February 18
 

 
 
 
 
 

Is it still February?  How in the name of christ on a cross is that possible?  How?  I mean, sure, people keep telling me how I'm getting off easy with this winter.  Like I'm the only person benefitting from a non-snowy season.  Like I'm the only one here who has something against the cold.  People are all "You should be happy! This winter is so lame!! So mild!"  Please.  I'm mighty and powerful, for sure, but I can't control the weather.  If I could, you think THIS is what I'd pick?  Hardly.  Sure, 40 is better than 10, but screw 40.  Who wants 40?  40 is no treat, my friends.  40 is a punishment, too.
 
 

In Other News:
 

Remember Nicole?  Yeah, that's what I thought. Take a look here, and then come back.  You will please notice that I only had ONE chin back then.  Ah, those were the days, my friend, those WERE the days.  In any case, Nicole and I used to hang out quite a bit, but then she decided that she didn't like me anymore or that I wasn't cool enough to hang with, and after she blew me off for dinner about 8 months ago, I stopped emailing her.  Blow ME off, will you? Well, take THAT!

Somehow, we got to talking again, and managed to hook up for dinner at her house (all this shit happened in her life since the last time we met: She got engaged, she bought a house.) and in my email, I'd warned her that I had gotten a really retarded haircut.  Like an unfortunately retarded haircut.  I'll definitely not call it the Worst Haircut in all the Land, because much to my delight Grey Tooth from the lab is sporting that right now.  Heh, heh.  I'll not giggle about it now, though, because it has nothing to do with the story at hand.

So, I show up at her new house and we do the what-have-you-been-up-to thing, and Nicole ("I missed you!   You make me funny!!")  pets my hair.  "It's CUTE!! I like it!!  You're so stupid, it looks really nice!"  Fast forward to like 3 beers/glasses of wine later when she gets all up in my face:

Nicole:  You know! I know why you don't like your hair! I KNOW!
Me:  Why's that?
Nicole: Because it's a HAIRDO!! It requires FUCKING WITH!
Me:  I fuck with it!!
Nicole: NO! No, running your hands through as you blow dry is NOT FUCKING WITH YOUR HAIR!!
Me:  That's not ALL I do!
Nicole:  Upside down drying doesn't count, either!
Me:  Oh...um...
Nicole: You are an ADULT with an ADULT HAIRCUT, and you can't handle it!!
Me:  I can handle it...
Nicole:  You can't! You have a hairSTYLE.  Deal with it!
Me:  I am dealing with it!
Nicole: You AREN'T! Do you have a round brush?
Me:  A what?
Nicole:  You need a round brush! The kind with the metal!
Me:  For what reason?
Nicole:  You blow it out with the ROUND BRUSH, so that it gets some kind of curl action happening!
 

Gentle readers:  You all know that I am hair-impaired.  That I am unable to make my hair obey, and really, I have no orders for it other than "Don't look so stupid all the time".  In that, I suppose, I am a failure.  If I am to begin adding a round brush to the equation, why not little hairclips?  Why not a scrunchy?  Why not stick a horrible ponytail on top of my head? If I'm supposed to accessorize my, um, morning routine with a round brush, what's to stop me from becoming an adult woman wearing cartoon character clothes? From starting a webring about how much I love my dogs and all fluffy creatures?  Or, on the flip side:  why not wear heels to work every day?  Why not get a REAL job?  A career?  I mean, once I start in with the round brush, I might as well wear makeup.  Gah.  It's a frightning thought.

I put off her sage (but definitely stupid) advice.  Each time I found myself in the company of a selection of brushes, I got all nervous.  I'd pick one up and rake the bristles over my hand.  Weighing the merit of one versus another.  In the end, I threw them all aside and ran away, screaming (only in my head, of course).  It took me two full weeks to muster up the courage to pick out and pay for a brush.  Which I did.  Yes.

The next morning, I began styling my hair, all excited that I was taking this giant adult step in grooming.  Brush in one hand, blowdryer in the other, I was a demon working at my head.  "There is no WAY this isn't going to look great!"  I said to myself.  "I am going to have the bounciest, fluffiest hair EVER!"  After about 10 minutes of round brushing, I turned the dryer off and looked at my head.  Sadly, tragically, but totally unsurprisingly, it was exactly the same.  Maybe even a little LESS tame than normal.  So much for the round brush.
 
 

I Can't Believe I Haven't Mentioned This Before:

Do with this information what you will, friends, but a kind man named Michael has started a fan club page for me.  Not feeling as though I'm fan club worthy, I suspect it might be the crack that made him do it, but he was not to be deterred.  If you'd like to see (and join, of course.)  the page, go take a look.  And don't get snotty about it, o jealous ones, the adulation cast upon me is a total puzzlement.  Also, I have no idea what the benefit of being a member might be. Your guess would be as good as mine.
 
 

the other day   -   home   -   email   -   tomorrow