old school

Today I am blow-drying my hair. It's a big deal, because I don't like doing it, but love the end product enough to suffer through on a bi-monthly basis. After I blow-dry my hair, I'm going to rummage around in my car for some shoes that are suitable for a horse show. Then I'm going to go to said horse show and watch some friends walk, trot, canter, and possibly even circle on command for the chance to win much fame and glory (i.e. ribbons that costs SAHA five dollars, and maybe a complimentary bag of crunchies).

I miss going to horse shows. I miss Fultonvale. It reminds me of our first-ever-shows, of being nervous despite the casual setting, of entering just for fun. It's weird that we're going back there, years later, to learn the same things. It's so oldschool.

After the show, I'm going out to the Ranch for a farewell party for my friend. She is getting married and moving to a farm that's far away (or as far away as Nojack is) and I'm worried that it will be a long time until I see her again. I have to learn where she'll be living so that the Sunbird and I (sans one rogue butterfly) can go visit.

Okay, my hair is air-drying and becoming frizzier each moment that I neglect it, so I must go.