the heat is getting to me

7/23/99

Las casas de los barquillos estan muy populares en los estados del sur.

Sorry. In Georgia I have even less call to speak Spanish than I do in Michigan, which may be why I’m drawn to do it more often.

eric sent me this nifty Waffle House site. Crazy stuff. He thought it was funny that, in the “send us your Waffle House story” section of this Waffle House lovers’ site, dozens of people sent in negative stories about Waffle Houses. For a half a minute I thought about sending them the url for my Waffle House diatribe from a few days ago, but then I realized the Klan comments might not be well-thought of. And what if we touched on the truth, accidentally? We could be in a world of shit.

Though I never said anything that wasn’t true. All I said was that we thought it was possible.

Speaking of Waffle Houses (Awful Houses,) did I mention that we ate at one? Though the food was decent enough, I felt bloated and nasty afterward. I should attribute that to eating early in the morning, though; I don’t take food well that early, especially heavy, greasy breakfast food.

I ate grits!

I don’t like grits!

I felt obliged to try them, living in the South and all. Must be an acquired taste. Like “sweet tea.” That’s iced tea. Ask for iced tea in the South, you get “sweet tea”— tea with about half a cup of sugar added, per glass. Rots the teeth right out of your skull.

We drove to Macon tonight. On the way we spotted a Waffle House with the most interesting combination of burned-out letters: _AFFLE H_U_E. Awful Hue? That’s right.

Ever notice that wherever there’s K-Mart, a WalMart appears across the street? Like they think a trip to K-Mart would end in a run through WalMart for those extra things that K-Mart doesn’t have? Near every Waffle House in mid-Georgia is a Huddle House. Their signs are ugly and red. I can’t imagine what they’re thinking. I’ve never heard of a breakfast pastry called a “huddle;” maybe it’s something you eat with grits.

Thought it’d be funny to start a franchise chain of restaurants right across the street from Waffle Houses called Falafel House. We didn’t even have a 24-hour falafel joint in Ann Arbor. I’ll bet I could score serious cash from those sophisticated trucker taste buds.

The heat is unbearable.

Insert several minutes’ worth of whining

Went for a haircut today. Unpleasant. The haircut is fine, but it was totally weird. I hate going to new salons. Taking a gamble, and this time I didn’t have anything to go on—all of John’s friends use the stylists on the base. The woman who cut my hair was nice enough, but not so sensitive with the tugging, the blow dryers, the chemical warfare. She must have spritzed/squirted/foamed me with 6 different chemicals. I hate that.

While she snip-snip-snipped, some of the wet bits got stuck to my cheek and stayed there. It looked like I’d sprouted a two-inch patch of whiskers on my chin. We were in one of those big rooms with a half-dozen other stylists and their clients, and I sported a wet little beard. For ten minutes. I tried so hard not to laugh, but I ended up smirking like a snobbish idiot. I’m sure she thought I was a total bitch.

And she gave me bangs. I can’t have bangs. I have a cowlick in the front that gives me a sweet little wave when my hair’s long, but cut it short and it will only stand straight up. John likes to remind me that my hair looks like Hugh Grant’s. It looked like Hugh Grant’s. Now it’s going to have to grow out to look like that. I was going to tell the stylist that I wanted to start growing the hair out again, because it’s so damn hard to style it when it’s short. I didn’t get a chance to tell her that, snip-snip-snip.

Of course, I got home and we immediately left for Macon, driving out on the freeway with the top down. The Hugh Grant look is back. I could be Hugh Grant, standing in the wind.

I’m talking about my hair, cripes! Tell me to shut up. Know why? It’s the damn mirror in front of the desk.

I haven’t been updating as often. Part of that is because I’ve been sleeping much better lately, so not staying up late with the computer running. A combination of having John around, the air conditioning, and the new bed. All day long I look forward to going to bed. Used to be that my bed made my back hurt. Now, my bed is the only place where my back doesn’t hurt.