The Peter Bjorn and John concert was most likely, one of the most magical moments of my life. Free tickets? Check. Not-too-crowded venue? Check. Awesome opening band? Check. PB&J playing every single one of my favorite songs? Check. Peter jumping into the crowd on the last song, my FAVORITE song, and playing the guitar surrounded by people about five feet from me? Check. Me getting backstage and having a threesome with Bjorn and John? Maybe next time. And there will be a next time - they're coming back September 25th and come hell or high water, I will be there. Aw hell yeah.
I chopped off my hair. Like really really chopped it off. As in 13 inches, which I donated to Locks of Love because I'm such a wonderful person and all that jazz. I wash it, I let it air dry, and I am good to go - pretty much the best haircut ever. I've gotten a lot of compliments on it (I know, I can't believe how humble I am either), but most importantly, I love it. Whenever I get it cut, the lady will ask if I part my hair, and I say, yes, I part it on the left, my left. It never fails that they part it for me, about a centimeter from the middle of my head and it looks awful. I was panicing for a couple of minutes looking at my newly shorn hair all wet and parted basically in the middle because it looked terrible, but as soon as I put my part in the right place I stopped hyperventilating because I looked smashing. Ok, Ok I'll get over myself, but really, I love it. Love it love it love it.
The nail on my ring finger must have gotten snagged on something and since I can't seem to stop picking at it for the life of me, I will soon have a very short nail on that finger, a very tragic thought for me. I realized I am seriously one of those Oh-My-God-I-Broke-A-Nail-Type Girls, and I am totally okay with it. Bring me the clear nail polish PRONTO.
I finally sucked it up last week and paid my library fine - a whopping $17.60. I had been on eBay scouring for books to buy when I realized I needed to stop being a dumbass and BUYING books when I could just pay my fine and then get books for FREE. Sometimes you have to spell it out for me. I've been on a reading binge this past week, reading The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon and Lucky by Alice Sebold. Chabon's book was pretty good because I fell in love with the cranky balding Jewish policeman character and the concept was different - Israel had only existed for three months before they lost a war to the Palestinians so the US government let all the Jews come to Alaska for 60 years until the "Reversion" was to go into effect and the land would return Alaska and the Jews wouldn't be able to live there anymore. And it was kinda a murder mystery. But not even really cause I don't get into mysteries really. Really. Lucky was okay. I like her fiction better, The Lovely Bones, actually one of my favorite books ever. Lastly I'm finally reading some Salman Rushdie, Midnight's Children, which I should be doing right now but instead I'm typing out a stupid post. And going on way too long about this subject. Moving on.
Since I've been working five days a week here I've been getting off every Saturday, something that enormously excites me. Last weekend I had Friday off too because my friends and I were supposed to go camping, and as it happens with every other plans we make, of course it never happened. Instead I spent about 95% of the weekend in Diana's pool, having a grand ol' time. It was probably one of the funnest weekends, and all we did was drink and swim. I don't want summer to ever ever end. Maybe I COULD live in weather like this year round. Must. Stop. Crazy. Talk.
I want to see Superbad super bad. Oh man, the creatives juices are flowin now!
The short, Mexican mailman who drops off the mail at work has a crush on me. Every Saturday he would bring in pizza for lunch and I would let him listen to the Cubs game, if the Sox game wasn't already on. I haven't seen him lately because I haven't been working Saturdays, but he came in today instead with lunch. Everytime he asks me if I believe in God, and I never really have an answer cause I don't know what my opinions are when it comes to religion anymore, but if I have to become a Bible-thumper for free pizza, I'll do it.
This lady who has a mailbox here at the store came in a few minutes ago and said "Hi Katie Bear!" Now I love this lady, she's really nice and we always talk for a few minutes, but hold the phone, did you really just call me "Katie Bear"? Why do I always have animal nicknames, with K-dawg in college and now this? I get it - clearly I do not look human, but must you lay it on so thick?