Yesterday I woke up bright and early (6!) (?) and readied myself for a day with the Broad. By 9:30 I was itching to leave the house but knew she wouldn’t be ready, so I made a trip to Pacific Fabrics–with the camera, naturally.

Their selection of gorgeous trims and fabulous fabrics never fails to inspire me.

“Nice camera,” remarked one of the saleswomen, eying me going to town in the Galleria.

I explained to her that I like to take a lot of photos to get inspired by. “And sometimes if I stare at them long enough, I can justify spending 40 dollars on a yard of fabric,” I added, smiling (although I hardly ever do).

“I’ll tell you what I tell people who take pictures with their iphones,” she said. “Take a picture of the fabric, the money shot, but then take a picture of the barcode too. Then you get a dose of reality in with the fantasy!”

“That’s a good idea!” I said. It absolutely is. But who wants reality?

Fantasy! Fantasy! La la la!

Slobber slobber slobber. Good Lord, if I was rich, my sewing room would look exactly like the Galleria.

I love silk.

Peacock velvet! Sob!

Can you say, “Burning Man”? Yesterday I met a 10 time Burner. He had a lot of good stories!

Look, Mumsie! A whole rack of rainbow rickrack! Imagine the possibilities!

I didn’t even browse the home dec fabrics, but suffice it to say: they are all good-looking too. Oh Pacific Fabrics, the things you do to my brain. I spent only 19 dollars on pettipants supplies…miraculous.

I drove over to Corinne’s house (after text messaging her that I was coming over) and banged on the door. Nothing. I called her. No answer. I banged again…nothing. As I was standing on the doorstep about to text message her again, her roommate’s mom showed up, and suggested loudly rapping on the window with a car key.

Success! Corinne answered the door, rumpled from sleep, barely awake. She had gone out the night before with her roommate (who is 24) and a bunch of 20-something co-workers and was the only non-drinker in the group.

Sometimes I worry about her sobriety, but she insisted that it was enlightening watching a 21-year-old vomit out of a moving vehicle (after not eating all day, on her period and after multiple shots) and then vomit on the bar. Vomit on the bar? Even we never went that far (I love rhymes).

She said that people put drinks in her hand all night, but she just politely set them down. I told her that even after four years, people still offer me drinks. It happens–a simple, “I don’t drink.” suffices as an explanation. Nobody needs to know your life story (unless they’re reading your blog).

I had packed my workout clothes to go to the gym but Corinne wanted to get a fatty breakfast at “The Breakfast Club” instead and who am I to argue? Mmmmm, fatty breakfaaaaaaast.

We had plans to get our hair done after breakfast but she did her hair before we left her house, since she just wanted a little bang. A little fringe.

I didn’t do anything with my hair because I figured it would be in a knot at the gym. No fringe! My forehead was naked. If anyone can find me the “Ab Fab” clip of Patsy’s fringe blowing up and her letting out a horrified scream I would be SO grateful! I NEED THAT CLIP.

Corinne burned her paw with her straightening iron and whined about it throughout breakfast.

However, once our food came the whining stopped, replaced by yummy sounds. They offer real corned beef hash, not canned, and even though I’ve never liked any corned beef hash I tried a bite of hers. It was the best I’d ever had, certainly. It was spiced.

I ordered a California omelet with bacon and avocado–how could you go wrong with that combination? I forgot my leftovers at Corinne’s house, unfortunately. Fortunately? Maybe her roommate will eat them.

This diner has a definite appeal. It was my second visit with Corinne, this being the first.

“The Christmas Spider”? No thank you!

We went to one of those Mastercuts-type places for haircuts but it was only a single, overworked gay in the entire shop and he told us to come back in a couple of hours. We went back to Corinne’s and her roommate suggested we try a hairdressing academy up the street. Neither one of us had ever been to a hairdressing academy, and we figured it couldn’t be any worse than Mastercuts.

Hallo, Novocaine.

Naturally I forgot my camera at Corinne’s so there is no record of our trip to the academy, damn! Corinne got a little side fringe, which turned out cute:

I was definitely less impressed with my haircut–once again, just like last year, I think my hair actually looked better before it got cut, which is nuts, but I can fix it. Once I got home and combed it out it looked a little better:

Eh. Once the girl started cutting layers I told her to take it easy…and she did a pretty bad job cutting my bangs, but at least she didn’t cut them too short, which is harder to fix.

Lesson? I probably won’t get my hair cut at a hairdressing academy again. Sure it only cost 13 bucks, and you don’t have to tip. But was it worth it? Noooooo. Corinne wants to get highlights soon and I think I’ll book both of us at my regular salon. Expensive, but you get what you pay for: satisfaction!

Happy Friday, blog-logs! I’m going to the dentist. Sigh.