Friday, November 30, 2007


This isn't a real post, it's a request for ideas. So okay, here's the deal - I'm having a bunch of friends over on Sunday (all female) for a little bonding time. Rarely do we all find the time to get together, so the fact that we've carved out a whole afternoon where EVERYONE can make it is...unprecedented (at least recently).

Anyway, instead of going to a bar (where we spend more time talking to random men than each other), or brunch (it'll be too late in the day for that), I've invited everyone over to my apartment for Football Sunday - Ladies Style. What does that mean? Well it means that other than me no one cares about football (so the games alone aren't going to be enough), but that my friends are good enough sports to believe I will somehow end up making this worth their while (pressure = me). Don't worry though, I have a solution - obviously there will be plenty of booze there (I'm throwing the get-together after all) and I will be providing plenty of yummy snacks (with no nutritional value whatsoever). However, I think we need more. Sooo...

I've decided to up the cheese factor. This means that I will be playing all the totally great, but equally ridiculous, sports-related music I can find throughout the afternoon. Sounds easy enough - I already have Eye of the Tiger, Another One Bites the Dust, We are the Champions (how did sports even exist before Queen?), and Rock You Like a Hurricane already on my iPod. But I need more - that's only 4 songs. So that's where you guys come in. I want totally cliche, overused music that will get my friends in the mood to watch some football (while bonding). Think you can help? Prove it.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

I’ve Had A LOT of Coffee This Morning

Forgive what is about to come, I’m…a LITTLE high on caffeine right now.

Soooo I know I’m not dating right now, but…I’m pretty sure I accepted a dinner invitation for this weekend. From a guy. Kind of against my will. And now I need to get out of it. Tactfully. Even though the only reason I want to get out of it is because I don’t think the guy is cute. Which I didn’t know until I saw a picture of him. Oh, and that was AFTER I already accepted the date.

It’s…kind of a long story.

Short version: A ‘friend’ (OK, acquaintance) decided to set me up on a blind date (don’t ask). I didn’t want to bother explaining my whole ‘I’m not dating right now’ logic, so in an effort to make things easy on myself I sort of let her. Now in my defense the guy was described to me as: Tall (like 6’), cute, brown hair, dimples, VERY successful, and nice. Who was I to fight fate if he was The One, right? Um…right.

Anyway, he called me last night, and it was…interesting. Some thoughts – I didn’t like his voice right off the bat (kind of dorky). He apparently liked mine though, since he complimented me on my ‘gorgeous’ voice right at the top of the conversation. I didn’t think much of it at the time, since I get that a lot (what can I say, I ‘give good voice’). I should have been more concerned though, because boy did the compliments continue. And I have to admit, I was a little thrown (I mean dude, you’ve been talking to me for 5 minutes – calm down). How bad did it get, you ask? Well, at one point he actually said, ‘You have a beautiful brain.’ Ooookayyyyy. (What the fuck does that even mean?!)

He may also end up being a stalker-type. At the very least he’s moderately creepy. You need another example? No problem – let’s play back this little exchange from our chat:

Dude: I live on the 15th floor of my building. I have a beautiful terrace – you should see it sometime.
Redhead: I’m afraid of heights.
Dude: Does this mean I have to sell my place?
Redhead: (nervous laugh) You’re kidding, right?


But I was determined to remain at least sort of positive…sort of. After all, bad voice and personality aside he could still be cute, right? The problem here was he already knew what I looked like (WHY oh WHY did I give this friend a picture to pass along?), while I remained in the dark. And when it came time for him to pressure me into making plans for this weekend (ed. note: FUCK!) I grudgingly accepted. And then I came out with it:

Redhead: You know, I won’t be able to recognize you if I don’t have a picture. Can you email me something?

Well…he did. AFTER the conversation was over and dinner had been arranged. And it was…not good. I’m not happy. But I need to be careful here, since I don’t want to offend the acquaintance who set this up (by LYING to me about what this dude looks like…unless she actually does think this guy is cute, which is…unfathomable really).

Just so you guys know though, there is NO WAY I’m going out with this dude over the weekend, so get your thinking caps on.

