Highlights

New Jason Mraz CD is pretty good, more mellow than his last, but good. New Nickel Creek is OK, a little slow for my taste.

My wife has decided that I need a beauty regime. Now let's face facts - I'm a 32-year old, 6' tall, 255 lb. guy with a goatee and somewhat spiky hair. I don't need a beauty regime, I need major infrastructure renovations! But she's my wife, and a costumer, so letting her do whatever she wants to me was part of the contract.

So today, there was a facial. Not that kind you fucking perv. The kind where you scrub the first 3 layers of skin off your face, and then slop blue goop on your face and let it dry while it burns the next 3 layers of skin off your face. The theory is it closes up pores. My theory is that it's sulfuric fucking acid! That shit hurts.

Then the manicure. Not bad, I watch DVDs, she plays with my fingernails. No polish. I'm not goth. Then she decides my hair needs highlights. Fascinating. Whatever, I'm under it, I can't see it. So she slaps some shit on my head and tells me to let it bake for a 1/2 hour. I ask if this means I need to stick my head in the oven. She's not amused. It looks a little lighter, but it's redder than she was shooting for. Which is interesting, because my hair is brown. The brown that comes from being REALLY blonde as a child. So now I have reddish-blonde highlights (I suppose that's the term) in my hair. And she's happy and will let me drink as much beer as I want and fart under the covers. Fair trade.

Like I said, fuck it, I'm under it, the rest of you bastards have to look at it.

Peace