Monday, June 11, 2007

I am a complete idiot

I got my hair cut. I am a complete idiot. I have never, ever liked a hair cut that I have had. Not once. And they all end up looking the same (because I pull it back off of my face with a rubber band or barrette) eventually. This is serious Over-30-Mom-Hair, and it is hideous and I hate it.

Why do hair dressers lie? "Oh, you'll just be able to towel it dry after a shower, put in a little of this (more expensive than the haircut) product, and go!" Or, "Oh, this will look really cute on you!" or "Oh, layers! Bangs! Fabulous!!!" And why does my IQ drop by 50 points whenever I get near one of those upsy-downsy chairs? "Bangs? SURE! Bring 'em on! It's just hair, it'll grow back." What was I thinking?

I think that hairdressers go into the business because they want the opportunity to make other women look worse, therefore elevating their own cuteness. Blowing out my candle to make theirs burn brighter, as it were. And it works, because I look hideous. What I really need is a good gay hairdresser - a real queen. That takes the competition out of it. Gay men want everyone to look fabulous. They'd paint the world and add accessories to everything if they could, because they want to be surrounded by beauty. My friend Niko, in college, was the only person in the dorms whose room had been finished by an interior decorator. If that isn't wanting to be surrounded by beauty, then I don't know what is. If anyone knows a good gay hairdresser in my area or how to make hair grow fast, let me know.

Moving right along... Last night C was fussy after we got MG to bed, so I took her outside to walk her (sometimes that works). I heard a kid crying on the other side of the very big tree, and when I came around the corner I saw that a little boy from down the street had fallen on his bike, right in the middle of the street.

So, being the big idiot that I am, I went to help him (with C in my arms, remember). I lifted him up off of the bike (he was tangled up and stuck) and then attempted to walk the bike back to his house for him. Yeah. Attempted. My stupid shoe got caught under the wheel of the bike, and I went down. Hard. On my knee.

Miraculously, I managed to hold onto C and keep her from hitting the ground. She was on my left arm, and I went down on my right knee. I basically tucked and rolled. Total instinct. I fell out of a chair at Mimi's once when MG was little, and did the same thing. That "act first, think later," feeling is very surreal. You end up on the ground thinking, "Wow, did I really do that? Cool!" and feeling like a ninja. A ninja with a really sore knee. In describing it to BJ later, I compared it to the scene in Star Wars where Luke is fighting the flying laser thingie with a helmet over his eyes, and BJ was all smug that I referenced Star Wars. He's turning me into a nerd.

So, my knee looks like ground meat, I have Really Bad Hair, and I'm a Star Wars nerd. I will spare you the pictures. MG was cute, "Mommy's got an owie on her knee." Longest sentence, I think, that she's ever uttered.

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