Oh, and in other not even remotely related (in other words, random) news:

Christian Bale is smoking hot;

I’m currently going through a weird ‘let’s listen to Cat Stevens and feel deep’ phase – don’t hate me;

I’m thinking about blow-drying my hair out straight tomorrow just to ‘try a new look’ (note: this will never actually happen);

I think Heath Ledger’s creepy looking, but my sister-in-law (who recently saw him in ‘real life’) insists he’s hot – hmmm, I still think I’m right;

I was thinking about buying a bustier/corset thingee, went onto the Frederick’s of Hollywood site to look at them, and then realized I had no use for one and it would be a total waste of money – so of course I bought one. I should get it in about a week;

I don’t want to say I’m bored now that with my professional situation is all copasetic and my private life is on hold, but…;

Why the fuck are people so interested in Zac Efron from that show (movie?) High School Musical? He looks like a girl;

Did I ever tell you guys about the time that one of Jay-Z’s ‘entourage’ came up to me and asked if I wanted to ‘meet’ Jay-Z? I said no;

I am literally BUZZING off of my coffee (oh, and Red Bull) right now;

And…what’s up with me and ‘quotes’ today? I’m such a jackass sometimes.

Go Thursday! Woo hoo!

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

A Theory

A quick word on PDA before I give you my theory: PDA comes in many forms, some innocuous (hand holding, a fleeting kiss goodbye), some slightly annoying (think-you’re-being-sly-but-you’re-really-not groping), and some fucking gross (full on making out, touching, moaning…YOU’RE IN PUBLIC PEOPLE!). Hmmm, where was I? Oh yeah, PDA.

An aside: I do want to say that the latter form of PDA is really only excusable in one instance – drunkenness. We’re all assholes when we’re drunk, and I totally understand bad decision making under those circumstances. Ergo, the theory I’m about to present does no apply to the stupid, drunken masses out there (of which I’m often happily a member).

OK, to my theory – ugly people make up 99.9% of the PDA perpetrators out there. PDA is an ugly person epidemic.

I’m not kidding, check it out the next time you’re trying not to gag while stuck next to these fuckers. The people who (totally sober) go at it on the train, street, in a restaurant, etc. are almost invariably horribly unattractive human beings. And I think I know why. Hear me out – ugly people must know they’re ugly, right? They must be self-conscious about it. And even though they probably know deep down inside that they’ll always be ugly/fat/awkward/poorly dressed, I’m guessing they don’t really want to accept it. So, in an effort to prove to the rest of the world that they are, in fact, desirable, they kind of lose their minds when they finally find someone who is willing to touch and/or kiss them. And PDA is their way of (metaphorically) shouting from the rooftops – ‘SEE, SOMEBODY WANTS ME!’

Unfortunately, the rest of us have to suffer because of this. Not only do we have to watch something we really NEVER wanted to see (ie. two ugly people go at it), but (horrifyingly) they often do it in places where it’s virtually impossible to leave – like, say, in a subway car at 8am when I’m on my way to work and I have no way to escape you and your hideousness…! Life is so unfair.

The above theory was brought to you by Redhead the Bitch. Happy Tuesday everyone!

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Let the Games Begin

Ah shit, this is going to be a long 2 days. Ignoring the whole I-have-to-deal-with-Penn Station-the-day-before-Thanksgiving – aka Hell – thing, it now turns out that my cat has been disinvited to my parents’ house. Um…what?

Yup, my phone rang last night, and when I answered it I was confronted with first my mother, whimpering on the other end (shit), and then my father, taking the phone from my mother to tell me that I could not bring my cat home for the holiday. Um, okayyyy. Why?

Well, turns out my brother and sister-in-law had just called. They’d finally heard back from their son’s (my nephew’s) doctor – and it seems that the little guy is allergic to dogs, cats, dairy, soy, and pretty much everything else under the sun. (He’s been having some asthma problems lately, and everyone’s been concerned about it.) Anyway, as many of you know my parents have a dog (a dog that all of us – my sister-in-law excluded – are very fond of). I have a cat. And since the dog can’t go, my cat apparently has to.

