The silver lining

I'm just back from getting my hair cut...which is exciting only because I went in with the intent of chopping it all off. I go through this every year, which makes me think it's some sort of seasonal disorder, but it's still on my head, people, in all of its long glory, so no need to panic.

I love my stylist. She is a super sarcastic, funny, spitfire of a woman. She was telling me about her recent vacation to Alaska with her mother and all of her siblings...it was the kind of vacation in which many of her descriptions started with "We were SO HUNG OVER but we went bear watching and managed not to get eaten or maimed. But I threw up in the bear viewing hut on the tour guides galosh." Sweet.

Her mother came in near the end with photos of the vacation, and my stylist handed them to me as she looked through them...which is awkward, isn't it? When you don't know anyone in the photos but are expected to "ooo" and "aaah" over them and ask leading questions that you don't care to know the answer to?

But then she passed me a photo and goes "These are my three brothers." And there he was...the boy who asked me to senior prom who I said yes to but then had to cancel on because my parents decided that prom was the devils party and a boy might GRAZE MY BOOB with his hand ON PURPOSE. Or KISS ME. Ergo, I had to go through the humiliation of saying, a week before the prom "You know, I can't go. My parents are trying to turn me into a social pariah and are succeeding. Can I borrow your math notes?"

It was ugly. He ended up going with some other girl, and I stayed home, crying, for about a month, plotting my parents ugly and painful demise. My mom, meanwhile, told me that I should pray for contentment and perhaps listen to some soothing hymns. I got over it (and started listening to punk music, go figure), but seeing that photo brought back such a rush of memory; I felt my face turn bright red.

My stylist looked at me and said "Are you OK? I know it's hot out, but you're totally flushed!" I just laughed it off and handed her back the photo, deciding not to reveal that I had caused her brother some serious irritation 15 years ago. Especially since I'd like my haircuts NOT to resemble something that was backed over by a lawn mower. Let's keep that hair even, shall we?

It's just as well. The dress I had planned on wearing that night was pretty hideous, so besides avoiding having my boobs groped, I'm spared the historical documentation of my poor fashion tastes. See? There's an upside to everything.

Dream academy

Should I be concerned? I had a dream last night that I was waxing Dave Grohl's chest. This didn't come to me until later today when I was listening to Skin & Bones at top volume and had this sudden flash from my subconscious. While he's long been on my own personal "list" - if you catch my drift - I'm amazed as to why my brain, while on hiatus from actually having to think, came up with such a scenario. I mean, Dave singing to me while I'm being fed grapes by Brad Pitt and having my feet massaged by Eddie Vedder makes more sense, you know? THAT I could get on board with...

This? Not so much.

Here's to getting nothing done...bliss.

I had a long list of what I had hoped to get done while away this weekend, but not much of it came to fruition. Let's see...things I DID accomplish:

1) Watched the entire first season of Mad Men (this takes dedication, people. ONE WHOLE SEASON. IN FOUR DAYS. My eyes are bleeding).
2) Got a massage.
3) Bought new underwear.
4) Drank wine...and tequila!
5) Only put on pants once!
6) Stayed in pajamas well past breakfast.

Things I did NOT accomplish:
1) Assigned writing.
2) Bear sighting.

So...6-to-2...I'm pretty happy with that ratio! Kylie didn't get anything done (i.e. catching her chipmunk) so I'm trying not to rub it in her face that I was more on the ball than she was. Besides, she's pretty pissed that we're home now and she has to make do with the backyard rather than the magnificent field that she had to cavort in all weekend...see:

We have failed her as parents by forcing her to live in suburbia when clearly she is meant to wander and roam. Marc pointed out, though, that by living with us she gets steak in her dog food at regular intervals, plus three dog beds in a two bedroom house and what amounts to a pretty nice pension for not having worked a day in her life. So she can just stop with the whining already.