Something about the quality of light today makes me think that it’s spring. Oh, I know that it’s not, not really, but something keeps fooling me. It’s making me miss warm weather. I’ve been doing ok with winter up until now because I haven’t let myself think about Not Winter. I caught a cool but not too cool draft for just a second and it seemed as though to have come from an open window, only the window would have to be in Key West or perhaps San Diego, as it is only 21 degrees here.
It’s serious winter depression kicking in. I can feel it. I can almost taste it. I bought myself a bouquet of oriental lilies for the living room and every time I walk through the hallway, I can smell them and it makes me think of New Orleans and our hotel, which filled every tabletop with vases of peach lilies. Ah lilies.
My muscles are seriously tight. Every bad thought I’ve ever had in my life vacations in the triangle between my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck. I tried to make an appointment with my lovely masseuse Sarah and found that she is gone! And no one will tell me where she works now! And I do not have her last name! And I cannot stop using exclamation points! Oh woe is me!
But in other news, I did finally break down and make an appointment yesterday to get my mophead cut. Because Stacy is still out with her broken foot, I chose a guy at the spa salon whom I have heard good things. I explained to him that I’m growing my hair out. He complimented me on how well I maintained my color, especially since it is three months old. Life was grand. He promised to not whack off too much and would use a razor to give it the choppiness that I like.
Chopped being the operative word.
He cut a lot. A LOT. I have so much less hair now, only it’s still roughly the same length. I can’t really describe it. He, of course, styled my hair to be uber cute, sort of sleek and flippy, with big giant bangs instead of my normal rockstah craziness. The bangs do weird things with my eyes. At one point, I looked at Esteban and he said ‘What? What’s wrong, baby?’ and apparently he thought that my eyes looked bigger than normal and as though I were about to burst into tears. Um, ok. And then over dinner with Esteban, he told me how beautiful I was no fewer than five times. And finally exclaimed that I looked like Renee Zellweger.
Except that I look nothing of the sort. But, um, ok.
But then this morning, do you think I could replicate? I could not. Mostly because I’m not Renee Zellweger. So now it’s just as though I’ve lost a lot of random hair. But granted I didn’t use my normal styling goop and didn’t really have time to attack it with the hair dryer so hopefully tomorrow will be better. And hopefully tomorrow Tilly doesn’t meow giant clouds of fish guts directly into my face as I attempt to dream about Simon Cowell telling me that I had a decent voice but was choosing the wrong songs. And that I should try to sing more like a black girl. Or a black Renee Zellweger.
I promised myself that if I didn’t get fired today, I would take a trip to someplace warm. However, we had our big meeting and GUESS WHAT! Our department is probably going to be outsourced to India and we’ll be out of jobs at some miscellaneous point in the near future. Yay. Go us.
So no trip. But I’m totally going to use the printer to print out my writing submissions now. With no guilt.
And also, I’m totally going to be the cutest black Renee Zellweger on the unemployment line. So many things to look forward to.
