looked at each other and thought, Ah, fuck it, and shelved all plans. We went and got our hair cut.
Well, I was supposed to get my hair cut but our stylist, Douglas at Cowboys and Angels, was also having one of those Ah, fuck it days. He decided he wanted to mess with K's colour and then do colour on my hair--all for free. Just because.
We've known Douglas for thirteen years, so we shrugged, said, Fuck it (are you sensing a theme?) and put ourselves in his hands. He had fun. We had fun: we got to sit next to each other at the shampoo station, then the colouring station, then under those alien-pod dryers with little bags on our heads, and hold hands and read novels.
I'm pretty much a wash-my-hair-with-cheap-shampoo-rub-it-with-a-towel-and-call-it-good kind of person. This is the first time I've had colour in my hair for, oh, six years. (Kelley, of course, is an old hand.) Anyway, after all the primping and fussing I felt a bit glassy eyed. We walked to the car--which was parked right outside one of our favourite pubs, the 74th Street Alehouse. We looked at one another. Fuck it. In we went. Beer was consumed. On the way home we picked up a bunch o' Netflix DVDs from the mailbox, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and started hauling out vegetables. We found a chicken breast in the freezer. We put some rice on to cook (we only eat whole grain rice) and Kitchen Team NicKel swung into action. Half an hour later, we'd assembled the most magnificent stir fry, delicately flavoured with lime, white wine, and a dash of tamari. Here's a pic of me chopping veggies by the stove:
Yes, the top of my head is missing. Don't worry about it--working with my eyes half closed meant the tip of my finger could have gone missing, but it didn't. Things tend to work out okay. Here's a pic of K slicing up the chicken for the marinade:
Sorry it's so blurry but, well, once we got home we drank more beer.
Sadly, I don't have a photo of the stir fry, but it was damn tasty (and healthy, and--whoo hoo!--cheap). Then we tried to watch War, Inc, with John Cusack. What a load of crap. About six minutes we looked at each other, thought (go on, take a guess), Fuck that and summarily ejected the film from the cupholder. Then watched, ah, well, y'know I can't quite remember what we watched. Something with Keanu Reeves that wasn't very good but didn't require either effort or attitude, so, eh, it was good enough.
Today I'll be a Good Grownup and do my exercises, work on a short story, discuss the household budget with K and just generally do adult stuff. But having a whole day of Ah, fuck it every now and again is good for the soul. I can recommend it.