Whipped His Hair

Well, it has been a little over a week since I decidedly proclaimed to Rejoin the World.

Come on everyone, don your annoying Sarah Palin voice and say: “how’s that workin’ out for ya?”

Well, I’ll tell you. The efforts have been valiant. Let’s start out with the positives. I successfully got my hair did. Never mind that the person who does my hair has apparently decided to give me the most boring haircut of all times. Still, it is cut. Did it put a spring back into my step as a good haircut can? Not so much. It’s a boring step, not a springy one. And it’s making me want to break up with my haircutter. So, I guess I get a C-plus on that.

I went to a dance show last weekend. Contemporary 4 at PNB. It was pretty good. Not knock your socks off good, but sometimes I need to just calm down about everything needing to knock my socks off. My socks can stay on and I can still enjoy myself. Which I did. And yay, I dressed up, got out of the house, saw some friends, saw some art. That’s my happy place. So I felt pretty good about that. Then this weekend I went to see Alvin Ailey, which was off the frigging chain. So much so that it can make me say things like off the frigging chain.

Also, I no longer fall asleep every night at 9pm, only to wake up the next morning still tired. Now I stay up until a grownup hour, and do things. This feels like the biggest accomplishment of all. How sad is that?

You know, I thought my list of positives would be longer. Shite. I feel like I am coming out of the loop I was in where I went to work, ate, slept, thought about work, repeat. And I am, I know I am. But my list up there needs beefing up. What is a list of positives without beef?

So, update on Rejoining the World stands at: Needing More Beef.

Silliness seems to have re-entered my life though, which makes me feel more like me than I have been lately. For instance, yesterday we were at the store, waiting in line, and there was this kid who was maybe 13-years-old, and he had a really long, really impressive mullet hairdo. The front was really short, and the back was really long, like maybe down to the center of his back. And super lush and thick. If you’re going to go mullet, then hallelujah, do it up, son. At least you don’t have a snoozefest going on on your head like I got. Anyway, he was being sort of hyper, as 13-year-olds can be, and he started to run through the store without really thinking ahead about where he was running or how to best go amok in a store. He whipped his head around as he started to run and his mullet swung around and whipped him in the face (insert Willow Smith reference here) and went exactly across his eyes and he couldn’t see but AT ALL, and so that made him trip and he sort of flew through the air, forward, mullet across his eyes with his hands outstretched like a blindfolded-mullet-kid-Superman, and he crashed onto the floor and it was specTACular. He jumped up immediately and kept running, and Nordic Boy turned to me to catch my eye to see if I had seen this, and I turned to him in the exact same moment and we conked our noggins together hard in our excitement over hairblinded Superman and simultaneously said “OW!” and grabbed our respective heads and then giggled as inconspicuous as we could.

This all happened in the span of about 10 seconds. Head whip, mullet mask, trippy trip, Superman, kiss the floor, jump up, run, skull smack, tee hee hee. You could not have choreographed it to be more poetic. Eat your heart out, Alvin Ailey.

Onward to another week, all. Hope it’s a good one!

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