Bowl Cut

Ah, the weekend. How quickly they pass even when nothing is happening.

I didn't change out of my pajamas until 5pm on Saturday, and that was only to get the mail. I ate a breakfast burrito (thanks, D!), scrambled up some eggs for PW, heard LBF's weekend news, squealed at MG's news, watched the end of The Island which I'd slept through the previous weekend at Brother's (and oh how I wish I hadn't wasted those precious minutes on chase scene after chase scene - it started off so promising with the torturous exploration of the status of the soul in clones!), played piano, wrote and recorded a song, watched the bonus features of Strangers With Candy and was therefore giddy beyond comprehension.

On Sunday I watched Far From Heaven (gorgeous), ate oatmeal, spent entirely too much money on makeup at Duane Reade (why why why must it be so costly to be pretty?) after freaking out about my appearance (I loathe you, PMS, for making me insane), replenished supplies of milk and eggs and apple juice and orange soda and butter and havarti dill cheese, talked to JQ and learned that I am still confused that he is a father and was even more confused when my mostly-joking suggestion that he buy my parents' house was met with the enthusiastic sigh of possibility, went to D's house after demanding that he cut my hair (more on this later), went for family style heaping plate of pasta with E (more later), saw death-obsessed Oscar-nominated live action shorts at Cinema Village (more later), had rainbow sherbet in a red cone and then devoured D's uncharacteristic candid words of affirmation/affection.

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Re: my hair. I got my hair cut two weeks ago at the Aveda Institute. I was pleased with my $18 haircut for about a week, but the centimeter that has grown since made the haircut completely unworkable. I had the sort of day yesterday when I would look in the mirror and think "How can others even dare behold a sight as hideous as you?!" I was pulling on my hair and trying to put it up, put it down, put it somewhat up, etc., and there was nothing that could be done. I called D hysterical and said "Can you cut my hair tonight?"

He agreed. I know what you're saying. You allowed a BOY to cut your hair? I was desperate, folks. Desperate! I needed it OFF MY HEAD that instant. Were it not for him, I'd probably have cut it all myself and would have cut my face in the process given how urgent things seemed.

For the entirety of our relationship, D has offered to cut my hair. He cuts his own hair, and does quite a lovely job. He is great with his hands. He paints, he builds, he makes lamps and candleholders (that ignite), he puts things on walls, he makes furniture, he is to be trusted with all things aesthetic.

Of course I've been reluctant. I'd rather spend money (not tons) to know that I will look pretty for a couple of weeks.

He took the scissor and began to cut and I was like "What are you DOING!?" and it occurred to us then that D has never even SEEN a woman's hair being cut. He just cut it in a straight line. It looked like a shelf.

"No, you're supposed to cut at angles, like this," I said, and cut some of the front, but even when I cut it at an angle, it still looked like a shelf. "And don't do such big chunks at once! You're supposed to do small portions!"

"No, I know what to do," he said, "And I don't understand what you're talking about. I'll just give you the standard bowl cut. It will look good!"

"No, please, just TRY angles."

"Trust me."

It's not terrible, but it looks like a four year old cut my hair because it is straight lines. Combined with the pre-existing shorter layers. No angle, no body, just pilgrim-bowl cut on the bottom and fun, nice-looking layers on the top. People at work were like "So... you... um... you got a hair cut?" When I told them that D cut it they were enthusiastic, but nobody said "Oh my god your hair looks amazing did you get it cut?"

Sister suggests that I cut it with a razor, but D said "I have no confidence with the razor" unlike his confidence with the scissors. I think I may try to razor the underside just to see what happens and if it messes up so be it. It can't be worse than this.

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Re: garlic bread. At the family style dinner last night, E and I ordered the individual serving of garlic bread. When it arrived, it was burnt.

What do you do in this situation? Clearly whoever prepared the garlic bread (in addition to the waiter) knew that it was burnt and still decided to serve it to us. This leads me to think that perhaps it is supposed to be burnt. But why?

It's a weird situation, because basically in order to get edible bread, I'd have to be like "I don't know if you've noticed, but, um, this is totally wrong."

So of course I said nothing.

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Re: Oscar-nominated Live Action Shorts, alternatively known as four shorts involving death and one involving a supermarket with naked women.

Short 1: A psychologist, who finds out he has brain cancer and therefore six months to live, decides to start telling his nutty patients the truth about their problems.

Short 2: An old man, aftering discovering that his wife is dead, makes preparations for her burial on their old, secluded farm.

Short 3: Annoying people work in a supermarket and there is nudity. Lame lame LAME.

Short 4: A little boy appears to a young man, claiming to be his son. (There is a dead wife in this one as well).

Short 5: After his wife dies, a man has to journey home by train, where he encounters a woman whose son has just died and an obnoxious young man whose mother has been murdered. There is a suicide in this one, as well as an exploding cow and a bunny that gets its head blown off with a shotgun.

Right.

Bizarrely, only one of these was actually sad. Go figure.

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Now I should work.

Until tomorrow...