do over: I only wore the ugly shoes because you’re short

in my world, there are about three general responses i could have when i run into an Ex in the street.

1.Point and laugh.

2.Vomit.

3.Run.

(sometimes a combo.)

i imagine it is awkward under even the best of circumstances. not that i can really imagine what the best circumstances would be. perhaps:

1. You run into your Ex on the way into the book signing for your best selling novel.

hillary duff booksigning

“oh. hello…who is this made out to? jerkface? how do you spell that?”

2. You run into your Ex in the crowd at the ribbon cutting ceremony your hometown has just put on commemorating the library and park erected in your honor.
giant scissor

“oh. hello. could you hold my giant scissor?”

3.You run into your Ex at the airport baggage claim returning from your honeymoon in the Maldives with your new wife who is a rockstar-slash-underwear model-slash-biochemist. 
hot chemist

“that guy? i bet he knows nothing about the practical importance of a phenomenological theory of particles.” or “oh”

or

4.You run into your Ex in a late model pickup truck or SUV with stolen plates… reverse, and do it again. Then drive off into the night, cackling, vengeance yours.

truck

“boom”

I’m kidding.

Sorta.

but there’s always that one person from your past where the relationship went sour like milk and you wouldn’t even want to run into them in the street without a Nobel Peace Prize in one hand and a can of ‘told-ya-so’ in the other and yet you still effing do.  i know a guy like that.

in the first years and a half since that break-up i ran into that guy five times.
five fingers

FIVE.

(one of the run-ins was a semi-drunken late night exchange in front of a 24-hour McDonald’s walk-up window.  his friend threw a chicken mcnugget at my friend’s head. nothing good can come from french fries at 2am. nothing.)

my mother still occasionally asks
“whatever happened to that guy? he had such nice teeth!”
right. you know who else have perfect teeth, ma?
tom

sociopaths.

at first, i’d practice all the scathing remarks and perfectly arched eyebrows that would speak volumes, specifically “eat shit volumes 1 and 2”– that is, just in case i’m not walking with my rhodes scholar super hot french and cameroonian life partner because she’s off leading a pilates retreat in mexico that week.
or, alternately, pretend i am method acting for the lead in a movie about a blind woman by specifically not seeing him.
(constantly wearing sunglasses aids this method considerably)
or, channel my inner ancient ninja and disappear into a rice paddy or the crowd of hustling rush hour commuters.
but, none of these are the right thing to do. as i’ve said – with me as well as with jennifer aniston— the best response may be to ‘just keep livin’, but the best revenge is to
live well.
 
so even if my future life partner IS really a rockstar and a master yoga instructor teaching a course in mexico… but isn’t here with me at the moment of concern because i don’t actually know her yet– i STILL should act as tho’ oprah is about to endorse my book on the OWN network by next week. because without the drama from that guy in my life i AM living better than well.
double rainbow
ok, ok, ok. all of that best inner life, fully transcendant stuff is all well and good.
but if i WAS to run into that guy again, there’d be ONE snarky thing i would definitely have to say:
“I only wore the ugly shoes because you’re short”
ugly sneakers
that would probably settle that.

kinky and curly?…well, knot today.

woman with natural hair making a face

hmph.

From Dr.Shonuffs feel it to believe it formula to Grandma Fanny’s KitchenAid to Mystical Magical Exotic Amazon Oil to regular old Dep and do it there’s a shit-ton of natural hair products, supplies remedies, regimens, routines and hairules for keeping hair that is in its natural condition in nice condition.

Shit tons of it. Most of it well documented. Video logged, scientifually broken down by kitchen-titians and aesticitians and supermarket-scalp-scientists.  But the plethora of this information doesn’t make it any easier to get thru than a thin toothed comb through 4B hair.

wild, wild hair book cover

(btw, don't ever do that)

my hair is HOUNGRAY.

me, as a person- i am alway hungry. ALWAYS.

and the only living thing i have ever come across that is hungrier than me – is my hair. i look at the dainty little jars of product that the natural hair care blogs are touting as the next best sliced bread and no split ends type thing and i can literally hear my hair laughing at that bottle. cackling wicked witch of the west style.

feed me, seymour

"i SAID... FEEEED ME"

