Fleeting thoughts

I've been missing my long hair lately. My blow dryer hasn't though.

Somehow I got roped into being on the HOA board. I'm the secretary, and all I will do is take minutes and listen to a bunch of old retired men complain about the college ruffians and their loud cars and unkempt lawns. It's amusing for about an hour, and then it gets annoying.

I tried to watch a replay of olympic speedwalking, but I couldn't. It's just unnatural.

I kind of miss school, surprisingly. Especially writing, because let's be honest: blogging isn't super intellectually stimulating. I decided to write a book... or an essay if I can't make it long enough. I'm only on page 4, so we'll see. It's a collection of stories from my life, so I guess it's an autobiography. No Pulitzer material here, but I'm having fun. Here's a sample--the story of my first date:

"Near my 17^th birthday I finally got asked on my first date. His name was Leroy, and he had short-term memory loss. Really, he did. He got in a serious car accident and when he woke up, all he remembered was French. It was a rather bizarre case, but I did not know any of this at the time, which is why I found it odd that he called several times to confirm our date. The night I had been waiting for came, but my date didn't. My parents were probably more devastated than I was, though. They left me on the couch eating ice cream and watching Steel Magnolias, and went to a wedding reception. Little did I know that I would go on my first date that very night. The doorbell rang an hour or so later. I wiped double fudge brownie off my face and answered it. A handsome young man stood before me.“I heard you got stood up on your first date,” he said. “Put a dress on. We’re going out.” My first thought was wishing I had not been wearing my Mickey Mouse pajamas. They were bubble gum pink with an image on the front of Mickey and Minnie kissing, and “Pucker Up” in giant cursive letters. My parents gave them to me as a joke for Christmas, obviously referencing the lack of “Puckering up” I had done in my lifetime. I felt like a textbook symbol of desperation as I stood there at the door. But I did put a dress on, and I did go out that night."