However, the real problem came from how my brother and sister-in-law chose to handle this news. Instead of calling my mother to discuss what could be done to make the house as dog-hair free as possible (hell, my parents pulled up all the carpeting in their house and put down hardwood floors for my sister-in-law a few years ago – she’s allergic to dogs as well), they simply called my parents last night and informed my mother that 1) while they would be coming for Thanksgiving (that’s my family’s holiday – we don’t get them for Christmas), they would just be coming for dinner. In other words, there would be no time spent together before or after the meal. And 2) they would probably not be coming to visit my parents much in the future. Because of the dog hair you see.

What…the…fuck? Overreact much? While my mother cried, my father handled talking to me (after my mother failed to get a word out) about my cat staying in NY for the holiday, and the rest of the family raged.

Now I love my brother and sister-in-law, and I understand their concern when it comes to their son, but calling my mother (a very sensitive and loving woman who does NOTHING but try to be a good mother-in-law and grandmother) to say that they will come on Thursday, but that they won’t be visiting much in the future…that was just cruel. And I’m pissed. My sister is pissed. My grandmother who flew up from Florida to spend Thanksgiving with the whole family is pissed. And my father…well, my father is upset mainly because my mother is upset.

In summation, Thursday should be a rockin’ good time – how much wine do you need to drink to make that kind of awkwardness go away? Happy Turkey Day everyone.

Monday, November 19, 2007

I Love Him

I may not have any of his blood running through my veins, but I like to think (when I’m really on) that my Uncle M and I have a lot in common. Why? Well, mainly this is because he’s quite possibly the coolest person ever – I’m not kidding here, everyone who meets him pretty much ends up worshipping him…or at least the guys do – and I like to think that I have a little bit of his mojo going on (shut up). But most of all we’re similar because both of us are the sort who will tell you what we’re thinking. No matter what. And since I’ve known my Uncle M my entire life, I tend to believe I get a good part of my irreverence from him.

Some background info: My Uncle M is actually my father’s uncle. He and my Aunt L are quite literally family (but we don’t hold that against them). Anyway, at some point my Uncle M and Aunt L joined forces with my parents, and they all became best friends. Now my Aunt L is the “normal” one – always perfectly put together, well-behaved, and appropriate. How (or why) she decided to marry my Uncle M is a mystery – either she’s a masochist or a saint. Because my Uncle M is a handful. He’s also quite possibly the coolest cat ever to walk the earth. And after having dinner with him on Saturday night (Aunt L and my parents were there too), I decided my readers deserved a little Uncle M goodness (you’ve been that well-behaved). You’re welcome.

Some famous Uncle M stories/tidbits:

-On my parents’ wedding day, he went up to my father before the ceremony, and (right in front of my grandmother, the mother of the bride) advised him not to go through with it. His (now legendary) words were ‘Just live with her. Don’t get married unless you have to.’ Obviously my father didn’t end up taking his advice, but that didn’t stop my Uncle M from saying the same thing to my brother on his wedding day. (Didn’t work then either.)

Anyway, a few years ago I asked my Uncle M why – if he really believed what he was telling us – he ever married my Aunt L (and remained married to her for, as of this past weekend, 61 YEARS). ‘Why not just live with her?’ I asked. Without missing a beat he shot back, ‘Because in those days you had to marry a woman to sleep with her. Your father didn’t have that problem.’

Yup, I walked right into that one.

-So that dinner I referred to – the one on Saturday night to celebrate Uncle M and Aunt L’s anniversary – it went well. We all drank, told stories, ate steak…oh wait, I didn’t get to have any steak because I’m a fucking miserable vegetarian…(deep breath)…but I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, so we all arrived at the restaurant to find that it was going to be a few minutes before the table would be ready. No problem, in my family that’s simply code for ‘Race to the bar to have a drink before we go to the table – where we will continue drinking.’

Anyway, I sidle up to the bar and give the bartender my order before turning to Uncle M for a chat. This is how the ensuing conversation went:

Uncle M: I thought you drank scotch.
Redhead: I do, but I also like martinis sometimes. It just depends on what mood I’m in.
Uncle M: What mood you’re in? What does that mean?
Redhead: I don’t know…it just means that sometimes a martini sounds good to me.
Uncle M: Better than scotch?
Redhead: Yeah.
Uncle M: There’s no such thing. You know what your problem is? You can’t commit to anything.

