Better Than Hair

Y'all are relentless. I didn't take photos of the damn tragic hair but maybe I will take a picture of the end result. And maybe you can reassure me. Since I made my pal L sprint down the stairs before my meeting in order to check it out.

I will say that he told me that it would look better as it grew out a bit and the colors blended with washing. So far that seems to be true (I washed it tonight) but I have to admit I am a little sensitive about it. One, I hate being the kind of vain-assed person who cares about her hair this much. Two, I spent a bunch of money on getting it fixed and even though it is immeasurably better (and FUCK dude he made miracles happen) it bugs me a bit that it doesn't look that great. And since I have been in a meeting for two days (including a late night nonsense thing last night) I am worn OUT. Which I think is making me obsess about this a little more than is healthy.

Moving on. MAYBE.
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I was watching Clean House (which I mainline like it is some sort of home organization drug--or it will inoculate me from becoming my mother) and I feel guilty but there was this little girl on there, she's maybe eight and just DARLING. But girl had a unibrow. Is it appropriate to teach a child of that age to pluck? I mean my women's college self wants to teach kids to fuck the patriarchy and screw those who cannot understand our diverse appearance. But the larger part of me is like get that little thing some tweezers before she is scarred for life.
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Why is it, since I work for the chickiest company ever and none of these women actually eat, that when we have these multi-day meetings we have nothing but tables and tables of food? And yet I am still eating some Nutter Butters. It has been a long goddamn week.
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I am not sure I can make fun of J's cousin with the hardwood floors in his trailer anymore (well he doesn't live in that trailer anymore which hurts that), because we have our old washer and dryer hanging out on the front porch. I hope my friend that is buying them comes this weekend. It is a little Sanford & Sons is what I am saying.
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Do you know what I hate? I hate picking out what to fucking wear every day. I just hate it. Even though I have some nice clothes it is just a chore to try to figure out the weather/fashion/what won't make me feel like a frumpy fat ass problem. I mean I need like an excel spreadsheet and a macro for that shit.
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I promise to come up with something better than hair for later.