Yesterday, I didn't shower or remove my pajamas. That might not be so bad, except that I also didn't shower on Sunday. By the time I went to bed last night I had small but distinct dreadlocks. While I'm sure that somewhere out there is a Midwestern-raised white yuppie chick who can pull off dreads, it ain't me.
I'm clean now. I swear.
Last night, after we played a game of Scrabble on the front porch (it's freakishly warm here, which I did not find out until 4, when I stepped outside for the first time) I was standing there reading and finishing my cigarette when my neighbor came out. We were chatting about their upcoming move, and about how he doesn't want to move to a neighborhood that's too white because he's afraid he'll be harassed as a young, unemployed black man with dreads...who stands outside smoking blunts all day (that last bit was more implicit.) We reminisced about the time a few months ago when he was unjustly arrested in a neighborhood-wide sweep (it really was unjust, and I had to tell his mother he'd been arrested when she got home.)
Anyway, he asked me what I was reading and I unthinkingly flipped the book up to show him the cover. We'd been talking for about ten minutes and I'd kind of forgotten about it. It's a collection of funny-ish essays in a striving-to-be-Sedaris style, written by NPR contributor Hollis Gillespie. I bought it because I liked the cover and I'm an NPR geek. What it's called has little to do with what it's really about, though the title is one of the things that made it noticeable at the bookstore. It sounded wholly different when my neighbor read it out loud, on the heels of our open, rather personal conversation. It's called Bleachy Haired Honky Bitch: Tales from a Bad Neighborhood.
Yeah. So many interssting things happen when all of one'e time isn't filled with work.