-Speaking of which – my Uncle M drinks scotch. He always has. Now I drink scotch (when I’m not screwing up and ordering a martini). Oh, and my brother drinks scotch. His wife has become a scotch drinker as well. What does all that mean? It means that the three of us want to be my Uncle M when we grow up.

-Ooh, final story about scotch (I think): So the first time I ever got really, truly, legitimately drunk in my life (a story that I will NEVER tell here by the way – it was too, too ugly)…well, let’s just say the point of no return was crossed with a scotch in my hand and my Uncle M standing next to me. He saw what was going on (my brother was being a BAD big bro), he knew how it was going to end up (me – shockingly, overwhelmingly embarrassed), and he did nothing to stop it. But boy does he love pulling that story out whenever I bring anyone home to meet the family.

-My Uncle M once tried to convince me that all men were bastards. He even topped off his argument by saying ‘Your father’s a bastard too you know.’ I was 11 years old at the time. And my father was standing right beside me at the time.

-At my Bat Mitzvah – after the service, during the party – I went up to Uncle M and asked him what he thought of everything (you know, being 13 and stupid and all). His response: ‘The service was boring as hell, but the open bar is making up for it.’

-Want to know how my Uncle M met my Aunt L? She was dating his brother.

-My Aunt L and Uncle M once had a fight that lasted 5 years. I’ve heard the story of what happened (it was totally Uncle M’s fault), and while he apparently showed through his actions that he was sorry, TO THIS DAY he’s never actually apologized. And he’s absurdly proud of that fact. Proving she’s a saint, Aunt L simply rolled her eyes when he chuckled while telling me this story.

-My Uncle M called my parents’ house last week (thinking he had dialed the doctor’s office), and actually said upon my mother’s answering the phone ‘Yeah, I need to schedule a prostate exam.’ I swear to God my mother called everyone in the family to tell them this story after it happened. Then she also brought it up during drinks on Saturday night (yes, we like to give him a hard time too), and dammit…he didn’t even have the grace to look a LITTLE embarrassed!

-My parents’ dog loves him, and she always tries to crawl all over him when he comes over (this is not a small lap dog). So just to mess with the poor dog – only Uncle M could get away with this – he scratches her behind the ears until he find the spot that makes her back leg spaz out (every dog has a spot like this). Then he continues to scratch it, incessantly, until I start yelling at him to leave the poor dog alone. This always prompts him to laugh and keep going. He’s evil that way.

Ah shit, this is getting long. OK, that’s it for now. Uncle M and Aunt L will be with the family for Thanksgiving – I’m sure I’ll have some outrageous story for you next week.

*Update: I have one more Uncle M story to tell (just cause) - when my first nephew was born, his 'Welcome to the World' gift from my Uncle M was a Red Sox hat, Red Sox socks, and a Red Sox onesie. Is my Uncle M a Red Sox fan, you ask? Why no, no he isn't. However I'm a Yankee fan (reason enough in M's mind - he likes to piss me off). My head almost exploded when I saw this gift. I immediately ran out and got full Yankee regalia for the little man to make up for it...and then I forbade my bro and sister-in-law from ever using the Red Sox 'devil's gear' as I called it. Ah Uncle M - he definitely knows how to push my buttons.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Friday Ponderings

-So I had to get up at 4:30 on Tuesday morning to travel for work. Turns out, I’m REALLY not a morning person. Of course, there have been clues to that throughout my life. When I was a kid my mom used to wake me by saying (and sadly I’m not kidding here), ‘Time to get up and start your happy day!’ I…HATED that. When I got older I learned to actually wake myself up about a half hour before I needed to begin getting ready – this is what I call my ‘coming to’ period, and as many of you may have read here in the past, this includes Red Bull. Anyway, it got me thinking – what’s up with morning sex? Who likes that? I mean, every guy I’ve ever dated has, but WHY? Sure on a lazy weekend it’s fine, but during the week? When you have to get up and go to work after (and you could have been sleeping instead)? How does a guy NOT get kicked for trying that?

