Today I got a haircut (just like every other female blogger out there that’s heading to BlogHer next week) and I asked my stylist if we could do something, ANYTHING, with my side swept bangs because I was over them. She asked if I’ve ever had straight bangs and, after admitting that I haven’t since I was 12 years old, she convinced me they would be fun! And cute! Snip snip snip and now I have proper bangs again. Um, yeah. I’m not totally sold on them yet.

Here’s what I look like:

Oh how I wish I were kidding. Don’t believe me?

How long until those bangs grow out and drive me crazy? Also, not related to the hair cut, but damn my boobs are huge. What’s up with that?

edit: Do you need to see the pictures side by side?

If you have me as an iChat or gtalk contact then you might have noticed that recently I’ve changed my icon picture to one that is not quite professional. This is totally perfect since my company does 90% of its communication via iChat. And I wonder why I don’t get pay raises or advance from my current position.

How about some more build up before I post the picture? Sure! Disappointment is fun! This was taken one morning right after I woke up. I usually fall asleep on my stomach but, judging from my delightful hair in the morning, I must roll over during the night and dedicate myself to making it very uncomfortable for jparks to sleep. I guess even when I’m asleep I like to screw with my husband.

Enough words, picture time!

Jparks says he laughs every time he sees this picture and I hope you do too. And if you didn’t laugh at the hair, maybe you could laugh at the bags under my eyes. I tend to do that because laughing at them makes for a great form of denial.

For years and years and years now I have dyed my hair. I experimented with various shades of red until I found the perfect one (that is, of course, after I ungothed myself and stopped dying it black). That specific red stuck until I started to notice my hair thinning and I could only assume that after 14 years of constant torture it was going on strike. We went back and forth with negotiations and finally an acceptable offer was reached. I would stop dying my hair until I reached an age when I couldn’t handle the grays anymore and then I could start dying it again.

It has taken a while for me to cut all of the red out of my hair but with my last stylist appointment we have finally reached it’s natural color. Which is most certainly not red. Obviously I knew my hair color wasn’t red but, after so many years of pretending, I had convinced myself that it had to be slightly red. A reddish brown. Yeah, that’s the ticket. But now I’m having to face the cold hard truth, my hair is not reddish brown, it is brownish brown.

The fact that my hair is not really the color I was dying it has thrown me into a mini identity crisis. Before, with the red hair, everyone assumed I was Irish. Pale + green eyes + red hair= Irish. This was great when jparks and I went to Europe because, until I opened my mouth and the dumb America accent tumbled out, most people thought we were from Ireland and were nice to us. Hey, we aren’t Americans who are going to be loud and obnoxious, we’re Irish!

But now, well, I look not so Irish. In fact, on Friday night, I was told I look Russian. There’s nothing wrong with looking Russian, I’m just not used that. I guess now I can walk around and say “In Soviet Russia kitteh captions you!”

The other crappy thing I’ve learned about my hair is that I have a fair amount of gray. Luckily it’s scattered and my stylist was able to literally nip it in the bud, she cut it all out at the scalp. She said we won’t be able to do this for long as eventually it’ll lead to bald spots, but we’re okay right now. Also, does anyone know why the gray grows faster than the rest of my hair?

I’ve been pretty mopey since learning I’m no where close to being a redhead. Jparks says he likes my natural color, but I think he’s finally learned that a husband is never supposed to say he doesn’t like something about the wife. Of course he loves my brown hair, he wants to have sex again in the future.

This month’s issue of Real Simple told me that don’t have to wash my hair everyday. And if Real Simple says it, then it MUST be true, so today I skipped washing my hair.

Folks, you may not realize it, but me not washing my hair is big deal. I’m of the shampoo and condition every single day mentality (you can’t shampoo and not condition, and why would you condition without shampooing?) If I skip a day my hair gets really gross and it bothers me. I’m compelled to play with it all day, which of course makes it much more disgusting. After a while I can’t handle how gross it feels and I end up pulling it back into a ponytail, which is not the best solution, but it helps.

According to Real Simple, your scalp is used to producing a certain amount of oil and if you skip stripping it of the oil for a few days it will stop producing as much, which means eventually you can skip a day of hair washing and not look like a hobo. (longest sentence ever™) Today was my first day into Operation Hair Repair (my hair has seemed kinda ‘over worked’ lately and I’m hoping that by skipping some shampooing it’ll get healthy again. Maybe even hold a hair color for longer than 3 days) and I lasted until about 10:30 before I was ready to rip out big chunks because it was so greasy and itchy and just disgusting. I finally had put my hair into a ponytail, which is jparks’ favorite hair style on me and my least favorite.

Tomorrow I get to wash my hair, and I can’t even begin to explain how exciting that is. Supposedly it takes a couple of weeks for your hair to lower its oil production so know that if you see me in these next few weeks and I have greasy hair and/or a ponytail, I’m clean. I swear I’m showering and wetting my hair, just not actually washing it.

