deleteria

I promised myself I'd go to bed early so I could go to work early and Get Things Done.
I spent $$ I should be saving for rent (so I can move out of my parents' apartment) on a cab, so that I could get home at A Reasonable Hour.
I am still awake, putzing around online.
Sigh. But David and I spent a good two hours (with the company of his israeli cousin and courtney donner) deconstructing early ninties television. He quoted equus, I giggled into my third glass of wine on an empty stomach. We're pure class, and I'm so glad to have this brand new partner in crime whilst my former p-i-c's have deserted me for larger scale adventures (see: Las vegas, new orleans; card playing, cocks.)
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I was the recipient of a backhanded catcall in the half a block I walked home tonight. Someone started shouting "Excuse me, excuse me." Which is of course the cue to avert your eyes, pick up your pace, and get where ever you're going without recognizing the Caller. But this guy went a step further-- into balls out honest territory.

"Excuse me! Excuse me! I'm desperate. Honey, I'm desperate."

Well, glad to know that if I was the last woman on earth, it'd still be okay. (I looked cute today too! Like a sailor!) He kept shouting until I was out of earshot.

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Today I'm trying to figure out two things.

1. Do I like cats? Many of the flatmates Claire and I are considering want to bring cats. This would not bother me. But I am considering getting one myself, and I wonder if I have the emotional reserves to love a creature that could do just as well without me.

2. Do I want my hair cut like Edie Sedgewick, or Andy Warhol?
(to be honest, I'm leaning towards Andy.)
OR