Some Thoughts

A post dedicated to some of my latest thoughts...

I had my hair colored yesterday (getting further and further away from green, woohoo). I've made a big decision in my life--I'm growing my hair out again. I told the stylist this and asked that she just give it a trim. After looking at it she told me she didn't need to cut it at all. Ok folks, my hair always needs a trim. Thanks to the massive amounts of bleach and hair dye along with my best friend, Mr. Straightener, my hair is a disaster. However! Apparently my new Kiehl's shampoo for extra, extra, extra dry hair has worked its miracles (they should pay me for all of the positive advertising they're getting). So rather than cut it, she just colored and styled. The weather did a number on it and by the time I got home I realized I'm cursed with the dreaded mom hair. It's in that in-between stage so it's too long to be a style but too short to be long. And the weather had caused it to (flinch) flip out so it was definitely a circa Donna Reed 'do. Blech.

To add to my "mom hair" woes, I have a HUGE confession to make. Remember my halloween costume this year? I was Nastia Liukin with her crazy hair bendies/scrunchies. A few weeks ago I was trying to pull my hair back and grabbed the first thing I saw--a neon blue scrunchie. As soon as I put it on the heavens opened up and poured out love and Michael Jackson music. I am (once again) addicted to the scrunchie. Gah, I feel like I need to go to Scrunchies Anonymous, this is BAD. I absolutely refuse to wear them out of the house but inside it's all about that glorious cloth covered elastic band. Michael is SO proud.

My last confession... (Jeez, when did my "thoughts" turn into an outpour of self-loathing?!) You know when you're posting a blog comment or buying concert tickets and they ask you to type the oddly shaped letters you see in the box? I can't do it! The G's always look like funny Q's and is it a B or an 8? I am not kidding--I stress out every time I'm asked to do it. It usually takes me (sigh) 3 times before I get it right. I feel like I'm 10 again trying to see the 3D picture in that stupid mound of scribbles (talk about a fad--has anyone seen those in the last 15 years?!).

I'd actually planned on this being an inspirational post but I'll save that for another day. There is nothing inspirational about mom hair, scrunchies, or coded letters.

Jules mentioned a back brace story that was pretty funny and will guarantee I never receive a call from any of you asking me to watch your kid, pet, or possibly even your plant. I babysat the kid from hell the summer between my ninth and tenth grade year. His mom was a night nurse so I would go to their house from 8a until 2p each day while she slept in her room. The kid had major discipline problems and it didn't help that the only other kids I babysat were fantastic. To put it mildly, he and I did not like each other. One day we were in this heated argument in the kitchen and he said something like, "I'm so mad, I could punch you in the stomach." I bent down, looked him in the eyes and said, "I think I can handle it. DO it." He gave me an inquisitive look as I slowly stood up and held out my arms. Free shot. He reached his arm back as far as he could and slammed his fist into my stomach. Unfortunately for him, between my stomach and his fist was an inch of hard, unbreakable plastic. I have never seen such shock (or maybe it was pain?) on a 7-year-old's face. It was awesome. It ended up being a lesson learned for both of us. He was a perfect angel the rest of the week and I finally realized there WERE redeeming qualities of the stupid back brace.

And so ends another tale in the life of me.