A Brazilian Blow Out is Not Exotic Diarrhea

I’m lazy. Most times I’m the first one to admit it.
The other day I was too lazy to go through the drive-thru of a drugstore to pick up a prescription. Shit. That’s lazy even for me.
I think I’d make a great research assistant, meaning I’d love to spend 8 hours a day googling stuff. But I might be too lazy to wait for the computer to restart. Come on. I don’t have all minute.
I’ve been hearing the term “blow out” a lot lately. I’m sure it’s been around for a long time but I’m too lazy to look it up. The last couple of weeks I’ve been hearing about “Brazilian blow out.” I don’t work in a salon. I just watch a shitload of TV. A Brazilian blow out sounds like you ate something at that place underneath the over-pass, you know the place: yellow lighting, red checkered linoleum curling in all the corners, spicy pulled pork that might not be pork. You know you’re not young anymore or adventurous when it comes to food but, hey, you’ve been good for so long, eating all your vegetables and making sure the only dangerous thing running through your colon is one of those fiber bars that look like a Snickers. A little spicy pork never hurt anyone.
Until you wake up at 1:03am, rushing for the bathroom and having your own version of a Brazilian blow out with the bathroom fan on high and waving a magazine to cool the sweat running down your face.

P.S. I was too lazy to read the entire Wiki page on a Brazilian blow out. I think it has something to do with hair straightening and the process may or may not involve brain damage from the chemicals used. Pretty sad when you can’t decide what might be worse: your ass falling out from eating at a sketchy restaurant or not being able to remember anything from the 3rd grade.
But your hair looks so sleek and fabulous!

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About jkhughes2

I'm fat and I hate my job. Well kinda. Kinda on both of those. I love to read and work in a library where they don't let me read. But as long as I get to be around books I'm happy. I once wanted to be a writer and then realized that I'm too lazy to write a book but not too lazy to write a blog. And blogging is like keeping a journal except my posts are the equivalent of verbal diarrhea. And oh yeah. I have really low self-esteem. I have a dog named Max but I call him Maxhole. He's the first dog I've ever had. I find his daily life way more interesting than mine or most people I know. That's about it. I hate politics and computer books. I secretly wish I was Doctor Who but can't remember if that's "was" or "were." Now that's it.
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