Archive for June, 2006

Bad Hair Day

I need to get my hair cut.  I am sorry but I am just sick to death of my hair the way it is cut now, which is to say, long and straight.  Sick, sick, sick.  The problem is that my hair has no volume.  It is a beautiful color (thank you genes) but it lies flat flat FLAT against my head.  The only conceivable hope for my hair holding any volume is to shorten it.  That, or get up early enough to blow it dry with products and a styling brush.  And that, dear readers, ain’t never gonna happen.  No how, no way.

All I ever do with this damn flat hair is pull it back in a ponytail or put it up in a French twist. And that is kind of flattering, you know, once in awhile, or maybe twice a week or something.  But every damn day?  Because—and now we come to the material point—I have a preternaturally small head.  My head is tiny.  It is out of proportion to the rest of my body and I hate that.  I am so self-conscious.  And pulling my hair back into a ponytail or French twist just accentuates the tiny-ness of my damn head.

I am not making this up—my head is tiny.  It is!

The last professional to cut my hair was a sexy bald and very short Irishman who is a friend of Bartender Dude’s.  He convinced me to keep it long because, he said, it would be “edgy” and “sexy.”  Which it would be if I had the kind of personality to fuss with it every morning.  WHICH I DON’T.  Now it just looks like I won the Miss Frumpworld competition because it just yank it into a jagged ponytail and rush out the door.  Why can’t I look like this pretty lady?

I’m cross and out of sorts and my hair is getting the chop! 


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I came home today from dropping Bartender Dude off at work with every intention of writing a blog post and doing the ironing and starting on The Big Closet Cleanout of 2006, but I got distracted by a box of clementines. I mean, there they were, sitting there in a huge box looking all orange and delicious and I thought…”We are never going to get through all those before they go bad and shrivel up. Because we are lazy and peeling a clementine to get at the juicy heaven inside is just too much work, plus it makes your hands sticky and I DO NOT LIKE THAT.”

But they kept taunting me and whispering to me that There are starving children in Africa who would love to eat our sweet nutritious flesh and you are just letting us languish here in this box until we mold. Well, I just couldn’t countenance being such a rich asshole American who isn’t grateful for the clementines I can buy, so I racked my brains for a way to extract their yummy goodness and possibly combine it with alcohol. Because, you know. I sure as hell don’t let THAT go to waste.

Voila! I give you Clementine Juice Ice Cubes.


Drop two or three cubes into a small glass. Add gin. No keep going. KEEP GOING. Now add soda water. Stir and let sit.

Drink with your lover.

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I am sorry to report that I have spent the past two plus hours burrowed into a corner of the couch watching (oh the shame) The Notebook and blubbing like a melodramatic teenager whilst eating Milk Duds and drinking Glenfiddich 18 year.

Bartender Dude is away with his boyz in New York in some cabin so naturally I have reverted to a state of pre-pubescent sniveling with adult extras thrown in.

I am now making up for it by laughing my way through Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, drinking and blogging and smoking and having a whale of a time.

My erstwhile plans for this evening are staring at me from the plastic clothes hamper on the floor of the sitting room, and I am enjoying just being alone. Alone, lazy, and completely indulgent.

Though I’ll have you know that before I embarked on my evening of shame, I vaccuumed the entire house and made the bed and FINALLY unpacked.

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