Nightmares
I made an appointment to get my hair cut and colored this coming weekend, and dudes, I could not be more excited. Since having Sam, my appearance in general has gone … how do I say this? DOWNHILL. VERY STEEPLY. And you know, for the most part, I haven’t really cared because I haven’t had the energy or time to care. And that is really very sad, but I’m inclined to cut myself some slack in that my daughter just started sleeping in actual multiple-hour stretches in the last three weeks, you know?
I used to have great hair. Seriously great hair. The kind that people stopped me on the street to talk about! And since I got pregnant … not so much. In fact, I would go so far as to say I have BAD hair. BAD. BAD HAIR.
The time of Bad Hair has to end, and I’m going an hour to the big city (ha, um, that would be Burlington, pop. 38,000) to have my hair colored by someone who went to a beauty school outside of their grandmother’s garage. And though my hair may be bad, it rewarded me this fine morning with a fine imitation of Mike Score from Flock of Seagulls:
This is all sounding very vain, and normally, I’m not a fan, but you know, the hair is becoming a little symbolic for me in terms of how I’ve sort of … let myself go. I’ve gotten snippets of myself back here and there — I’m reading again, and started taking baths, and my evenings are free — but it’s been a long time since I gave the slightest shit of what I looked like, and I can’t help but think, MAN. It’s time. And at the very least, we’ll start with hair. Then maybe we’ll talk about finally following goddamn Weight Watchers, rather than EXCUSE AFTER EXCUSE OMG.
Onward!
– It’s fall here in Vermont, and you guys, it’s freakin’ IDYLLIC. Beautiful weather, stunning leaves, apples everywhere. And while I love it, and I’m trying to soak it all in, all I keep thinking is, WINTER IS COMING. FUUUUUUUCK. SAVE YOURSELVES. And then I start thinking about having a baby during the Era of Swine Flu and I need a paper bag. Seriously.
– Not to bring it back to boobs, but you know whose I covet? Christina Hendricks. You know, Joan, from Mad Men. The woman is a BRICK SHIT HOUSE and her boobs … ah. If only.
– My Vera Wang jeans are starting to … TURN on me, and it’s all making me wonder if the reason Mom Jeans are named such is because once you become a mom, everything shifts in sad, unmanageable fashion and suddenly, you’re left with Mom Butt and you HAVE to buy Mom Jeans, because nothing else FITS. And Jesus, if THAT isn’t a case to get my ass (ha ha!) back in gear, I don’t know what is. Please, someone shoot me before I start wearing jeans with NO POCKETS.
That’s all she wrote, my friends. I’m pooped, and I am off to take a bath with Sookie Stackhouse and a glass of wine.
Happy Tuesday!
*Flock of Seagulls
24 comments September 21st, 2009