-I was going down to the train yesterday after work, and this woman cut me off. Wait, that’s not entirely true – it was her ass that cut me off. And I have to say that for once, I didn’t even mind. Why, you ask (after all I’m a massive bitch who lives for hating people who do shit like this)? Well let me tell you dear readers – it was because this woman was attached to the biggest ass I have ever seen in my life. I mean, it was HUGE. I honestly have never seen anything like it. Sure I’ve seen big asses before, and it’s not like this was a small woman to begin with, but this ass…I have no words. It was so blatantly out of proportion with the rest of her body that I was mesmerized. I’m not kidding, I think her ass weighed almost as much as my entire body. And it TOTALLY made my day to see it.

-Yeah, so it’s been a little while now since I’ve…um…BEEN with a guy (if you know what I’m saying – and you’d be a moron not to). And I have to say…nevermind. It’s the first few months that are the hardest, right?

-I don’t want to talk about the A-Rod thing just yet (many of you know about my love/hate relationship with him anyway) – frankly, I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about this.

-Barry Bonds…hee, hee. (Sorry, I just don’t like that guy.)

-A guy sitting next to me on the train a couple of days ago tried to start up a conversation with me. I did not let him. He was very cute, well dressed, etc. But he was SITTING next to me. There were women in that train car standing, and he was sitting. Call me old-fashioned, but I would never even consider dating a man like that. Let me explain – I was raised by a gentleman. My father would never sit while a lady was standing – I honestly have never seen my father sit down at a bar. He stands when my mother, sister, or I leave a table. He holds doors for us. And he raised my brother to be the same way. And you know what? It’s nice. Now that doesn’t mean that he thinks women are weak, inferior creatures (he raised me didn’t he?). No, it just means that he’s polite. A gentleman. And I like that. I want that in a man for myself. Which pisses me off because there don’t seem to be any more men like that out there. If I could give every new man I meet the Subway Test before ever agreeing to date them, I would. Unfortunately I can’t.

Men today suck.

-I’m getting a massage after work today – I can’t fucking wait.

Happy weekend everybody!

Monday, November 12, 2007

I Had A Weekend…Yup. I Did.

Sorry it’s been a little while guys – my new job requires me to spend A LOT of time in meetings. A lot. Of time.

Anyway, I’m traveling for business tomorrow and Wednesday (I’ll try to check in here if I can), but in the meantime I wanted to give you a very quick update on things:

-Went to a Single’s Party on Friday night – met no one interesting. Started to drink.

-Met up with Christine after the single’s party and went to a bar we both love (GREAT martinis) to celebrate her b-day. Continued drinking.

-Sat next to a guy at the bar while we waited for a table…proceeded to flirt. Let him buy me more drinks. Started to get into him, then…

-Our table was ready. Since it was Christine’s night (her b-day after all), AND I had blown her off earlier to go to that Single’s Party (I didn’t invite her – yes, I’m a bad friend), I felt obligated to leave the cutie at the bar and go actually hang out with my friend.

-Drank some more.

-Ate cheese fries – who actually eats those?! I mean, besides me and Christine when we’re both smashed.

-Drank some more.

-Had a moment where I actually stopped (in my whirling, fuzzy haze) and thought ‘Oh shit. I’m REALLY fucked up.’

-Looked at Christine and said, ‘I need to go outside and get some air. Here’s my credit card – you don’t pay for ANYTHING tonight!’ (Note: A HUGE clue that I was FUCKING DEMOLISHED at that point – I handed my credit card over to my unemployed friend and told her to use it.)

-Walked outside and literally just stood in the rain (note: REALLY good for my hair and makeup) trying to sober up a little bit. Was considering how badly I needed to throw up when Hottie from the Bar wandered outside to find me.

-Woke up the next morning in my apartment, feeling like I was going to die. I was alone. (It’s always a bad thing when you need to call the person you were out with the night before to ask how you got home.)

-Turns out Christine paid the bill (with my credit card), came outside to find me, realized I was ‘chatting up Hottie Bar Guy – looking surprisingly sober,’ and so went back inside to watch…whatever football game was on in the bar.

