Big News (not pregnant)

Can you tell what my big news is based on the picture? MY HAIR FINALLY GOT LONG ENOUGH FOR A PONY TAIL! A real, live ponytail! How thrilling! It took one and one third years, but it happened.

I was feeling real proud and things were going along fine when I noticed that I was putting off showering for way too long (for the sake of my mother I will refrain from specifying how long I consider way too long.) My reason? Too much hair. Takes forever to dry it; who's got the time? So I started germinating an idea that I would cut my hair, just a little to thin it out, maybe save myself fifteen or twenty minutes in dry-time. A couple weekends ago I went to a conference and during the keynote address I was sitting behind a lady with great hair. It was long enough to tuck behind her ears and looked like she could probably skip blow-drying altogether. I scoped her out, trying to notice all the details but when it became apparent that I did not have the vocabulary to provide an adequate description to a hypothetical stylist, I decided a papparazzi approach would be simpler. Out came my phone and I faked texting while I took picture after picture. Every time she moved her head I took another one. Doesn't she have nice hair?
Looks like the other lady at the table figured out I wasn't texting, but it seems like she's cool with it.

After snapping several pictures and feeling like I doing something illegal, or at least impolite, I decided to just ask her where she got her hair cut. I followed her out of the conference and disclosed my surreptitious picture taking (It's all about disclosure.) She was very nice about it and gave me her stylist's name. I was tickled pink and scheduled an appointment as soon as I could.

After years of ownership of my hair you would think I would know that haircuts that make others look like J Crew models have a more helmet-like quality on my own head. My grandmother assures me I will be grateful for my sturdy hair when I'm in my eighties; I'm not so sure I'll care. Here's the new hair, the moment you've all been waiting for.

While I am discussing my hair (watch me act like 90% of the posts on this blog aren't about my hair...) I thought you might like to know that I found my favorite. My favorite individual hair. It's gray, see?Also, as of now I am aware that I kind of have freckles.

Back to the hair. I found it when I was twenty three and then misplaced it. I'm happy to have found it again. I have always thought gray hair was very elegant and buys one some extra credibility, so I'm all for this little silverino multiplying. When I have a whole bunch, I'll get working on that long gray braid I've had my heart set on since high school.

Whatever. YOU'RE the freak around here.

Wombo

I only pretend to know what's going on most of the time. For instance, my novice participation with Facebook led me today to discover a word where I wasn't sure if it was a real word with unique meaning or a simple wombo. The word was netbook. So I went to wikipedia who not only informed me that netbook both has discrete meaning and etymology as a wombo, but also informed me that there is a nice, pretentious word for wombo. This word in portmanteau. You may repay me for this update in cash or in kind.

Study Break

Due to the plague, I am behind in school, but school waits for no woman. I am supposed to give a 3-hour presentation on mood disorders and hand in a 5 page reflection paper on a conference I attended last weekend on Tuesday and also turn in the introduction and guiding paradigms sections of my research precis on Wednesday. Yikes.

At the moment I'm writing the outline for the mood disorder presentation and I came across a little tidbit that I thought the internet might appreciate. Did you know that, when referring to age cohorts, the technical term for those aged 85+ years is the old old? That's right. The old old. You heard me. As you might suspect, this got me laughing. But then it got me thinking.

Perhaps most traits, such as age, occur along some type of spectrum. Take height for example. At 5'3" I am short, but not exactly short short. At 6'1" Ryan is tall indeed, but tall tall? I think you'd have to be 6'3" or taller.

The textbook that opened my eyes to the possibility of being old old also referred to "the two genders", which is a notion I am about to contend. Me, I wear skirts a lot. And mascara almost always. I have probably skipped mascara less than once a week for the last fifteen or so years (with a couple of phases skipping it for a few weeks, or maybe a month or two, at a time, but I always come back.) I don't however, shower more than a couple times a week, and never have. Each shower takes about five minutes. While I'm in there I use no products that require a pouf or smell like gum, and I don't own a razor. So, while you could definitely say I identify as gender-female, I wouldn't say I make the cut for female female. You hear me?

As I delivered this insight to Ryan he paused for a minute and then said "...kind of like when you like 'em like 'em."

Exactly.

Feel free to list your own descriptors in the comments. I think this has potential to be pretty funny.

Trollsta

Ryan has a chair in the corner of the living room where he does his reading and computering. Unfortunately, this means that the computer is always laying around on the floor looking slovenly. I decided that we should go to Ikea, the happiest place on earth, to get a tiny table to live next to the chair and be a home for the computer.

So we went today, to Ikea, and strolled around keeping our eyes peeled for a table smaller than 16"X16". And we found the Trollsta, pictured above, whose dimensions are 15 3/4" X15 3/4". Such a cute little Trollsta. Like the tabley offspring of a gangsta and a troll.

IT COST $79.99. Did Ikea forget that it's job was to make things CHEAP? Who told Ikea that it was ok for them to charge nearly a hundred smackers for a table that would fit in a doll house? What the h?

I still wish little Trollsta were mine. But I suppose I'll have to wait until I win the lotto.