Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I've been rocking the urban fem-dyke aesthetic for a while now, and it's been working for me

Last week, on a whim, I got my hair cut. It didn't need to be cut, in fact it looked rather nice. But I'd just returned from Paris, and I was feeling like I needed to ease the transition with a little hairdresser hotness booster shot.

I have a very special relationship with my hairdresser. He's tall, black, straight, wears pants that fit ~just so~ and a smile that could convert a convent in seconds.

He allows me to pay him to cut my hair, and to gaze at him for an hour or so. Plus he does a great job--usually.

I wanted something short, flirty, fun. He cut it perfectly, asked me if I liked it, and when I confirmed that I indeed did, he took a phone call on his iPhone and hacked off another inch and a half.

Of course, this is what I get for going to a straight hairdresser! Oh snap. I'm staring at my little brother in the mirror.

Here's your $45. Great, at least I got to look at an attractive man's reflection for an hour--it'll be the last one for a while (well, with the exception of my own...).

One day passes. I see the ex-boyfriend at a bar after five months of nada. I adopt a clever Michelle-Shocked-style hat the next day. On Monday, nobody commented AT ALL at work. And you know how middle-aged women are; the more they are shocked by something the less they say above a certain decibel level. Even the copy machine was hush-hush.

Then my skin decided to give a breakout performance of "Revolt Against the Face." Zit mania. And my stomach has been compensating for all of the lost time pre-France. I've been wolfing down bread and chocolate all week, as if I needed to remind myself that it was still there (the bread, the chocolate) even though I was no longer...I'm just getting hotter and more available by the minute.

The long and short: I've lost all self control and I look like a pubescent boy with an unfortunate gland problem in his chest.

I was relaying all this via cellphone to a friend in New York as I walked down a long avenue here in Pittsburgh. She made an attempt to comfort me saying that I was much prettier than my brothers and that I could pull it off and anyway it would grow. Maybe there was hope after all--gee, friends are the best!

At that precise moment, a van was driving by and a man yelled out his window "HEY BABYYY!"

Yesss, oh divine presence!!!! I think I just got a cat call, and for once I was thrilled! Sexy street me on the prowl with a sassy new haircut. Yeah, I can totally pull this off! I turned to see who it was, just as the van passed me, and the man hanging out the window (the caller of the cat) drops his jaw and turns to his friend in the drivers seat, clapping, laughing and shouting to his friend in disbelief: "Oh SHIT!!!!! DUUUUDE THAT WAS A MAN!!!!"

* * * * *

Peeling myself off the pavement (I did actually have a great laugh, if only to properly acknowledge the impeccable timing), I said goodbye to friend before cellphone died, walked to Whole Foods, bought some applesauce and a toothbrush, went home and ate five chocolate truffle hearts in a row and watched a girl fall on her ass on the Olympics.

I feel ya.

Monday, February 22, 2010

I've been finding white hairs growing on my head.

I always wanted to dye my hair, but never could because it is so dark. The other girls can change their hair, and I'm stuck with this dark brown mess! And so, being who I am I came to a psychological resolution which has appeased me for a long while. I thought: well, if I go white then I'll dye it pink or red or blonde or something fun like that. Oh I can't wait til my hair loses its color naturally! (How refreshingly liberated I am!).

However, happily ensconced in this self-placation, what I failed to realize was that my "liberation" required as a prerequisite a wholehearted acceptance of the dark-as-night hair on my head, an acceptance which may have developed, like many things we accept do, into love. Like an arranged marriage. I didn't choose it, but after living with it for a while I have come to love it. I love my dark, dark hair.

And so, as life tends to do just when you get into a certain rhythm that you find pleasant enough, that rhythm changes. Little white bits are now emerging from my right temple and it's only really a matter of time before my hairs are all wiry and I am like Cher in Moonstruck, with the barber shop ladies begging me to let them take away those "nasty grays" (roll the r, they're Italian). I mean, once again we are encountered with that prolific question: What the hell I was thinking anyway??? Who wants to dye their hair pink!?! Or at all--what a hassle, what chains with which we bind ourselves! Ohhhh vanitas...

I can tell you what I'm thinking, how do I only inherit the bad genes from the family (mom started to go white in high school, I'm too young for this!). Yeah, blame the family.

Sigh. Oh well--easy come, easy go. I might as well just start eating jelly donuts all day if we're all going to the same place anyway. Right?

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Inventory: France Trip

So, my writing's been kind of crappy lately--thanks for sticking with me. I thought I'd try to simplify things, in a pleasant sort of way.

