its way over to me, eventually settling in on my lap (as best one can … well, nevermind).  i pet the cat absentmindedly for awhile as i read, until it bit me.  its teeth didn’t break the skin (unlike dracula’s teeth would, i suppose), but i still felt the need to stare it down (which took, i swear, five full minutes), and after that i left it alone there on my lap.

how surreal is it to be sitting in a hair salon with a cat on your lap, drinking wine and reading dracula while the strains of house music blend with the whir of a blowdryer?  not as surreal as hanging out with your hair dresser in an empty salon at eight-thirty on a friday night, evaluating the art on the walls and testing out samples of vinyl flooring.

later that same evening rob and i spent four hours at notsuoh, where i drank two pots of earl grey tea and read charlotte temple in its entirety, before moving on again to dracula.  i came home, fell asleep immediately, and dreamed of pure, chaste vampire hairdressers.

if you respect me so little, why do you keep linking to me?