Blond Be Gone

It is art festival time.  I took this photo a couple years ago at the last one before Covid.  I might walk up to the Boulevard today to take a look, but I still have my doubts.  People are being infected with Covid after getting the vaccine.  Oh, they don't die, so much, though there may have been some in the Seychelles who have, but there they are getting less effective Chinese and Indian doses.  

Or so it is reported in the N.Y. Times.  

And, of course, there is the party tonight.  Oddly, I still have the symptoms of a cold or flu, so that is in doubt as well.  Everything seems to be wrong. 

I got "uglified" yesterday.  I am no longer a blond.  I leave all decisions to my beautician, and it seems that once or twice a year, she makes a mistake.  I can't tell you what color my hair is today.  It is the color of a cheap silver wig, maybe.  The cut is bad, too.  This, of course, just as we are allowed to go out.  Oh, I have looked especially lovely all pandemic long.  My little Russian Jew, however, seemed distracted yesterday, and the big cold sore on her lip suggested she had been stressed.  Now I have always been bigger than my hair, and I will make this shit look good, but I am not happy.  I was ready to find out if blond's really do have more fun.  

Feeling punky, last night I made a frozen pizza and topped it with eggs, avocado, and arugula.  Watched the news.  Big mistake.  I can't stand any of it anymore.  Then I switched over to YouTube and watched this (link).  Maybe a mistake, too.  That is how much of the world's population live.  Every Woke kid should get to spend a month or so there just to help enlighten the citizens of the world.  

But I was saving something for the end of the night.  I had one more episode of "Schitt's Creek" left, and that is what I wanted to watch before I went to bed.  There is something wrong with me, I am sure, as the show is supposed to be a comedy, but I can't tell you how many times I teared up watching it these past many weeks.  It is not the show; it is me.  I am a broken thing.  

But it worked.  That is what I dreamed all night long.  God. . . if I had ended the evening with the Hyena Men of Nigeria, what a horror show my night would have been. 

It is a beautiful day, and I have a full schedule.  I should, perhaps, get started, though I am not really up for it.

If only I were blond.