trendymatt's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It'll keep your leftovers and dead celebrities fresh for days. I guess I'm contractually obligated to post in this thing at least monthly, right? I really don't have too much going on at the moment. I start grad school on Monday - two classes in the first summer session? Why not? Apparently it's a great idea to be in class four nights a week until 10pm, after being at work all day. At least it sounded like a good idea last month when I was planning my class schedule. But honestly, it's not like there will be any work to do around the office until August. Not only will the university be paying my tuition, they'll be paying for me to study while I'm at the office, too. Not too shabby. In a move of unprecedented trust and cheapness, Todd and I cut each other's hair in his basement last night. We're now both sporting some fetching gay boy buzz-cuts. That's a better haircut than I got the last time I actually paid for one. Face it, you want my boyfriend. Don't deny it. (Personal to Shelley: it appears as if my salon skills have improved dramatically in the last three years or so. I don't care what your stylist said - that asymmetrical cut I gave you looked FIERCE. Yeah, I used the word "fierce." Where's my belly shirt? Don't answer that. Nobody's ready for this jelly. Does anybody even get that reference anymore? I'm so behind on my pop culture these days. This is the longest personal message I've written anybody in an entry before. Maybe I could have just e-mailed you directly. Or, god forbid, called. But, you did get to talk to me on the phone while I was using a public restroom the other day, which few people can claim.) ...aaaaand, scene. I've gained the reputation at the office for being the guy who finds the Cracked Out Website of the Day. What can I say? I have a knack for finding all that is truly bizarre online. Today's entry is this, a site devoted entirely to wrapping Roy Orbison completely in cling wrap. It truly is as bizarre as it sounds. From the first installment of cling wrap stories: "It always starts the same way. I am in the garden airing my terrapin Jetta when he walks past my gate, that mysterious man in black." Seriously, you can't make this stuff up. Airing your terrapin? I haven't aired my terrapin in forever. 9:24 am - 05.10.05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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