A lost entry from about 3 years ago…

I am at the restaurant- yeah, THE restaurant- we have a bar, a diner/thriftshop, and a restaurant. Wearing a suit in this town makes me feel a bit uncomfortable- like I am inappropriately dressed.  I feel like the townies will think I think I am a fancy citified moron. I just finished the last of three assignments, a closing argument, that have totally kicked my ass… but only because I chose to leave all the work to the last minute. Procrastination is like masturbation, you don’t stop until you notice you’re fucking yourself.  Thanksgiving is two weeks from tomorrow. Thank you God.  My law school career is nearing the end.  Only one more month of classes this semester, and then I can stop slacking off and relax.

I like sitting in the bar, by the window.  My Guinness is cold, but not too cold—like the air outside.  I watch classmates and townies as they hurry past – arms crossed and faces cinched up against the wind.  The entire album, Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here is playing in the background.  I like listening to the townie conversations at 2:00pm on a Wednesday aftertnoon. Humpin’ hard on hump day, they say… as am I, as am I. I am rolling down the back side of that hump, picking up speed – I have no classes on Thursday.  I take a long pull off my drink.  Ahhh, the weekend.

Tracey, one of the african-american students, just walked by the window.  The townies say look at that she’s got long hair now. No it’s dreadlocks they say. No, those are corn rows.  Cindy, the bartender/rumored town prostitute who bears a close resemblance to that alien from Spaceballs who bursts out of that guy’s torso and dances across the counter in the diner scene (or sub the alien from Alien), who drives the wrangler with the flames painted on the side, informs them that they are hair extensions.  She didn’t want to have short hair anymore she tells them. Oh they say. You know, because she has an afro and her hair doesn’t grow.  It’s an interesting mix here in Ruralton.

The drunkest townie here, well, the loudest anyways, is talking about what a great show Taxi was.  He’s right, it was. I remember watching it with my Dad as a child.  He says his first crush was on Marylou Henner.  He is sitting next to the woman who used to waitress at the station, the local greasy spoon and my favorite hangout.  She has a fantastically long mullet.  We always thought it was funny that the vanity plate on her massive Ford pick-up truck read “beauty.” Indeed. She could be a Vermont 7.  I know for a fact that I’m a Vermont 10. I wonder if she gets her mullet coifed by one of the three hair “salons” in town. That is, at one of the three salons within a square tenth of a mile- my personal favorite being Planet Hair.  Three hair places in town and not a quality hair-do in sight, but plenty of hair-don’ts.  I give a great haircut, I should start advertising. Although, I probably wouldn’t get any business outside the school, considering I don’t do perms circa 1980, and I don’t cut hair with my eyes closed.

Today she has that work of art partially covered up with a stars and stripes bandana—or wait, is that stars and bars—a la the confederate flag?  No, no just the regular flag—it’s the middle of the day afterall and the bar is smack dab in the middle of one of the most liberal law schools in the country so…  She probably saves that bandana for special occasions and trips to bike week in Laconia, NH.  In any case, shuttering the business-end of that mullet tells me one thing— she is all party on this day.  I myself am going to go all party, as soon as I get home and get out of my suit.  No, I am not going to fashion my hair into a mullet.  More like I’m going all sweatpants and getting drunk alone while I engage in some other sedentary activities before taking a much needed nap.

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