Sunday, January 12, 2014

On being Queen Elizabeth.

In this post: Long live the Queen, feeding Sam.

A couple of days ago I discovered the ultimate luxury … a hair stylist who makes HOUSE CALLS. I’d been searching for one online off and on for quite a while because my frustrating mobility issues — plus the fact that I don’t have my own car any more — have made it almost impossible to get to a beauty salon for something as ordinary as a damn haircut. But then I discovered Hair by Noell, probably the only Caucasian “traveling stylist” in the Dallas metro area who doesn’t specialize in dreadlocks and weaves. She’s coming over on Thursday at 12:30 and I’m so excited I can’t stand it. What a revelation, people! I’m not a helpless senior citizen any more with plantar fasciitis, lousy knees and diabetic neuropathy … I’M QUEEN ELIZABETH WITH A PERSONAL HAIRDRESSER WHO COMES TO THE PALACE. Holy crap, right?

Enjoying your Sunday? I’m pleased to report that I haven’t done squat today aside from eat lunch and fall asleep watching The Last of Mrs. Cheyney (1937) starring Joan Crawford and William Powell. Unfortunately, I just found out that Sam has only accomplished 50% of that previous sentence (sleeping through the movie) and hasn’t eaten since 9:15 this morning when he drove into Garland to buy his two weekly doughnuts. It’s 6 p.m. as I write this post and high time to consider dinner. Fortunately, there’s a ton of excellent Schwan’s crapola in the freezer, which means we don’t have to do anything except turn on the oven to 400° and grab forks! Tonight’s menu will include Hot & Spicy Chicken Booby Filets and some Krunchie Potato Wedges with tasty flecks for Sam.
Thank you for reading this. I have to feed Sam now.

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