Thoughts like butterflies

Various things come to mind lately.  Fluttering by like butterflies.  (I seriously think the word “butterfly” came from a dyslexic person trying to say flutter-by and it just stuck.)

Lately, while trying to revive my dormant eclectic side (you know, the old me who wrote for Tangents and fit in with the artcore intelligente kids), I unearthed my iPod’s college radio playlist and upon listening to Pizzicato 5’s “Playboy Playgirl”, the only part of the lyrics in English (and the rest are in Japanese), I realized that the rest of the lyrics could be the narrative to a Japanese porno flick and we’d never know it.  That made me laugh.

At Whole Foods I picked up some of their high-dollar “drinking chocolate” as an experimental treat, and made some with coconut milk on the stove last night.  Highly heavenly.  I mean, there’s hardly any way you can go wrong with chocolate, cinnamon, cardamom, coconut, and vanilla (the flavoring in the coconut milk), but it’s even better than you think.

Lately I’ve been trying to explore my drum-n-bass side.  But not just any drum-n-bass; it has to be rather atmospheric/ambient, or else it’s a bit grating and less artsy.  You can never have too much snare and bassline if it’s done right.  (Oh for f*ck’s sake, I had to make my browser learn the word “bassline”.  Really, Safari?)

Did I mention how gleefully relieved I am at having dodged the Having Children Bullet?  Talk about clean apartment, spare time, unbroken sleep, fewer messes (other than the cats), a bit more disposable income, worry-free weekend getaways, and much more peace and quiet (not to mention that any noise made is on MY terms and probably something I actually want to listen to).  No sippy cups, no teething rings, no baby swings, no co-sleeping debates, no food processing baby food, no diaper washing, no diaper blowouts, nada.  We can stay up late, swear, play loud music (limited only by neighbors), watch whatever we want on TV, listen to Butt Trumpet without worry that kids will learn bad words, not have to worry about some crapsack harming or scaring the cats, etc.  It’s bliss.

Finally got my hair done.  My hair colorist is the bomb.  Not only is she a wizard with red color (no easy feat, especially with my cooler semi-olive skin tone and the darkest hair possible without it being black), but she’s also probably one of maybe 6 people in San Antonio who actually know who The Sounds and Manitoba are.  And my hairstylist (a different lady) is a young child-free person who actually recoiled, “no!” to my “do you have kids?”  I smiled and said, “good for you.”  And we proceeded to talk the entire time about how we’re relieved and free and all that.  And my hair looks like a million bucks again.  It’s about time.  It’s been two years.

And last but not least, I’m thinking of shaving…there.  Maybe not fully, but at least most of it.  Talk about monthly cycles being made easier!  Not that I have a whole lot of them left anyway, but let’s face it.  If the hair bunches, matts, or snags, it sucks.  So I’m considering giving it the heave-ho.

And…yeah.

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