I also have little microscopic hair clippings in every orafice. But it's worth it.

I have a gay, catty (not necessarily a redundant description) barber who's also a leather/bdsm afficianado, and every time I get my hair cut, there's no way to predict what he'll be talking about. I just close my eyes and enjoy it.

Yesterday it was hungry asses. Who wanted to feed the ass of a guy of whom it was said that his ass looked hungry. Who's ass also grew hungry at the thought of someone with a hungry looking ass. At one point when the conversation was reaching a raunchy peak of tastelessness, he admonished his fellow barber, saying they shouldn't be talking that way with a lady present. I opened my eyes and asked if one had walked in.

The chiropactor visit went okay too. The constriction of nerves and blood flow to my left arm seemed to get better for a while, and then I resumed all my bad habits that I thought might have caused it in the first place, and now I'm back where I started from. With an arm that wakes me up in the middle of the night because it feels like it's falling asleep and is being all tingly and slightly painful.

She told me I needed to stop reading one-handed for awhile. And I don't mean that like how guys read one-handed as they flip through Penthouse. I tend to read with a book (generally thick) held open in my left hand�pages held spread with my thumb, ring and pinkie fingers�and a cigarette held in my right, and I think it causes a repeated stress syndrome.

I don't know what the hell kind of Alabama chiropractor Uncle Bob goes to, but mine just asks me about my life and any symptoms, adjusts me in about two minutes, charges twenty bucks, and never hurts. Never once has she used any kind of plug-in electric device on me. But since she's a lesbian, too, I'm not ruling it out for the future. But I bet her kind of plug-in device would be a lot more fun than the one Uncle Bob's chiropractor uses.

She also said I needed to get more frequent massage. Oh, yeah. Don't throw me in that briarpatch, Brer Bear. Or, dip me in honey and throw me to the masseuse.

The kind of massage she's recommending, though, won't be all fun and relaxing. I got my usual 10 minute massage yesterday, and she worked on digging into and under the muscle groups on my left arm and lats and pecs.

The soreness I felt that afternoon kinda felt like that hurts-a-bit-but-still-makes-you-smile-cause-you-feel-so-good post-sex soreness. Then as the evening wore on, it felt like Lisa had punched me in the arm really good and didn't spare me the frog-knuckle.

I don't know if a "frog" is a U.S. term, or unique to my childhood crowd, but it means a fist where you raise the middle finger's knuckle up good and high so that when you punch somebody on the arm, they know it. My arm still feels like that this morning.

Next Saturday I'm scheduled for an hour of this.

Example #2 of my impending premature senility: Yesterday, in line at Zesto's, I saw this woman ahead of me who I recognized, but couldn't remember who she was.

I was thinking, "I know her. I should know her. She's definitely a lesbian. Where do I know her from? Was it my old job?"

I racked my brain, flipping through the past acquaintance rolodex. Nothing.

"Her name is Laura, maybe? Was she a former roommate's girlfriend?"

Flip, flip, flip. Nothing.

"Maybe she's from some organization I used to deal with."

Flip, flip, flip. Nothing.

I hid behind a really big cop who was in line between me and her. I didn't want her to see me and know who I was before I placed her. It wasn't until I saw the woman she was with that I remembered where I knew her from.

She was our next door neighbor at our old house. We only moved away two years ago. She'd been our neighbor for about four or five years. We had mostly a chat-across-the-back-fence kind of relationship, but still. You'd think I would have known her immediately.

Of course, with the kind of neighbors we've got now, we have completely dismissed all of our former neighbors as woefully insufficient in the putting out department.

Breakfast this morning was French toast with Bananas Foster syrup. I didn't like the syrup, though, and went with cinnamon Mrs. Butterworth's. Num.

Tonight is cabbage and turkey sausage soup. More details as the actual recipe develops. Tonight's ice cream is chocolate peanut butter swirl.

Jake and Deb are off to go hang out in the sunshine and have lunch somewhere, leaving me and Sara to arrange our own entertainment. Don't hold your breath though.

Sara and I had a sweet little session of kissing and mild nipple torture yesterday while Jake was napping and Deb was a work. Like an idiot, I was "good" and said we shouldn't sneak next door for something more involved because we didn't have express permission. Today we've got permission, but I've been passed the word that Sara doesn't think she's up to it. Dammit.

I may have to make a date with Denzel to get my jollies this afternoon. Maybe I could get in some one-handed reading.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11