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| Lemon cheesecake with coconut crust, topped with lemon rinds |
Speaking of life's lemons, I had a regular traumatic experience today. What does that mean? It means I go through this event on a regular basis, but it's still pretty damn traumatic. Poor Mihi. If I ever get married or am in a relationship, I know one thing we will not be doing together - getting haircuts.
I think it may be one of the most disconcerting repeated activities of our lives. I went through a phase in high school when I really wanted to shave my hair off completely but everyone I knew (and our school was TINY) promised they would disown me. As much as I wanted to experiment, I wasn't ready to be that bald girl with no friends just yet, so the hair stayed. Pity. I still want to do it but the closest I get to visualizing it is on a hairdresser's chair. When I have a horrendous amount of money I can't spend, I'm going to employ someone to wash my hair for me every morning. That part is heaven - the trouble starts when you return to the spin-able high chair that makes you feel like you're six again since your feet can't touch the floor. The wet hair can look a bit sexy, the comb-through, sure, but then it goes one of two ways - either it's almost all put up and you look bloated and masculine (well, I do) or they put it up in a bunch of clips and you look like an anime Sailor Moon style person. Of course, it doesn't help when you're mom is waiting in the back saying "wow, you look like a man!" Thanks, mom. The really unsettling part though, in my humble (ok maybe not too humble) opinion is the fact that you have to stare at yourself for the entirety of the haircut. I mean, you can close your eyes, but then you look really strange to anyone else in the parlor. Plus you don't want the hairdresser to think you can't see them....you keep your eye on those scissors as they snip away your painfully grown out inches of not-so-luscious locks. So there you are, watching yourself. I like using the time to practice raising my eyebrows, one at a time, and carefully observe each and every flaw on my face (man there are way too many). The question is, what else can you do? It's quite an earth-shattering moment as you realize you are not quite as good-looking as you had hoped. Nobody should have to stare at their own face for so long, in my opinion; especially under fluorescent lights that highlight each bump on your skin. It just isn't nice and it isn't doing anyone any good whatsoever. By the time the hair stylist asks me if my hair looks okay, I'm too excited to get away from my own reflection to do more than glance at the handheld mirror and nod my satisfaction. Really, anything to get away from myself by that point.
Thank god I'm really good-looking - even if I look like a man without the hair, I'm a good-looking man. I think if I was really ugly, I'd stop getting haircuts altogether. I had a dream a few nights ago where I was looking at myself and said to someone 'I read somewhere that we all think we're five times better looking than we are in reality.' Shit, I woke up terrified. Thank god I still look good terrified. I wonder if unattractive people know the truth about themselves - are we socially obligated to inform them of the harsh reality, or is ignorance really bliss? Man, life can be so tough sometimes.
I think it may be one of the most disconcerting repeated activities of our lives. I went through a phase in high school when I really wanted to shave my hair off completely but everyone I knew (and our school was TINY) promised they would disown me. As much as I wanted to experiment, I wasn't ready to be that bald girl with no friends just yet, so the hair stayed. Pity. I still want to do it but the closest I get to visualizing it is on a hairdresser's chair. When I have a horrendous amount of money I can't spend, I'm going to employ someone to wash my hair for me every morning. That part is heaven - the trouble starts when you return to the spin-able high chair that makes you feel like you're six again since your feet can't touch the floor. The wet hair can look a bit sexy, the comb-through, sure, but then it goes one of two ways - either it's almost all put up and you look bloated and masculine (well, I do) or they put it up in a bunch of clips and you look like an anime Sailor Moon style person. Of course, it doesn't help when you're mom is waiting in the back saying "wow, you look like a man!" Thanks, mom. The really unsettling part though, in my humble (ok maybe not too humble) opinion is the fact that you have to stare at yourself for the entirety of the haircut. I mean, you can close your eyes, but then you look really strange to anyone else in the parlor. Plus you don't want the hairdresser to think you can't see them....you keep your eye on those scissors as they snip away your painfully grown out inches of not-so-luscious locks. So there you are, watching yourself. I like using the time to practice raising my eyebrows, one at a time, and carefully observe each and every flaw on my face (man there are way too many). The question is, what else can you do? It's quite an earth-shattering moment as you realize you are not quite as good-looking as you had hoped. Nobody should have to stare at their own face for so long, in my opinion; especially under fluorescent lights that highlight each bump on your skin. It just isn't nice and it isn't doing anyone any good whatsoever. By the time the hair stylist asks me if my hair looks okay, I'm too excited to get away from my own reflection to do more than glance at the handheld mirror and nod my satisfaction. Really, anything to get away from myself by that point.
Thank god I'm really good-looking - even if I look like a man without the hair, I'm a good-looking man. I think if I was really ugly, I'd stop getting haircuts altogether. I had a dream a few nights ago where I was looking at myself and said to someone 'I read somewhere that we all think we're five times better looking than we are in reality.' Shit, I woke up terrified. Thank god I still look good terrified. I wonder if unattractive people know the truth about themselves - are we socially obligated to inform them of the harsh reality, or is ignorance really bliss? Man, life can be so tough sometimes.
i read it all and just love it. for the record, ever since i met you, i've only loved chocolate more and more (PLEASE, don't take it sexually LOL). keep the good words coming, puta! i'd love to read more of them! Btw, this is julia.
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