When did my hands become so hairy?

I was sitting on the subway, consumed by my own materialistic and capitalistic thoughts about what to buy today. The train was filled with people and I had my backpack in my lap, my arms comfortably hugging the backpack and my head resting on my hands. That’s when I noticed it… hair. I started to look closely at the back of my hands (how often does one do that?) and noticed hair, thin fuzzy wuzzy hair from my wrist to my knuckles.

I started to think about how much it would hurt to wax it off… can’t be as bad as doing my chest so, off it has to go. I mean, come on… it’s 2007, what does one need hairy hands for? Come on, slow fucking evolution.

This is my final week at Sheraton! I have 3 shifts left and after that it’s good bye to that place. The renovation is almost finished and it’s all shit. I mean, it looks pretty good but apparently the designers haven’t thought at all about functionality. In a reception there is a lot of filing and paperwork to be done and to maximize our discomfort they have taken away all the drawers and all the cabinets and everything. Not that it increases the space at all because they were all mounted into the wall, but now we just have a huge white wall behind us, mocking us, teasing us with it’s total uselessness. Whoever designed the reception must be fucking retarded or something.

So after this week I’ll have some time off, some vacation, if you could call it that. Fall has arrived in Sweden and it’s really cold. So I’m guessing I will be burning a lot of hours on my projector lamp during that time. Honestly, sometimes I don’t understand how my parents, out of all the countries in the world, could choose Sweden. Sure we escaped death, but for what? To freeze our asses off in Sweden? No, I tell you this my friend, I will be travelling a lot this winter and work wonders on my tan. Oh, not a bad idea, I’ll think I’ll go and get a head start at the local tanning booth.