Monday, November 1, 2010

Tree Canopy Village

Courtesy Zevs.Net

 I want to live in a Tree Canopy Village.

Do you remember that movie Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, where all the outlaws live in the forest, and they create a village of treehouses connected by wooden bridges, and they hoist their food and beverages and young up the trees using ropes and pulleys, and they have big bonfires on the ground and eat mutton and drink mead, and they dance around the fires in circles wearing cloaks and whatnot, and occasionally call out, "You! Boy! Fetch me a flagon of ale!"

I want to live there.

All I need are the following:

A forested parcel of land
Lumber and tools and whatnot
Burly, strapping men

Having taken a thorough inventory of my current assets, I discover that I have approximately none of these things. Obtaining them should not be a problem, though. Ideally the forested land would be located in Britain somewhere for the appropriate atmosphere. Lumber and tools can't be too hard to come by, and if the movies have taught me anything, it's that Scotland is literally teeming with burly, strapping men. After that, a little mead and some mutton, and I imagine the villagers will be flocking to my Tree Canopy Village.

If anyone knows where I can acquire the necessary forest, tools, and people (for free), you know where to find me. (Here.)

I Shaved My Head

When I was about 24 I shaved my head. Not with a razor like Mr. Clean but with the clippers, all the way down to the scalp. I was left with about a quarter centimeter of hair.

I was drunk at a friend's house when I did it. A couple of guys sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched. My friend Mandy looked at me in the mirror and said, "Are you sure?" And I said, "Yeah," and she cut my hair off a few inches from my scalp and then she shaved the hell out of it.

At the time I worked in a small office downtown. I rode the express bus every morning with about 24 automatons in floral print skirts who had been working at the same place for probably 15 years. They thought I was weird already because I always got on the bus, went to the very back seat, and fell sound asleep with my head on my backpack. When I got on the bus with a shaved head, they stared at me. Hard. They kept glancing up surreptitiously from their John Grisham novels. I really wanted them to ask me about it. I had so many awesome lies ready to tell. Here are some of my favorites:

"My lover likes the feel of a shorn scalp on her snatch."

"I was just elected President of the North Dallas Aryan Women's Alliance and I'm trying to look the part."

"I have cancer. Now you probably feel bad for giving me dirty looks 'cause I sleep on the bus. It would help if you gave me some money."

But nobody ever asked me anything or even mentioned it. When I got to work, my boss started to laugh, stopped herself, and then pretended like it had never happened and nothing had changed.

People don't know what to do when a chick shaves her head. Everything in them is crying out, "WHYYY?!?!" But they can't ask because they're afraid of the answer.

This Is My New Blog

I have another blog, but it's for super serious stuff and I need some balance or I'm gonna get all boring and dumb.

This is a blog where I write down stuff that is funny, and hilarious/weird/awesome stories that really happened to me that will make you laugh and go, "Nuh-uh!" And then I will go, "Uh-HUH!" And you will go, "Really?" And I will go, "Yeap." And you will go, "Daaaamn" like that.