I really need to get my hair cut into a style instead of this nebulous “growing out” look I’ve got going on. Today is actually a good hair day. Hair is tame, good shape, nice volume. Yesterday was suspect; I had weirdness going on in the back and a big swish in the front. My hair is such a mixed bag nowadays, and I don’t have really all that much control over it. I blow-dry and style the same way every morning, but it seriously has a mind all its own.
The corralling and beautifying of hair has never been my forte. Makeup, I’m good at; hair styling is a whole other story. Hair is more 3-D, like sculpting. I’m better at paints (or maybe paint-by-number) and colors. This accounts for the fact that for most of my teen/adult life I’ve worn my hair very minimalist, with the only real styling being done by a headband, ponytail, or curling iron. For four years, I had a pixie short do that required nothing more than a shampoo and a spot of gel.
On those days when my hairstyle resembles a cross between Milo from Bloom County and The Donald, I seriously begin reconsidering Operation: Long Haired Hippie.
Today I am wearing my potentially dangerous Aeropostale cargo pants. I often forget to zip the fly and won’t realize it for quite some time. I also learned the hard way that these pants and patterned undies don’t mix. It’s an adventure every time I put these pants on for I never know what kind of excitingly, embarrassing situation will arise.
Tuesday night, Ukrops’s was playing some rockin’ tunes. Like an INXS song off of “The Lost Boys” soundtrack. I shimmied around the produce section singing along, totally in 1987 heaven and providing unique entertainment to my fellow shoppers and the Ukrop’s employees.
Married life is so bizarre sometimes. Tonight is Date Night for the Amos’. A date night which will include dryer shopping.
It’s almost 10 a.m. and I’ve not had a piece of gum yet. I am, however, on my second cup of coffee. I’ve got addictions, dammit. If I don’t feed at least one a day, they get restless.