Photo of the Day: Chrysanthemum

A few weeks ago, Eminem and I celebrated three whole wonderful months together. Truth be told, I can't believe it's been only three months, but still. It's been lovely and I don't think either of us can believe just how lovely.

Anyway, homeboy brought me my favorite flowers for our date: Peonies and chrysanthemums. Seriously. What man remembers your favorite flowers and then brings you some? What man? I ask you. I'd never before met such a man.

This is one of the chrysanthemums. Is there a cooler flower? I love how explosive it looks while it's petals are soft and almost ethereal in opacity. Next time? The peonies!

My hair is trying to kill me

This is the tale of a girl and her locks and how they went from wonderful to complete bitches. I have no idea why her hair is plural but that's just how bitchy. 

To be fair, it's not entirely the hair's fault.

Let's start at the beginning. You know how much I love the Aveda Institute. I've been going there for quite a while, paying nada for a great cut and pretty much just loving my hair.

Wait, I should back up.

I've always had great hair. It's super thick, grows fast, and does what I tell it to do. Got it? Great, we can move on.

So my favorite stylist at the AI, Carly (I hope she doesn't mind me mentioning her name, because she was awesome and incredibly talented and I miss her) had the nerve to graduate. I mean, why didn't she ask me? And, as I understand it, she decided to not work in a hair salon after graduation. She's taking time or doing work in a spa or something. I forget, because it doesn't involve me in any way.

This was after she'd cut off all my hair for Locks of Love and now I had short hair and a style to upkeep and no stylist. Carly had recommended me to another girl, whose name I won't mention, but I just wasn't happy with her. She really wasn't great at all.

So that left me stylist-less. So I called one evening and requested a senior student (how I got Carly in the first place, bee tee dubs) and this conversation took place:

Me: Hi, I'd like to make an appointment with a senior student to get a bang trim.

Dude on the phone: Unfortunately, you can't request a senior student.

Me: Well bummer. Because I used to be able to do that.

Punk: That's impossible. We've never allowed that. 

Me: Huh. That's really odd because I did that before.

Douchenozzle: There's no way that's true at least in the past three years. We don't do that.

Me: That's crazy because I know I did that within the last two years because I've only lived in Portland for two years.

Asswad: That really can't have happened, M'AM!

Me: Why are you speaking to me with so much attitude. I'm simply trying to explain to you that someone there did do that in the past...

Stubborn little twat: I'M not getting an attitude. And I'm the supervisor so I'd know. Plus it's JUST a bang trim. It's not that hard.

Me: Oh you're not? Huh. Thanks for informing me. So nice to know you have so much control over your staff. And that's funny because the last girl who trimmed my bangs screwed them up.

Dickshit: M'AM, I'm not getting an attitude.

Me: Well I won't be making an appointment ever again and neither will any of my friends.

Complete asshole fucktard: Awesome! Have a great day!

And I then I combusted.

I did try to get the shit in trouble because there was no need to be such a power monkey rude ass douchenozzle little shit, but apparently he doesn't really have a boss. Isn't that awesome? Needless to say, I can never go back there on principle alone. So now I really don't have a stylist.

Therefore, I haven't had a bang trim in far too long. Luckily I rock the side-swept long bangs.

Then I decided to dye my hair red again. I haven't been red in years and it was time to go back. I dyed it myself, something I've done to my own hair and my friends' hair a gillion times since I was like 18. See, everyone wants me to do their hair because I'm anal retentive and thorough. Also: fearless when it comes to hair.

Anyway, it didn't take. Like, you could kind of tell in the right light, but I wasn't going for subtle. I wanted red! I felt like that scene in Beaches when Hillary spends three hours dying her hair exactly the same color. Hillary says, "It's a subtle difference," and CC says, "I don't think so."

Yeah, that.

So I waited a few weeks and I chose a brighter color and I did it again. And it took at the roots, then it was a deeper, darker red-ish brown on the rest of my head.

After pouting about my once pliant hair, it hit me. Aveda. I had my hair colored a deep chocolate brown at Aveda Institute last winter and that color must be repelling the red. That's why it took at the roots; that's where it had grown out.