Ugh, just writing about dirty hair is making my head itch. I wonder if I can try using baby powder to absorb the oil, or if that’ll just make me look like I’m wearing a powdered wig. I really hope Operation Hair Repair works and I’m not torturing myself for nothing.

Please Real Simple, don’t be wrong! I can’t handle having my faith in you shaken.

Can we talk about my unshaven legs for a minute? Yes? Great!

I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs. I know it’s been a while but the exact date of the last shaving eludes me. Maybe it was when we went to DisneyWorld, so the end of October. There is no reason why I’ve held out on shaving them, just a combination of laziness and laziness. I have to wake up an extra 15 minutes early to shave and 15 minutes is a lifetime when we are talking about sleep.

But its been so long since I last shaved that if I were to shave my legs in the morning I would easily have to wake up an extra 45(!) minutes early. No way in hell is that happening. Why 45 minutes? I’m assuming the thick leg hair would be too much for a normal razor and I would have to use jparks’ head shaver first to thin the field. And then chase that with my regular razor. Hmmm, is 45 minutes even going to be enough time?

I could just shave at night, but then I’ve got stubble in the morning and I might as well not shaved. (this is actually not true at all, I shave and don’t have stubble for a few days. I’m just to lazy to shave at night)

I guess I’m lucky because jparks doesn’t care much about the length of hair on my legs. I think as long as it’s shorter than his he’s okay with it. And mostly I wear pants to work and that contains the hair so my coworkers aren’t scared. If I have to wear a skirt (as I’m doing today) I wear knee high boots and make sure the skirt and boots overlap.

I think I’ll have to break down and shave on Friday for jparks’ company’s Holiday Party. I can’t show up in a super cute cocktail dress with hairy legs. That would just ruin the look.

I tried telling jparks that these were just ribbons, but he insisted on wearing it as a toupee. He sure can be stubborn.

Earlier today I was worrying about what jparks story I would have to tell tonight. I mean, I’m sure there are many, many things I could say that would entertain and maybe make our Mom’s slightly uncomfortable but I was having trouble pulling one out of my memory.

And then jparks came home today and asked if he could shave his head. With his beard trimmer. And if I could do it. And that, folks, is what I call blog posting goodness.

I think all I need to say is that the beard trimmer quit most of the way through leaving this on the back of jparks’ head.

He was not happy, but he was very itchy. And I laughed so hard I snorted. Ah, good times.

I bet you’re wondering how my delightful cowlick is growing out.

It’s not.

The one on top is not getting better, but at least it’s not getting worse like the one right in the back of my head. As that one gets longer it sticks out more. And don’t even get me started about when I put my hair into a ponytail.

The good news is: I recently found out that the woman that did this to me is no longer allowed to cut hair, she’s been downgraded to pedicure girl. Ah, sweet justice.

Last night Jason and I went to a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert with some friends. The concert was great, we loved the venue, and we saw Glen Phillips’ daughter twirl around with her dress over her head. (Glen Phillips= Lead singer of Toad, his daughter was maybe 5 and was very cute dancing around to her father’s music). After the concert we went to La Fondue for dessert and this is where the evening took a turn for the worse.

La Fondue wants you to think it is a culinary delight nestled in cute downtown Saratoga, but in reality it is a den of gluttony created to give people stomach aches. Don’t believe me? In their bathrooms they have an industrial sized bottle of Tums. See, den of gluttony. The problem was that I didn’t know La Fondue was a stomach ache waiting to happen, I thought it was a cute culinary delight. And when we ordered our chocolate fondues I indulged. I indulged quite a bit. Okay, I went all out and ate more than one human should be allowed to. You know how the fat guy in Seven was forced to eat until his stomach popped? Well, I was one chocolate dipped rice krispy ball away from that point.

Don’t get me wrong, the fondue was wonderful. But maybe it should have been less wonderful so I wouldn’t be forced to eat a boat load of it. By the end of the meal, I was heading straight into a cranky, chocolate coated coma. I was filled to the brim with chocolate, marshmallows, and snickers bars (yeah, they give you snickers bars to dip in chocolate. Overkill? Yes. Awesome? Hell yeah!) and all I wanted to do was sleep.

When we got home I whined about my stomach for a few minutes and then crashed into a sleep that contained some incredibly bizarre dreams. My favorite dream was about Jason being completely bald on top of his head and growing in the sides really long so he could do a comb over. But it was a really greasy, gross comb over but nothing anyone told him would change his mind about it. He loved his comb over and wasn’t going to get rid of it. One night I tried to clip the comb over to a normal length and he woke up and was upset. His beloved comb over was almost no more! So all scissors were locked up at night and he would hide the key. I woke up around this point, probably out of fear, and had to roll over and check his head. Hair still there? Check.

This morning when I woke up I still felt wretched from all of that chocolate. I thought I was a dessert pro, but obviously I am not. The sugar hangover this morning was just as bad as any other hangover I’ve ever had. I barely made it through the first part of the work day. And even after lunch and plenty of caffeine I still just want to go to bed. Stupid La Fondue.