Internet, I never should have said it. I never should have opened my big, fat mouth on the way home on Friday and said what I’d been thinking all day long: “Wow – this will mark two weeks that none of us have been sick!”
“Don’t say that!” said Brad, with genuine anxiety.
“Oh, please,” I said. “That’s not how these things work.”
Oh, ON THE CONTRARY, says the universe.
On Saturday morning, I headed out for my much needed hair appointment, and relished in every minute of my two-hour, chemical-laden experience. Seriously, does anyone else think hair salons smell AWESOME? Something about all those chemicals mingled with heat and expensive Aveda products really turns my crank, as you can see.
My hair appointments are pretty much my only big, spendy indulgence, and I maintain that it is totally worth it. Not only is my hair in the capable hands of someone who actually knows what the fuck she’s doing…
…but it’s also Big Fun in my book, because it affords me the opportunity to sit on my ass breathing in chemicals and reading trashy magazines. Throw in a box of wine and an ill-advised hookup, and I’d be back in college.
I had a very satisfying appointment, getting over 3 inches of my hair chopped off and going with a shade that is a much prettier version of my natural color, so I don’t look like Roots McGillicuddy 5 weeks from now. I also had a very satisfying conversation with my stylist (“…my stylist!” OOOOO! Who let fucking J-Lo in here?!) about my constant struggle with buying something well-made that will last but is expensive, or going the Old Navy route and buying 4 sweaters for $12 and then getting mad when they barely last one season.
I am famous for going the cheap, disposable clothes route, mostly because spending over $50 for one item of clothing makes my eyes roll back into my head (in the not-good way), but also because I’m always afraid to wear pricey clothes for fear that they’ll get ruined. I have a very pretty cardigan sweater from this store that OH, I LOOOOVE, but Internet, I barely wear that shit, EVEN THOUGH the only way to truly get my money’s worth is to just wear the fuck out of it, right? Of course, at this rate, I’ll wear it all of three times before I look at it and realize it’s woefully out of style.
My stylist (there I go again! Who’s fancy?) offered a suggestion: why not hit up the consignment store across the street? You know, the one I have passed TEN THOUSAND TIMES BEFORE and never patronized? That has gently-used items from high-end brands for a mere fraction of the retail price?
So I took her advice and stopped at the consignment store, which was 1) very trendy, 2) full of people trying way too hard, and 3) home to a pair of really nice jeans that went home with me for $18.50. Original price of these jeans? $158.00. Because YOU KNOW I went straight home, Googled, and had a very thrifty orgasm over the savings.
Anyhoo, I had a very nice afternoon hanging out with Sadie and my new hair while Brad was busy performing in a play festival downtown. He came home in between performances and ate dinner with us, and then while I was home drinking wine and watching the HBO movie about Grey Gardens* with Sadie asleep in her crib, I got a text from Brad. He wasn’t feeling well.
Skipping lots of mundane and unsavory details, let me cut to the chase and share that Brad had some sort of food poisoning or stomach virus. And that meant that ONCE AGAIN Brad was quarantined up on the third floor, and I had to make YET ANOTHER run to Rite Aid for Gatorade and crackers, and I had to fill ONE MORE afternoon of my life running Clorox wipes over every possible shared surface. WOE AND DESPAIR, my friends.
I was so bummed out that Brad’s illness put the kibosh on our big Sunday plans (Brad was too, of course, when he wasn’t CRIPPLED WITH NAUSEA), and I’m kind of embarrassed that I let it bother me, because all that accomplished was making Brad feel guilty. So I sent him a card today to apologize:
Brad is thankfully feeling much better today, and I’m hoping Sadie and I have successfully avoided catching this particular funk. On the upside, spending the day lounging around the house in my pajamas yesterday allowed me to take approximately 56,000 photos of Sadie with our new camera…
…and hey! There’s my new hair!
And what’s this?
We’re CRAWLING now?
Yes, it would appear we absolutely are. Go, little peanut! We’re all rooting for you!
*Internet, are you familiar with Grey Gardens? Because I was not, and watching the movie made me all at once fascinated with the Beales and TERRIFIED that I will somehow end up an eccentric old spinster wearing headscarves and and living in a dilapidated mansion for the rest of my days. Don’t get me wrong – I am down with being an eccentric old lady. But I want to be “is really good at Rock Band” eccentric, not “reeks of cat urine” eccentric.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.