(*Update not actually thrilling. Contents may have shifted during shipping. The amount of shit you give on this boring topic may vary.)

I decided to get the de-volumizing trim instead of hacking it back to my former uber-short bob, mostly because I weep at the idea of not being able to pull it back into pigtails on my extra-greasy no-time-for-personal-hygiene days. We’ll see how the prep time goes now that it’s thinned out and not like a giant YETI PELT on top of my head.


How’s that for a flattering, informative self portrait? Also, black bra under semi see-through shirt, CLASSY. Anyway, it’s a little shorter, a lot less heavy, and about five shades lighter. Relief!

While I was at the salon I ended up flipping through about twenty fashion magazines while various things were happening to my hair, and I couldn’t help noticing that while I had arrived feeling fairly okay about my appearance and not particularly caring a whole lot about the texture of my skin or the length of my eyelashes, by the time I’d finished my stack of Marie Claire, Glamour, Allure, etc, I felt in dire need of a total body makeover, including nail bed implants and nostril pumicing. My face had suddenly become saggy, lined, dry, oily, and disproportional; my clothes were ill-fitting, unfashionable, and I couldn’t decide if I should have been concentrating on dressing a Pear or a Busty shape; and my shoes, having cost less than $100, were completely unacceptable.

I know it’s not exactly breaking news that beauty magazines aren’t really designed to make you feel good about yourself, but I’ve never been so cognizant of their effect before. Each page made me more and more desirous of various skin unguents and hair treatments and cosmetic products, while I became more and more mired in a lather of self-criticism: why didn’t I have invisible pores, why don’t I own any purses not formed from pleather, why am I not doing Pilates, WHY?

I ended up detoxing with a Star magazine by staring at a picture of Madonna’s creepy new face and reminding myself that too much self-improvement can be a bad, bad thing.

In other news, it’s supposed to rain all damn week long, so I’m extra glad we got out and spent some time in the sun yesterday. Even if it was at a playground with weird plaster whales stuck in the ground.




Do any of you happen to remember that old Ren & Stimpy episode where they run out of money and they’re starving so they masquerade as babies? (“Cute nothin’! They’re deadbeats! Babies have the world’s easiest lives. People feed them, they clothe them, they carry them everywhere they go and they expect nothing in return! In fact, I hear they don’t even have to WIPE themselves!”) Every time I see Dylan walking, I think of how he looks exactly like Ren & Stimpy did when they were pretending to be babies and walking in these great staggering, half-falling steps, with their arms outstretched and lines of drool coming from their mouths.


There must be something going on with the early stages of walking where it’s like putting on mascara: impossible to do with your mouth shut. He accompanies his wobbly steps with great happy screeches and a lot of furious panting, and oh, it is just so funny and awesome and joyous. (It provides a very nice break from some of his other favorite activities of late, which involve screaming, fishflopping, and throwing a goddamned CONNIPTION over having his diaper changed.)


We got out Riley’s old pushtoy for Dylan to walk behind, and at first it seemed like maybe the best idea any of us had ever had, because hello, how cute is this?


And also, my god, where has the time gone?


Then I remembered why the pushcar can be such a source of frustration for very little kids: they’re thrilled with it as long as they have forward momentum, but the instant it gets pushed into a corner or the wall or whatever, they have a total meltdown and collapse on the floor making dying-wildebeest noises, at which point, if there is an older brother around, the car promptly gets backed over someone’s finger, and then you have to do some deep breathing exercises because you are about to FEDEX ALL THESE PAIN-IN-THE-ASS CHILDREN TO OCTOMOM.

Anyway! The real reason I’m posting is to ask for hair advice. I’ve been growing mine out for a while and it’s officially gotten to a stage where I can barely stand it: it takes forever to blow-dry, and it’s all frizzy and unruly and needs a ton of styling to look halfway decent. I kind of like the wavy thing I’ve been doing lately with a curling iron, but again, it takes forever.

So I have an appointment for tomorrow, but I’m going back and forth on whether I should cut it back to the short bob that’s easy to dry and straighten, or just get it trimmed, keep growing it out, and hope that having it shaped will help with the amount of time it takes to style it? I keep lusting after longer hair, but I’m also thinking that maybe 1) I don’t have the patience for it, and 2) my curly-underneath, flat-on-the-surface cowlicky fuzzy hair isn’t really meant to BE long.






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