Thing number one: I FINALLY got to meet Sarah Marinara and Carrie Ann in real life. These are two of my blog icons. What did I wear to our lunch? Knickers. That's right, I wore some knickers--well, actually, they are just capris, but they knickerfied when I paired them with some knee-high boots. You see, I have this ultra-modern denim jacket that looks like part of a Star Trek uniform. I love it, actually, but have very little in the way of pants to wear with it. So I chose some cute sort of rose-colored carpis to wear with it, but it is the dead of winter and you've all seen my white legs/ankles. I couldn't go out in public like that. So, I did what all fashion-forward women would do: I consulted Gwyneth Paltrow. She wore capris with tall boots in Star magazine! Brilliant! My mom told me that maybe I should try some black corduroys instead when she saw my knicker get-up. But Mike said it looked good. I decided to take Mike's advice and wear the capris--knickers, I should say. I DID worry about a possible reaction from brother-in-law Christian. I was sure he'd say something, so I planned my comeback:
"what are you wearing?" he'd say in my imagination.
"well, my KNICKERS, of course" was my planned retort, at which time I would point my toes and kick like a leprechaun. Luckily, we were all spared this little dance, as no one said a word about my knickers. I had a lovely time meeting my blog icons, but now I know that they are picturing me wearing rose colored knickers while writing this blog (it's either that or my ghost-legs image. I don't know which is worse). Sarah and Carrie Ann: I DO OWN NORMAL PANTS!
Thing number two: I FINALLY got my son to allow me to cut his hair. This is after a year of screaming, squirming, squealing, etc. It was as if we were torturing him every time we tried to cut his hair. So you can imagine how proud I felt of myself when I was able to snip a little bit off his rat tail (we never meant for him to have one, but obviously, by the time we got most of his head shaved, he was so distraught that we couldn't bring ourselves to cut that last little bit off the back). What's the catch, you ask? How did I do it? Well, the deal is that for every snip of his hair I take, he gets to take a snip off of mine.
Now, I am not one of those people who cries because someone cut an inch off her hair. I have never been especially attached to my hair in any form: long, short, permed, etc. But right now I have long hair, and darn it, I have never had long hair for much longer than a year. I usually get bored and cut it before it gets to be very long. The problem is that 9/10 of my short haircuts have been hideous, though. Seriously. I go into the salon with an image of a movie star in a specific movie--Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail, or Gwyneth Paltrow in Sliding Doors (the latter cut giving me the most trouble with hair dressers. "She just looks like she has her hair pulled back," said the lady with the mullet in a salon called "The Hair Affair" in Rexburg, Idaho. You can imagine what my hair looked like after that interpretation). And my haircut never looks like it should, and hence, I am never magically transformed into Meg Ryan or Gwyneth Paltrow. It's a cruel world we live in.
So, I have been keeping my hair long after a particularly bad version of "Sliding Doors," but now I am sure I will have to get a short haircut, because in order for Holden to go from this
I will probably have to look like this
So, you can see why I have been in a state of self-loathing lately: I am not only a knicker-wearer, but I am also on the road to uneven, short ugly hair.