Fighting the Urge

Someone's going to have to stop me.  I'm bored with my hair, and we all know what THAT means.

(...)

I should be sedated.

I generally fix hair-boredom by locking myself in the bathroom and performing this nifty little juggling act (involving a small, hand-held mirror, the bathroom counter, and my ASS.  Don't ask.  And try not to visualize.) that results in me having about 2 inches of hair left on my head.  I'm sure Ray would appreciate it if I managed to hold off the almost irresistable urge to scalp myself this go-round, but it's HAAAAAAAAAAAARD.

I hear scissors calling...

Anyhoo.  Today is anther day of non-stop fun.  The cable guy is coming this morning, for starters.  Now, needless to say, the problem that we were having that required the attention of the aforementioned cable guy?  Miraculously fixed itself Saturday.  BUT... you know as well as I do that if I were to cancel the appointment, the problem would immediately come BACK, just in time for them to have given my previous (and now CANCELLED) appointment time to someone else, leaving me with a new appointment time of, oh, say... 2009?  So, by God, I'm keeping the appointment today, even if the cable box sits up and fucking tap dances across the floor for the cable man, making him look at me much like the car mechanic does when I bring in my car because it sounds like this *insert random highly irritating noise here* and then the car refuses to make the noise in the presence of the person with the testicles and the POWER TOOLS.

Gah.

Then I have to take my car for its first scheduled maintenance.  I know this because a)the dealership's fancy phone system called me with a pre-recorded message telling me to get my ass down there (in the nicest, pre-recorded way possible, of course), and b)the car itself told me.  (...)  Okay, not like it spoke to me (although I'm sure that's coming any day now.  We'll all be stars in our own little Knight Rider universes.), but its little computer readout thingy on my dash informed me, nay, YELLED at me, that it's 'TIME TO CHANGE OIL'.  And now?  It won't STOP informing me.  Like every 15 seconds.  In ALL CAPS.  ALL THE TIME.  So I'm going down to get the oil changed and the tires rotated (which, really... is that necessary?  I mean, maybe it is, but it sure seems like one of those things they think of for you to do that you pay them for and then they laugh at you when you leave the parking lot.), just to get the car OFF. MY. FUCKING. BACK.

But I love my car.  Really.

Then, after I pick up Ray from work and Connor from after-school care, I have to take Connor to his Tae Kwon Do lesson.  He had his first testing a couple of weeks ago.  He's now an orange belt.  My own little N.I.T. (ninja in training).  I bought him a few additional private lessons, too, so that he can get some one on one time with the school's owner (a 6th degree black belt.  Holy crap.  I bet that means he can kill you by giving you a dirty look.  I'm just sure of it.) to boost his confidence.  I have to remember to make the appointment for that, too.  God forbid I procrastinate and put off my son's dreams of being the next Chuck Norris.

Only, please GOD, with better hair...