Me: “So today we are going to read this biography about Barack Obama.”
Kid: “Oh! That’s my Dad’s Christmas dinner guest!”
Kid: “So every year everyone in my family decides who we would invite to our Christmas dinner that year, if we could invite anyone in the world. My dad chose Barack Obama.”
Me: “Oh, I love that! And who did YOU choose?”
Kid: “Taylor Swift.”
Me: “Also a good one. And your Mom?”
Kid: “She chose ‘any black female voter from Alabama.'”
Kid: “Yeah I didn’t really get it.”
I thought cutting off all my own hair, alone and by myself, while listening to Kesha’s “Praying” would be super therapeutic (and it was! For exactly 5 seconds), since the only other time I cut my own hair was in the middle of the night when I was 6, after which I promptly blamed my brother, so I never got to really bask in the glory of my work.
Newsflash: There is no glory. I look very very bad.
Turns out there is a reason hair dressers do this for you. One reason is that THEY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THEY’RE DOING. Another reason is that they have a straight angle, and can therefore cut the hair evenly. As you can see in the haphazard-looking nubs above the hair bands, I did not accomplish this. It looks like someone cut my hair with a samurai sword.
The good news is that some child, through the nonprofit Children With Hair Loss, will receive a lovely 11-inch wig, which is a small price to pay for me looking like a gnome.
Now, Jose at Aveda Salon, you better hold on to your hat. Our appointment today will be more therapy than haircut.
#iwasonlysupposedtocut8inches #oops #shorthair
dontcarefreakingthefuckout #shorthairDONTDOTHISATHOME (oh, you would never do this at home, because you’re smart and rational? HOW NICE FOR YOU.)
There’s lame, there’s REALLY lame, and then there’s getting home from dinner at 7:30 and running into your 7-year-old student in the lobby, who’s on her way OUT to dinner.
Our building busybody (the same lady who commented inappropriately on my ring, and assumed that because I am a tutor, I am a dog walker) is at it again.
Busybody: “So, how’s married life? Have you changed your last name yet?”
Me: “It’s great! No, I haven’t. I’m not sure it’s necessary to legally change it.”
Busybody: “Oh my god really? I couldn’t WAIT to change my name.”
Me: “Ok. Well, to each her own! I mean I’ll informally use Eric’s last name, I’m happy for people to call me Emily Taylor, and to introduce myself that way. Just don’t see the need to go through a legal process. But we’ll see, maybe one day.”
Busybody: “His last name is Taylor? What’s yours?”
Busybody: “Oh, honey. You should change it. Taylor is a great last name– then people won’t know what you are.”
Me (silent, confused pause): “You mean…a Jew?”
Me: (blank stare)
Busybody: “Sometimes it’s just better, in certain circumstances, that people don’t know, you know?”
So now I’m keeping Lerman just to spite you.
“So, Fairway called me today. They want to know if you’re ok.” — Eric
That moment when you finally get why Game of Thrones kept Cersei’s comically atrocious hairdo this season, even though enough time has passed for her to totally have a cute bob by now.
That amazing moment when you’re packing for the first wedding that isn’t your own wedding, and you realize it doesn’t matter what the hell you pack, wear, do, or say, because no one gives a fuck about YOU this weekend.
Guy friend (who is single): “Sooo…I know what you’ve been saying to your single girlfriends about me.”
Me: “Ok, fine. I figured it’d get back to you. But look. It’s nothing I wouldn’t say to your face. I absolutely adore you, you know that. I think you’re awesome. But at no point in knowing you have I seen any evidence that you want a real relationship. So yeah, I told my single girlfriends that– that I wouldn’t want to proactively set you up with them. Because I just don’t trust that you WANT a girlfriend. And you know what? I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. And it’s not a bad thing, it’s just the facts based on what–”
Guy friend: “Oh my god, stop talking. I was joking. I haven’t heard anything. ”
My only complaint is that Angelica Schuyler was played by a woman of Mexican descent, which, for me, just felt inauthentic.
Everyone knows Angelica was black.