Lunch break.
I have the car today, so I tore down Mira Mesa Boulevard to the bank, Steppenwolf and The Guess Who on the CD player. I took out forty dollars: a ten, two fives, ten ones, and a roll of quarters. I walked to a barber shop (most emphatically not a salon) I hadn't been to before but had recently noticed and got an eight dollar haircut (tip included) from a woman who asked me what I wanted and then silently and efficiently provided it. Back in the car. I swung over to the library and picked up James Ellroy's Crime Wave--perfect summer reading. Overdue charge of fifty cents on two Johnny Cash CDs at the counter. I renewed the CDs and paid with a dollar, pocketing the change to pay Sarah back the two bits I borrowed earlier this week. In the car and to the gas station to fill 'er up, then back to work one hour after I left.
Every element of the above is great. This is better:
Tomorrow Angela and I drive to Las Vegas. On Friday night we get to help celebrate Roninspoon's birthday, then Saturday night the Rogue Samurai Utensil and I will attend Igloowhite's bachelor party.
Yep, you heard me, porcupine. Some lucky lady finally got the man who wrote Happy Birthday from Planet Motherfucker, and I get to usher him out of bachelorhood and into the ranks of the hitched alongside the guy who wrote How Warrant nearly killed me. I would give you details when I get back, really I would, but you know the rule: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Bada-bing!