Things you should know if you know me.
Leaving in a couple days for our honeymoon in South Africa….
And yes, I’m allowed to refer to my mental illness as crazy but no, you are not. Unless you too have a mental illness, and if so, well then, my crazy kindred, I suggest pouring yourself a specialty drink I like to call “The Crazy Kook’s Cocktail” (spoiler alert: it’s wine straight from the bottle) and enjoying the following texts because I’m sure you’ve had to have similar conversations with your loved ones, which are on the one hand extremely sweet because you know they care, but at the same time make you want to throw your wine-bottle-cocktail against a window because AREN’T I JUST ALLOWED TO BE QUIRKY WITHOUT BEING INSANE?!
For context, I have been weaning off my Prozac (with the VERY close monitoring and responsible care of my therapist) so I think everyone around me is on extra high alert. But (remarkably) I feel totally fine. Well, totally fine for ME. I have an innate baseline functioning status of “meh.”
For more context, please know that I did not just wake up this morning and arbitrarily decide to hack off my hair (although if I did, I still don’t think that’d be insane). The decision to donate my hair is one I made over 5 months ago, and I have since been growing it out, itching for the day I could finally make the cut because I was starting to look like a mermaid (the washed-up on shore, tangled in slimy bramble kind, not the Ariel-singing-on-a-rock kind). So while the “do it yourself” aspect was somewhat spontaneous, the intention to lop off almost a foot of hair had been planned for a while now.
Finally, for clarity, I don’t blame Eric for being initially alarmed. (He also wasn’t the only one– I got an immediate text from Zack, and the only reason I didn’t get one from Mom, I’m sure, is because she is golfing/mahjonging/chardonnay-ing and hasn’t seen the post yet). I know Eric’s concern comes from a place of love (and straight up alarm, because he sort of committed to a long life with me– sucka!). But it is a frustrating byproduct of mental illness that if you do something “kinda weird” while feeling good, it’s a sign you’re losing your goddamn mind.
So in the end, all is fine, espeically beause we got to remininsce about Eric’s mullet.
Also, in hidsight and in fairness, I suppose my intial presentation of the situation in that first text was confusing and alarming, but I guess I overestimated how immune Eric is to my eccentricity.
Regardless, in the future, I’d like to spend less time defending my crazy and more time enjoying the fact that what I did was kind of weird, and being weird is awesome. I feel great!
#ShorthairNOWdontcare (thanks to Jose at Aveda Salon, who actually said I did a pretty decent* home job so SUCK IT).
*He reined in the word “decent” and replaced it with “not terrible, and next time don’t” after he saw how excited I was by his compliment.
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.)
Marriage is 40% about love and 60% about having someone around to stop you from eating a wheel of Gouda for dinner and then dipping potato chips in gelato.
Dad: “You can’t post things that are going to make me worry.”
(Related to Family Planning )
Eric just learned that his company offers paid paternity leave. This, naturally, lead to a serious, contemplative discussion about parenthood.
(No, I’m not pregnant).
We’re obviously kidding, relax.
They’ll be a soccer team.
I hate football.
Parent of student: “Why isn’t her math improving more?!”
Me (aloud): “Progress takes time.”
Me (internally): “Little do you know, ‘Progress takes time’ is just my vague, polite, professional code for GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK, LADY– I see your kid one hour a week. If she doesn’t put in the effort between sessions, well…I’M NOT A GODDAMN WIZARD.”
Me: “Why aren’t I improving more?!”
Therapist: “Progress takes time.”
Dear Apple Inc.,
Your iPhone product sucks. 50% of the time I go to use the Touch ID login, it doesn’t work. WTF? I thought you guys were supposed to be some kind of wizard geniuses.
Our data suggests that 95% of the time your Touch ID fails, it is due to the exorbitant amount of egg salad on your thumb. This egg salad obstruction impedes the device from accurately scanning your print. We are certain that if you learn to eat like a human, this will no longer be a problem.
Dear Apple Inc.,
Forks are for losers and a true lady eats her cold deli salads with a potato chip utensil, but I suppose I see your point re: the obstruction. I still think the technology should be sophisticated enough to scan through food or any other thick layer of grime that might be on my hand at any given moment.
You need more help than we here at Apple Inc. are qualified to provide.
Good luck in life,