Today I'm grateful for music. And hair.

Happy Turkey day. Remember peoples, attitude of gratitude. 

I should probably rename my blog 'Things I've found on the internet today'. I'm sorry for this shift in blog subject matter but at the moment my life consists of myself and the internet.

There's plenty of other things I should probably be doing, like packing or reading or preparing my Relief Society lesson. Unfortunately the lure of novelty websites are too much to resist.

Today I'm sharing a website that accompanies me through my web surfing. 8tracks.com is basically the same as Pandora Radio, but works outside the US. I was pretty disappointed when I realised that Spotify didn't work over in this part of the world. But never fear, 8tracks has been providing me with multitudes mixes over the last couple of weeks. The mystery of what songs are on these mixes is all part of the fun of it.

This is the mix I've been listening to while writing this. Enjoy the jams while you skim read my blog post for any interesting details, of which there are none. You might want to stop reading now.

 

So you're probably wondering why, when I have less than two weeks left in NZ, am I spending so much time at home on the internet. The answer is simple. Procrastination and work. These last couple of weeks I feel like I've been working non-stop, it's been busy. But I enjoy my job and it doesn't really feel like work thankfully. When I get a decent chunk of time off I do manage to take myself away for some me time. 

For example, last Saturday between Phoebe's birthday party and babysitting duties I slinked off for a hair cut. Whenever I get a haircut, I usually leave the salon feeling like I've just paid a buttload of money for the hairdresser to go scissor happy on my hair creating a cut that I don't even like. 

"I don't know, it just feels a bit flat. It's too straight" is what I said when the hairdresser finished. She asked me if I wanted her to put a bit of movement in it. Yes I would like a bit of movement I answered and went back to my mag. When she finished I looked up and entered a state of shock. I looked like I'd been sat in rollers all day. My mother would have loved it. But it really wasn't me. It was probably me thirty years from now.

My answer this time was "I never like my hair when I get it cut." I then proceeded to dig myself a deep, deep grave trying to convince the hairdresser I wasn't being offensive. 

I'd planned on going to check out a festival going on at a local park after the hair cut. Instead I walked for 5 minutes, looking at my reflection in every shop window, before I decided my only real option with this hair was to head home and hideout for the rest of the day.

When I finally got round to washing it myself I realised what was wrong with the haircut. It's exactly the same as it was before I got it cut.

This time I'd paid a buttload of money for the hairdresser to waft a pair of scissors around my head and then style my hair in a style that  was last popular in the 70s.

So that's the story of how I got my hair cut without it actually looking like I got it cut. Oh well, at least I have hair. I am thankful for hair.

I think I'm the only person on this planet who could write 6 paragraphs about a haircut. And that's the short story. Why are you even still reading? I'm boring myself. Ciao.