Day 61 to Day 97
Day Sixty-one: God, I’m getting lazy.
Day Sixty-two: I’m thinking of burning off my freckles this way.
Day Sixty-three: It’s a shag, baby.
Day Sixty-four: THIS is the phase I’m looking forward to, when I can write “Sock It To Me!” on my butt with lipstick and look just like an older, crabbier Judy Carne.
Day Sixty-five: Driving to Pismo.
Day Sixty-six: At the Best Western Shelter Cove in Pismo Beach, every room has an ocean view and bunnies hop around on the lawn at dusk.
Day Sixty-seven: The Monterey Aquarium does not allow flash photography.
Day Sixty-eight: A G-rated tribute to Nan Goldin.
Day Sixty-nine: Could not care less about my hair today. Sweater from Cross Dress For Less.
Day Seventy: I won’t lie to you. It hurts a little.
Day Seventy-one: Here I am with Jackson’s spotted eagle ray. I never knew fish could be so cuddly.
Day Seventy-two: And here I am embracing the darkness, bwahaha.
Day Seventy-three: Doesn’t everyone have a shelf full of knicknacks from their trip to Mexico eight years ago? Ours is in the kitchen.
Day Seventy-four: Hi, sort of phoning this one in, sorry.
Day Seventy-five: My monkey doesn’t believe you, Mr. Bond.
Day Seventy-six: I think I’m almost unbeatable in the morning hair department.
Day Seventy-seven: This photo doesn’t capture the true haystack quality of today’s hair.
Day Seventy-eight: If I thought I was in a bad mood here, I should have seen myself after trying to get to sleep for two hours and finally getting up to read on the couch until one a.m.
Day Seventy-nine: Waiting in the car for Jack to come out of the Barney’s outlet in Camarillo, where I’d just seen Kelsey “not as tall as I thought he’d be” Grammer and his wife and shreiky little girl. Salesgirl: “You’d be amazed how many celebrities we get in this outlet mall. Everybody wants a bargain.”
Day Eighty: “Unit twelve to base, I have found a WMD!! Repeat, I have found a waffle of mass deliciousness! Current location my stomach, over.”
Day Eighty-one: This one won’t make the Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
Day Eighty-two: Here I feign excitement at the suggestion that we watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze one more time.
Day Eighty-three: Jack got a new truck.
Day Eighty-four: Why is my hair coming to a point? Because it spent the ENTIRE DAY HIDING UNDER A HAT.
Day Eighty-five: The camera is not capturing the amazing Suzanne Pleshette vibe my hair is currently giving off.
Day Eighty-six: I’m going to have quite a hangover in the morning.
Day Eighty-seven: Let’s just skip past this one as quickly as possible.
Day Eighty-eight: Is there a product that will make my hair look like I’ve just stepped right out of the shower? Because that might be the only way I’m going to make it through the new year without a bag over my head.
Day Eighty-nine: This is how my hair ought to look after another night of insomnia.
Day Ninety: About two minutes before I took this I accidentally clocked Jackson in the face with my elbow. That little wet spot on my t-shirt is a tear. And that clock radio is the one that sounds like someone’s pissing in a garbage can.
Day Ninety-one: We were watching Raging Bull.
Day Ninety-two: Lens blow-out: it’s what happens when your hair starts to look like Liza Minelli’s.
Day Ninety-three: This is what happens the morning after Roger Daltrey and Mick Jagger have a mod fistfight, then drink a bunch of Southern Comfort and give birth to a middle-aged love child.
Day Ninety-four: Quickly moving into “mad housewife” territory.
Day Ninety-five: I can’t take it anymore.
Day Ninety-six: All gone.
Day Ninety-seven: Having a very important conversation with Batman.
PREVIOUSLY: Day 31 to Day 60