“don’t make me laugh. that’s an appetizer” my hair says to me.  for $68 bucks a pop? i most certainly will not. (yes. i talk to my hair)

thimble

Now in FAMILY SIZE!

maybe if i melt down the plastic jar, too there will be enough to go around. but i doubt it.

so then what?

i have a bathroom cabinet purged of all sulfates and mineral oils and more hair ‘products’ from the WholeFoods than from SallyBeauty, and it just.. keeps… going…  both the food/hair products in my bathroom and increasing volume-to- hunger ratio of my hair.

i know. i know. i’m lucky.

on the millions of hairblogs that i have in my bookmarks folder one of the most asked and debated questions is how to achieve exactly that. How to Retain Length? (and then alternately: Why Do We WANT to Retain Length?) most of the time i want to pass out half way through trying a new style (or rebraiding, or washing, or the ever infrequent detangling).  and because of it i’m prone to just doing the most simple thing as possible  to it and keep it moving.

woman with paper bag on her head

"ready!"

 

between the mixing of my own home brew and the braiding/twisting/washing/detangling of the back of my own head i imagine its about the same work out that i would get carrying home enough of the popular store brand products to actually cover my head.

 

i still don’t really know what is the next step for my hair is. but at least i’ll never have to buy a shakeweight

shakeweight

journal pull 8/ 17: enter the weasel

Remember MTV era Pauly Shore?

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

Here is where I would want to say I was easily amused as a kid –but I bet you a pair of acid washed jeans* that if Encino Man came on right this very minute I would watch with rapt attention.

My friends and I really thought it would bethe raddest thing ever to unearth, defrost and befriend an iceman at some point in high school.

Which one is the the cave man?

Which one is the the cave man?

Obviously, in real life he would have disentergrated by 2nd period. But that didnt stop us from digging up the backyard.

*That’s a good deal too. Apparently acid washed jeans are making an unironiccomeback**.

acid washed jeans

have i seen you somewhere before?

**is it not hipster but just tragic that really bad fashion is making an unironic comeback? (bc if the people rocking them on the subway next to me  don’t remember them from the first time its unfortunate and unironic)  hipster kids do it to be  all retrofutureirony or whatever but still… mainstream acid washed jeans? Again?

I am expecting hair metal aaaaaany day now.

journal pull 2/09: jennifer aniston as a parable for life

(editor: i wrote this a while ago. but its funny. and jennifer aniston is semi-naked. again.)

I watched Jennifer Aniston on tv this morning.

I’d like to say ‘I’ll have what she’s having’ if  it would assure me to be as fit as she is at 40.  Or should I? Sometimes it seems all shes having is alot of walks on the beach sandwiched around public breakups and rom-com movies with sadly ironic titles.

If I were her I would probably be ecstatic about the day when I could finally do an interview without wondering if the audience is holding their collective rubber-necky breaths thinking “Ask her about Brad! Ask her what she thinks of Angelina’s ovaries! Ask her if she cries alone at night  into a tub of Ben&Jerry’s! Do it Robin Roberts! Do it for us all!”
Could I be her and not be bitter? Could I keep it classy and such? The best response, I think, goes right along with the teachings of Captain Bongodrum. (omgWhatthehellishisname?? He’s in that Dolce&Gabana cologne ad? He’s from Texas. He’s always running on the beach and is seemingly allergic to shirts??*) Ugh. As Whats-his-face would say: “just keep livin” and I think that this is the best response.
Otherhandwise, the best revenge is to live well.

To keep going and ascending.To maintain a sixpack at all costs. To have healthy and highly publicized relationships with extremely attractive, younger men.

(see: Halle Berry – Eric Benet + Gabriel Aubry or

Demi Moore – Bruce Willis + Ashton Kutcher.)

And to NOT TALK ABOUT YOUR EX.

She’s saying: ‘Give it a rest, already!’, right?

But could I keep it classy and keep it moving as she seemingly would like to do?
I ask myself this because this could totally happen to me.
Not in the way that Jennifer Anniston is supposed to be this American girl-next-door-ish everywoman.
A little bit more because  her birthday is 2/11 and mine is 2/1 so I emphathize with my astrological sign sister. But mostly because  that is the kind of shit that happens to me relationshipwise without fail.

