Insanity is...

...Facebook. I finally joined the cool crowd yesterday. And let me just say, it has been pure mayhem ever since. People I haven't spoken to in 15-some-odd years are suddenly my BFFs again. I'm finding high school pictures of myself replete with scrunchies and a hideously dated Wilson's brown suede jacket in other people's albums. Why didn't anyone ever tell me I was a retard???? And why are my friends posting these travesties online now??

FB is in one word: addicting. Not only do friends come rushing back, so do memories. And along with the Book, comes a whole new set of rules. Who do I friend? Who don't I friend? When someone's IMing me, how do I casually say, "Ok, I'm done talking with you now?" And most importantly, which boys do I grant my FB page access to? One subtle "Babe, what are we doing tonight?" posted on my Wall could totally fuck up my "game."

...the fact that I seriously could be on the Gipsy Kings' tour bus right now. Granted, I'm not sure that I would want to be on it, hanging out with 50-year-old sweaty men, but the fact that I'm sure I could be is kinda cool. Thanks to bossman's fabulous front-row seats, Mr. Andre and I were batting eyelashes at each other all night. I flashed the pearly whites, nice and bright, and he bowed his precious little head and deepened those dimples ever so. All of a sudden, I was entranced by this slightly-overweight Ricky Ricardo lookalike with the most beautiful brown eyes and most fabulous guitar-playing skills ever. (Please disregard hairy apeman knuckles and bright fuscia shirt below - they do nothing to help my sad little story.)

And, what's more, my gut says that homeskillet thought I'd be his little Lucy for the night. Especially when their roadie/bodyguard/buffer in the black suit with the earpiece came right up to us girls and asked us how we were doing. Of course, we didn't chomp at the bit (whaddya take me for?) and instead of knockin' some Spanish boots for the next 10 hours straight, I ended up dancing the night away at Shrine amidst a sea of trashy casino hookers.

Eh. He didn't speak a lick of English anyhow. Wait. That would actually be pretty damn near perfect. Just throw out a few "muy bonitas" and I'd be a happy lady.

. ...that I spent $125 to get my hair done today and my guy didn't deliver. I think that "only two inches were taken off" is a complete and utter lie and I also know that the color totally is not the same perfect shade of auburn he used last time. ARGH. And now he's gonna blow that $20 tip on drinks tonight while I'm in an imperfectly-coiffed tizzy. Double ARGH.

...mud in Connecticut. It's everywhere. Well no, let me rephrase, it's mostly all over my car. I obviously need an off-road vehicle to get out of my driveway. And wearing cute shoes? Yeah, right.

...that I'm wasting time blogging right now because I don't want to hang with The Geek tonight. Would much rather sit here with a bottle of wine and not have to talk to anyone.

Sigh.