
Hee hee.


Hee hee.
I was glad to find out that Death Cab For Cutie isn’t a studio band, after watching their video for The New Year. They’re well timed, well rehearsed, and most importantly, the vocals were spot on. However, I was sorely disappointed to find out that Ben Gibbard’s voice and lyrics don’t match the way he presents himself. Why does this matter? I have no fucking clue. I guess I always pictured Ben as some skinny, young, emo god, so suddenly seeing him as an older man of modest looks was quite a surprise. He doesn’t even come close to matching the sex appeal of Tom Yorke, whom I imagined him to rival.
I’ve been wanting to dye my hair for more than a year now, but never dared to since there may have been potential job interviews. I got the ok from my boss today, got a second opinion from Trolley, and have decided to get my hair dyed. If everything works out, it’ll be a solid colour, either silver grey or fire red by tomorrow.
I caught Dolly daintily dabbing her paw in her water bowl and licking her paw today. I think she just likes drinking without sticking her head in something.
On Saturday we ended up at the Highlander Pub, apparently the only place in the city to get good haggis, as a belated birthday celebration for Aaron. We convinced the manager, a black man in a kilt with a brow bar, to give us three tables. We took part in the homeland toast, in which the waitresses hand out free shots of scotch every day at nine and everyone drinks to the ring of a bell.
Trolley, Nick, and Aaron participated in some speed drinking competitions. None of us are heavy drinkers; rather, we’re on the heavy side of casual drinkers, so being able to down a mug as quickly as this was worthy of a OMGDIDYOUSEETHATWHERESMYPROPS?!?