I’ll be cruising along, comfortable in the relationship, my guard down like automatic windows. And then, seemingly  out of nowhere the whole relationship will come to a screeching, burnt rubber halt.

Dude will stop the forward momentum, turn to me and say he’s just going to walk the rest of the way from here on, thanks. And I can keep the car and that soundtrack to the Breakfast Club in the cd changer… Wait, what? Can you turn the radio down and repeat that?

Blammo.
Something unseen went down probably started by a butterfly wing blowing a blade of grass or me watching music videos over his shoulder during dinner or  me playing the same song on the radio over and over even tho’ I know he hates it or something…

(maybe i was sleep when we hit the speedbump shaped like a co-stars vagina?)

but just
blammo. Its all oh-so-over
and I’m sitting looking around at this confusing wreckage that is my lovelife saying,
Damn.  Will you look at that.

oil rig fire

uhm.. happy valentine’s day?

And only a creepy, jealous, insecure harpy would blame just the man for the mess. And a worse kind of woman would still be talking about it– especially if it had been years (…and years… and years) later. So you’ve got to stiff-upper-lip it. And not bring it up.  Even if it is eating away at you. And especially  if you can see it  eating away at  the studio audience with their semi-pitiying faces wanting to bring the torrid shit up just to watch the emotional trainwreck that they assume will ensue.

(you know, becuause everyone has a studio audience)

audience

but is your life a talk show or a wacky game show?

What is wrong with Jennifer Anstion’s media karma? In a scenario that happend a  zillion hollywood years ago involving  herself and two other people she’s the only one that’s not allowed to move on?
Granted, this is me looking at it not only from the outside but from the checkout line in the Duane Reed as I run in to get a protein bar and a bottle of water before the gym or whatever.
She could very well be over it and it’s the tabloids that wont let it die.

But watching Jennifer Anstion’s  being  interviewed by Robin Roberts on Good Morning America (sidenote: the most addictive tv show ever for me right now, btw)  about a movie that may in actuality  end up being OK  or in fact,  be the steaming pile of I-can-never-get-those-two-hours-of-my-life-back   that I think it will because her main costars are that guy with the nose (who I like) and A DOG.
A FLIPPING DOG for christcryingoutloudsakes a DOG! All you can really think about is: A) Damn. This movie has a dog in it.

and

B) starts with a ‘B’ and is commonlaw married to Angelina Jolie.

And so Jennifer Aniston and Robin Roberts  are discussing life on set with her costars and what it is like to work, no, not with Owen Wilson who is a living breathing human being who can communicate in actual words but with the DOG who, for the record shits outside and then buries it and licks its own arsehole…
and then there is a side bar of ‘Gee, Jen  you sure look amazing at 40’
specifically
here in this [airbrushed?] photo of you on the cover of a men’s magazine wearing naught but a smile and a necktie. And in the article therein which regales you for your good humor and hello, your 90% nakedness.

I am on the fence about all of this. The seminaked spread (no pun intended) may or may not shriek ‘Hello, I am desperate. Look at me please! Lookatmelookatmelookatme!‘ It …may or may not. I’ve not decided. And desperate ploy or no, I repeat empatically that if I look like that at 40,(and I will, dammit!) it will be a good thing indeed.  And if so when that time arrives I may very well be publicly naked 45% of the time, too.
The interview continues and it did not once address the 300lb gorilla in the room. Nor his 68 kids. Or the otherworldly level of hot, humanitarian woman the gorilla left Jen for a zillion years ago and how she allegedly still can’t get over it.
No, none of that.
I wonder, if afterwards she looks back on how the interview went and remembers that they spent two of its 10 minutes talking about dog hair  and feels some kind of way about it.
I wonder, did she look around her dressing room not really seeing it, more seeing snippets of moments of her life that had just passed which had’nt seemed so bad at the time but assuredly  didn’t seem like it would lead up to well, this confusing wreckage. Causing her to scratch her head and say,
damn, will you look at that?

Blammo.

Le sigh.

All of that rant because I identified w Jennifer Aniston this morning and she’s in a movie with a dog.
Yeah, I know. I probably should be worried.

*Matthew McConaheywhatever. Dammnit.