It's day two of my shiny new manicure, and the polish is already chipping off at the corners, which wouldn't be as sad if the corners of my nails were covered in the first place. I like to get my nails done in theory; the hand massage, the akward conversation/silences, the weird goo they rub all over you hands that smells good enough to bath in, the end product. Instead, I get some dude who wears what looks like a SARS mask because he's afraid of a little nail dust. He pretends to cut my cuticles, but nothing comes off on the clipper. And then after it all, he tells me to use more lotion on my hands. ha!
My nails looks fanstic (because I keep applying a clear coat).
I love when my grandpa Ralph comes by my desk to visit me at work. I'm almost always the busiest when he stops to say hello and he ends up inadvently weirding out customers and distracting me. For example, if someone asks me where a movie is being shown, he'll very loudly direct them to their destination as if their deaf.
oh no, I have been discovered. My boss sees that I'm blogging.
Gotta bolt!
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