The Crop On Top
Thick and turbulent on top, the crazy new hair has an odd wooly feel to it.
Rebellious and unruly in the back, no two hairs are the same length, the same color, or growing in the same direction. I can't do a damn thing with it.
Reluctant and still nearly invisible in the front: while the back and top are running amok foaming at the mouth, the tiny thin translucent fringe framing my face hasn't added a single molecule to its length in over a month. So every frickin time I look in the mirror, all I see is an old man. I despair!
But who cares about the mirror when colorful climbing roses are still exploding along the driveway? Here's the ever exuberant 'Fourth of July' doing its thang.
Rose without a name: I think this eye-catching beauty is one of the 2008 AARS winners, a grandiflora I'm growing as a "test" rose. So far it's pretty damn perfect. But is it magnificent enough sell an entire house? Stay tuned for the ultimate rose test!
I nabbed these irresistible lads at a junque shop in the French Quarter yesterday, where I mingled freely with festive crowds, enjoyed orgasmic grilled fresh asparagus in a restaurant, relieved myself in unsanitary public restroom facilities, made out with a ridiculous Great Dane puppy the size of a Buick, and lounged in the sunny but probably pee-soaked grass in Jackson Square, listening to live bands while inebriated toddlers staggered gleefully around my head. It sure is wonderful to have an immune system that's up and running, something I'll never ever take for granted again.