-A little while later I reappeared with Hottie Bar Guy, seemingly to watch the game, and I very discreetly (I’m sure) leaned in and whispered something along the lines of ‘you need to get me out of here before I embarrass myself’ to Christine. She got me out of there.

-Apparently I did get Hottie Bar Guy’s number (I can’t find it), his name (I can’t remember it), and my credit card (THAT I found) before leaving. All things considered, one out of three (especially that one out of three) ain’t bad, so I’m pretty psyched.

-Saturday consisted of me praying to die (hangover from hell) and sleeping. Sunday I cleaned my apartment. Hmmm, it was a boring weekend actually. What about you guys – do anything interesting?

-On a side note – Christine is a freak of nature. She drinks just like I do, gets drunk just like I do, and yet NEVER throws up and never gets a hangover. Have you people ever heard of this phenomenon before? What the fuck – if this isn’t a prime example of life not being fair, I don’t know what is.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

To Bang or Not to Bang

Yeah, that’s just about the stupidest title I’ve come up with so far, but fuck it – I’m not creative enough to come up with anything better. So there.

OK, and now…onto the haircutting story that I keep promising you:

Let me just say right off the bat that I’m very protective of my hair. I think this stems from several things. First and foremost, I think a lot of the blame has to go to my mother and the unfortunate boy’s haircut she had me sport until I was old enough to object…

(Note: By her third kid my mom was over the whole ‘ooh, let’s dress him/her up and show him/her off to EVERYONE’ stage. This utter disregard for the prettification (shut up, I can make up a word) of her daughter, combined with a full-time job, led my mother to take some shortcuts with me. Nothing major mind you – I was given love and taught values – but as my mother likes to put it, she learned ‘not to sweat the small stuff’ by the time I came along. And apparently the small stuff included hairstyling. Anyway, quick overview: My mother gave me the same haircut as my brother until the day I (very loudly) stopped her. If I remember correctly this happened sometime around the 2nd grade. The reason I finally put my foot down was simple – I was pissed about recently being mistaken for a boy (shut up – it was an honest mistake considering I had no breasts then). Either way it was psychologically scarring, and to this day I don’t think I’m over it. But I digress.)

The other reason I’m so protective of my hair can also be blamed on a family member (I bet that’s true with a lot of us and our neuroses) – my dear older sister. Yes, she had her part in turning me into the nutjob you all know and love today. I learned many lessons from her (as we often do from our siblings). The lesson I learned from the story I’m about to tell was a simple one though: Never, EVER let your sister cut your hair after she’s been drinking. Seems pretty obvious now, but at the time…

Let me set the stage for you guys: Redhead – awkward 6th grader with SUPER DUPER bangs. Redhead’s sister – new college freshman who was probably psyched to finally be away from her annoying little sister. The place – parent’s weekend at the University of ________.

YES, you read that right – I had bangs (and we’re not talking the cute, side-swept bangs that some girls have today). Stop laughing.

Grrr…alright, let me explain the logic behind this hideous hairstyle quickly. Ummm, okay, so none of you know me (thank goodness). That means that none of you know what I look like (thank goodness again – yay anonymity!). Well, I guess what most people would say about me is I’m not average looking; I don’t look like the girl next door. I’m…I have a very distinctive look – I’m tall (and have been all my life), I have long red hair, and I have a particularly angular face. Now today that angular face works for me in a positive way, ie. great bone structure with especially nice cheekbones (if I do say so myself). But when I was 11 years old – this face did not work for me. In fact, it made me downright uncomfortable. I was a preteen with an adult’s face. And in a world where cute little things ruled, I was…not. I HATED it.

So, I tried to cover up that face (hence, the awful bangs), slouch away the awkward height, and generally just not stand out in any way. ALL I wanted at that point in my life was to go unnoticed.

Which of course explains the bangs, and brings us (finally) to the story of my sister, parent’s weekend, one too many beers I (stupidly) didn’t notice sis consuming, and a pair of scissors.

Now, before leaving for college my sister was my designated bang-cutter (God knows I didn’t trust my mother to do the honors). And after leaving for college – well, I guess you could say I didn’t replace her. In other words, I went cold turkey. And let me just tell you, I had the shaggy hair to prove it.

