So my weekend didn't have anything to do with either St. Patricks day or green beer. Surprisingly.

We just dicked around Friday. I think there was a video involved, but it must not have been very remarkable, because I can't remember what it was. Burnin' bucks at Blockbuster. Yeah.

Saturday, Shawn and I were gearing up for our much-anticipated, long-planned trip to go vintaging. Well, we didn't plan long enough. Late start, and then SOMEONE forgot her ATM card and we had to go back. Yeah, it was me.

Along for the trip was our friend C, and her model-beautiful baby. God, he is cute, and I'm not even a baby person. I get scared, like I'm going to break someone's very expensive and valuable new toy. Plus, I don't really like to have other people's spit on me.

Unfortunate result was, we got to the vintagey store 15 minutes before closing time. That didn't keep Shawn from snagging a beautiful purse, or me from snapping up a supershort leather skirt I will NOT be playing pool while wearing, and a pretty dress jacket that it's OK if I lose because I'm not hopelessly in love with it, like all the other jackets I've lost. I lose jackets like it's my job. I can't even think about it. It's too upsetting.

So we went to the mall to quell the rest of our shopping urges. I bought several things, most notably THREE pairs of fuck-me shoes. I think my stiletto desires will be fulfilled for a while. God, I hope so.

Shawn and C. also introduced me to the best chicken place ever. I wish it was a chain, but now I'm going to have to make Neal drive an hour and a half to this crappy mall just so we can nosh on a $4 plate of oh-so-heavenly chicken. (I just sat here for the last five minutes trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. I can't believe normal people would spend more on gas than food, just for some great fucking chicken. I came up blank, so be sure and let me know if you can think of anything. Damn, that was some good eatin'.)

I also learned about the hair store.

I never even knew hair stores existed, but I went to one Saturday night.

I knew fake hair is common among the black community, but I just thought hairdressers did it all. I was never aware that there were entire shops committed to selling hunks of hair. C. told me it's much cheaper to buy the hair and have a non-professional attach and style it, and there's usually a couple people who know how to do that in every community.

I wonder if they would attach down-to-my-knees braids to the back of my head. I wonder how many bones my clumsy ass would break tripping over said braids.

Looking at all the different hair in its little plastic packages was really cool. But by far, the best part of the trip to the hair store was hearing C. say:

"I'm just going to run in and pick up some hair for my mom, too. I know what kind she wants."