Hotel Massacre

On my legs, that is. I forgot my razor so I foolishly asked the front desk for one. Why god, why. Because the blade didn't move with my skin, I butchered my legs in so many places; there was tons of blood despite me sticking tissues to them. I mean, tons of blood. I called the front desk: "Can you send up some band-aids? I've cut myself shaving." Ms. Sass on the line: "I'll send up security." Me: "Um, no, I'm in a towel and don't want a strange man at my door. Please just send up band-aids." Ms. Sass: "I'll send up security."

Security comes up. The guy gives me the band-aids then asks me if everything's ok. I couldn't figure out if he thought I was trying to kill myself or what. The shitty razor would just hurt too much, even if I was considering that.

I patch band-aids over the three areas that were the worst, then high-tailed it to CVS this a.m. for some normal bandaids that weren't so painfully (a punster, I am) obvious. I'm wearing a dress today with a suit jacket, a fashion risk for me, as I'm horrible at pulling together outfits with suit separates. These are both J.Crew, so I think I'll be ok.

Letsseeeeeee other updates:

  • Organic hair products = not so much. My hair's been weird lately, and I went to get it cut, and my stylist said it's hella dry and I should run, do not walk, away from those products. I bought some $28 conditioner (gah!) and another leave-in conditioner, and she gave me a product (cause I've sent her 6 clients!). The product rocks -- *highly recommended*. I use it after drying and it makes my curls all roundy and soft and not Bon-Jovi-perm like.
  • We're moving in 48 hours and I'm in DC for nonstop meetings, only to arrive 12 hours before wheels-up and we're outta the city. What's wrong with this picture? Lots. Mrs. B is freaking out and I guess so am I. The anxiety had me awake for the second night in a row. Tonight I have a date with muscle relaxers. Fun!

That's about it. If you don't hear from me for a few days, you'll know I'm shoveling out from the move.

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