Grrrrrr! Aveda!

The color I want is between this:

And this:

So I'm fading out the red with a clarifying shampoo, then after a bit, I'm going to bleach it up a couple shades and try again. It doesn't look awful now that it's faded a bit and I do get compliments. Point is though? I want it how I want it dammit! And it will be the red I want. 

Oh yes it will be.

Oh and tomorrow is my dad's 65th birthday! Happy birthday to my pop. Next time, I'll tell you what I'm doing for his birthday, aka why I'm a super awesome daughter. 

Photo of the Day: Lenny

Isn't my Hobbes so sweet. He's such a big dumb lug, sometimes I swear he's the cat incarnation of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. "Hey George. The mouse is soft, George."

Photo of the Day: Just Coasting

Despite really, really wanting to write a couple posts that are swirling around in my brain, such as how stupid Aveda Institute is or why I can't get my hair to dye the color I want or what an awesome daughter I am or how I'm starting a few super awesome crafty home projects, my brain is not cooperating. No more words will be written today!

There to the fore! I have to decided to bring back Photo of the Day. I don't know why I let it slack off in the first place. Photography is a huge part of this blog after all! You're so welcome.

Please to now be looking at this photo of Haystack Rock I took a couple weekends ago when Eminem and I took a loverly trip to the Oregon coast.

As an aside, see that little black spot in the water? Yeah, I thought my lens was scratched because I cleaned the lens and look! there that fucker still is. Happy days though, because it turns out the inside of my camera was just dirty. Hooray!

Me and My Muffin Top

I haven't posted in a while, mostly because I've been busy getting fat.

Don't scoff. It's true. I'm working very hard on my cider belly (that's a beer belly for girls who drink hard cider instead of beer because they're allergic to gluten. it happens.).  It's coming along quite nicely too. Pretty soon people are going to be asking me if I'm pregnant. Nope, I'll say, just fat. And then I'll bask in their embarrassed faces. Because if I'm going to get fat, I'd at least like to enjoy it. 

I really am gaining weight at an astounding pace. I don't look that bad yet. Yet. But that's because I'm pretty damn adept at camouflaging my muffin top and my exponentially growing booty tooch. Also, I'm tall. So I figure I have at least six months before people start actually calling me fat.

The most frustrating part, though, other than the fruitless trips to the gym, is that none of my clothes fit. I have like two pairs of work pants and two pairs of jeans that still fit. They used to be my baggy pants. Now I don't own baggy pants. Everything else is simply bursting off of me. I'm afraid a button will pop off and take out someone's eye and then I'll be embroiled in a lawsuit, all because of my fat.

And it's not like I can afford to buy new clothes. If I were rich, I'd embrace this! I'm say, fuck it, Kirstie Alley, let's buy some new clothes! Excuse to shop! Hell yeah!

Except I can't afford to shop. I really can't. So I've married my leggings and have draped myself in my long dresses and then I just hope I don't get much bigger. I finally understand why my mom wore all those stretch pants.

Or maybe my mysterious windfall will finally come. In that case, bring on the fat. I'll just buy a mansion and fill it with new clothes. Also: food. I think I may know what my problem is.

I did try to give up alcohol for a month, thinking that drinking certainly doesn't help the situation. But then one of my favorite restaurants was closing on Friday and they were doing $1 wine and champagne and so I was forced to drink four glasses of champagne. Forced.

Sigh

I do go to the gym. I do. I go and I swim a thousand laps (not that many, but I do work hard), and then I just get bigger. This may have to also do with my relationship with ice cream. That and maybe I'm just getting old. I remember a time when I could eat a massive burrito right after dance class and I was so teeny tiny that one of my old leotards wouldn't even fit on one thigh now.

Don't you wish all nineteen year olds knew how good they had it?

And sure, all my friends are going through the same thing. We're all old and fat. But I'm like, sister christian, you just had a baby! I don't have that excuse. All I can blame is four glasses of champagne and a steak.

But it was damn delicious. A bundle of bubbly food baby. Wanna feel it kick?

I think I need an abortion

Next week: the battle with my hair and how I now hate Aveda Institute.