So suffice it to say, by the time parent’s weekend at my sis’s school came around, I was horribly in need of a trim. In fact, when we arrived in [city’s name], I was so desperate for a cut that I started badgering my sister almost immediately after saying hello.

Not surprisingly I was made to wait until after my parents took my sis (and 15 of her closest friends) out to dinner. Fine. I was patient. (Shut up.)

Yeah, so we went to dinner, everyone had a good time (in spite of me), and eventually I found myself back in my sister’s dorm room.

Now, um…I’ll be the first to admit that I may have been annoying her at this point. I had basically mentioned my hair and how it needed a trim…hmmm…every 5 minutes or so for about 4 hours. Yeah.

Anyway there we were, hanging out after dinner, and I guess I begged her for assistance one time too many. And with my parents (conveniently) out of the room, and my sister (uninhibited as she was after a few drinks) losing patience, I…certainly got my haircut.

One moment my sister was talking to a friend and ignoring me, and the next moment she was grabbing scissors off her dresser and coming towards me. And then…she cut my bangs. Yup, they were cut. Yessiree they were.

Note: I knew right away I was in trouble when I realized how drastically her cutting style had changed. In the past she had gone slowly, trimming a little bit at a time and doing everything in sections. This time she simply grabbed ALL of my bangs together, placed the scissors above where her fist held everything, and cut. Pretty high up. Like, a half an inch away from my scalp high up.

Wow, it’s still painful to talk about.

So okay, it didn’t look good. Or another way of saying it is it looked bad. Hideously bad. Ego crushingly bad. But…whatever. Bygones.

Long story short, my sister felt awful the next day, I looked like a spaz for months afterwards, I got over the self-consciousness I felt about my face, and I decided that I didn’t want or need bangs ever again.

And I haven’t had bangs since.

The end.

Friday, November 2, 2007

I Have No Excuse

Yeah, I keep meaning to write that post about my bad haircut (note: How the hell did THAT win the vote? I had to stop myself from writing about the time I lost my virginity – the Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon option – by systematically reminding myself that it wouldn’t be very sporting to ignore my readers’ wants and needs), but…

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah – the fact that I’m too lazy to write the post I promised you. So…yeah…let’s just go with my comments on random pop culture stuff today:

-Katie Holmes might be pregnant again – to this I say: Who gives a fuck? Her husband is an asshole and she seems to have no personality. In fact, it seems like the only thing that makes these people even remotely interesting is that they have a lot of money and look good; hell, if people like that fascinated me I’d start going to places like Butter every weekend and at least get to see them all firsthand. Instead I choose to hang out at my corner pub and try not to become a complete and total douchebag.

-Britney Spears is a flaming fucking idiot. To call her a freak would be an insult to freaks everywhere. That is all.

-Ice-T’s wife - holy…shit!

-Look, you never know what’s going on in another person’s life, so oftentimes it’s hard to pass judgment (or so I’ve been told – I’ve never had much of a problem with it). But having said all that – Andy Reid’s fucked up as a father and needs to leave his job so he can take care of his family. I’m sorry, I’m not saying I’m blaming him entirely for his kids being fuckups (I don’t think), but let’s be serious here – something’s epically wrong in the Reid household, and at least some doubt has to be cast on the parents. Put in the simplest terms imaginable: Whatever Reid and his wife have been doing in the past hasn’t been working, so…try something else dipshits!

Note: If you’ve allowed your house to deteriorate to such an extent that a judge characterizes it as a “drug emporium,” it may be time to keep a better eye on things – because that shit doesn’t happen overnight.

-I worship Russell Crowe and will go see any movie he’s in – the fact that his latest, American Gangster, also stars Denzel Washington, is just icing on the cake. So guess what I’m doing this weekend?

And finally, a random observation – I decided to mix things up a bit this morning at Starbucks and ordered a Skim Mocha; it’s a totally girly drink and I felt like a asshole for ordering it (I’m a black coffee drinker normally), but…it was so yummy. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up.

Have a great weekend everybody. Haircut story on Monday, I promise!