The Breakdown:

Total Seats to Myself on Direct Flights To/From Paris CDG: 5
Number of Shooting Stars Seen on Flight To Paris CDG: 8
Boys I Ran Into In Paris That Were On Both Flights To/From Paris Who Also Chose To Sit In My Row: 1
Plastic Cups of Free Boxed Red Wine Consumed on Flights, Am I Really That Girl? Yes: 7
Suitcases Brought: 1
Suitcases Brought Back: 2.5

Days in France: 16.41667
Patisseries Visited: 11
Patisseries Visited on Multiple Occasions: 5
Total Patisseries (Pastries) Consumed: 36

Crumb: 1

Price in Euro of Most Expensive Mille Feuille on Earth: 10
Price in Dollars of Most Expensive Mille Feuille on Earth: 976,000

Kinder Products Consumed: 5
Toys: 3
Kinder Toys: 1

Crêperies Visited: 4
Crêpes Consumed: 11

Camembert: 1
Chevre: 2
Blanc: 5
Nameless, Faceless Cheeses That Stole My Heart: 7

Ducks: 1

Floating Islands: 1
Macaroons: 9
Sangrias: 7
Champagnes: 5
Cidres: 7
Beers: ...

Arondissments Walked: 17
Gothic Cathedrals Visited: 0 (Sadly)
Total works of art in Louvre: 35,000
Total works of art owned by Khalili: 25,000
Visits to Louvre: 5
Visits to Khalili: 1
Attempts of Reflective Self-Portrait taken at Louvre: 12
Total Exhibitions Visited: 14
Films: 5
Marionette Shows: 1
Ice Skating Outings: 1/8

Excellent Dresses Purchased: 5
Excellent Bargains: 4
Excellent Rainbow Dresses Purchased: 1
Number of Colors in Excellent Rainbow Dress: 6
Excellent Rainbow Dresses Broken: 1
Excellent Umbrellas Purchased: 1
Excellent Umbrellas Broken: 1

Comics Obtained in Four Days in Angoulême: 22
Drinks Consumed in Four Days in Angoulême: 31
Drinks Purchased in Angoulême: 2
(Number of Drinks it Takes for Me to Feel Tipsy: 2)
Hours Slept in Four Days in Angouleme: 16
People From Pittsburgh Met in Angouleme Who Weren't Me: 1

Englishmen: 4
Frenchmen: 3
Swiss: 1
Crêpemakers (International Citizens of My Heart): 1
Digits Obtained: 2
Number of Parisian Pimps Whose Digits I Did Not Make Use of Once Obtained: 1
Number of Parisian Fashion Designers' Digits I Regretted Using Once Obtained: 1
Number of Belgians Who Saw Me Naked: 1 and 3/8
Total Propositions of Love Given by Drunken Swissmen: 1
Duration of Proposition (in Hours): 3
Total Swissmen Who Loved Me Enough to Walk me Home at 5 am: 0

(Happily) Neutral Parties: 1

Instances of Internet Use: 2
Instances of French-English Dictionary Use: 0
Instances of Acceptance of American Express Card: 3
Instances of Verbal Confirmation That I Was Being Mistaken for an Uncharacteristically Tall and Meaty French Girl: 1
Instances of Surprise Appearance of Greek Best Friend: 1
Instances of Tears (Joy): 1
Instances of Tears (Other): 0

1: Great Trip.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Get away from me

I'm tired and cranky.

And not in Paris anymore. And there's two feet of snow.

I'll be back to my normal self in about fourteen hours, after a cup of coffee and perhaps a warm scone. Should I come across one. And I WON'T because nothing's open. cause of the GODDAM snow and slush in luxurious PITTSBURGH, P effing A! and I DON'T have any heavy cream even to make my OWN scones! Grrrr. Shhhh, you're just jetlagged and you've been catapulted back into your non-fantasy world, you know, the one where everyone else lives?

When I get cranky like this, it's a rapid downwards spiral into a near comedic level of me-oh-centrism and of course inevitable self-loathing. [I'm tired. And cranky. And not in Paris anymore. And there's two feet of snow. I can't sleep. I can never sleep! Why am I not in PARIS!? Well, Paris is expensive and Parisian people are snotty! Why can't I wish I were someplace inexpensive and warm! Why can't I just be someplace inexpensive and warm! Gnashing of teeth. I have to go to work tomorrow. I don't want to go to work. I want to stay home and draw. Ugh. My drawings suck. My art sucks! I'll never be a good artist! My blog drawing sucks! Nobody even reads this crappy blog! I have no decent thoughts! Nothing about me is remotely original!! Screw it! Screw you! Nobody likes me. I don't even like me. No, I don't want to talk to you, leave me alone! Get away from me! Expletive, bleepedy-bleep! Huff, huff, turn, sigh. Gnash teeth.]

Coffee, scones, fourteen hours.

It's hard sometimes to be so damned easy. It makes things so hard....

A little, hastily/crankily drawn illustration to augment.