Today I Got an Eyeful

That would be literally, of course.  I swear if there is a slim margin of chance something will happen to me, it will.  And hilarity may ensue.

I had a client lunch meeting at one of the fancy schmancy restaurants my Partner likes to frequent. Actually, I guess I like to frequent as well since the entire staff knows my name and my waitress doesn't even bring me a menu anymore.  In any event, I was exactly on time which meant I was late in my Partner's eyes, so I was in a bit of a rush.  The valet guy, who also knows me, was kind enough to open the door for me. As I was walking quickly through and about to maneuver myself out of my coat for the coatcheck, it happens...

A HUGE plop of water from the top of the door falls down in between my glasses and face and RIGHT INTO MY EYE.  I was so stunned and discombobulated, I almost fell over.  Right at that moment a maitre d' type guy opens the next door for me.  Half blind, I stumbled in and wondered how I was going to get all of that water out of my eye, off my face and off my glasses without admitting what happened and in the mere 30 seconds I had to get to the table with the clients.

I started trying to nonchalantly wipe at my eye.  Seriously I must have looked like I was crying from only one eye.  As that did not appear to be working, I decide to remove my glasses and take a big swipe. At that exact moment, maitre d' guy decides to act like the coat check and take my coat for me.  Now I am trying to maneuver myself out of my coat while holding my glasses and wiping my eye.  Perhaps I never told you how blind I am without the glasses? Oh, but I guess I did.  While this is happening maitre d' guy says "The rest of your party is already here" (Crap! I AM late) followed by "can you see them."  Ha! Is this a joke? NO I CANNOT SEE THEM! I HAVE BEEN BLINDED BY YOUR LEAKY DOOR AND AM HOLDING MY SUPER THICK GLASSES IN MY HAND.

Instead I say "oh of course I see them."  And just turn right.  Luckily Partner picked the table that he normally does and I was headed in the right direction. However, since they had not seen me just yet, I dodged into the women's room to get rid of the water.  Of course, by that time it had dried. And there were two women in the extremely small bathroom. I have never seen one person in the bathroom, let alone two women who are now eyeing me strangely as I look in my eye, wipe my brow and wipe my glasses.  I could still feel that big plop in my eye.

Finally made my way to the table and all was well...until cappuccino time.  The waitress always brings chocolate chip biscotti cookies with my cappuccino, enough for the table. Everyone wins with my cappuccino order.  As I was eating the cappuccino, Partner said something so ridiculous that I went to laugh, but instead lodged the piece of biscotti sideways in my throat. I am not kidding. It hurt like hell!  Trying to maintain my cool while I had visions of dying in the restaurant, I swiftly swallow a bunch of water, finally feeling the cookie go down. I then declare to Partner "You nearly killed me!"  And all was well...

Until back at the office when my throat became so scratchy, it made eating cake painful and that is just A SHAME.  Apparently I really scratched up my throat with that biscotti. Who knows what I did to my eye with that nasty melty water plop.

At least I was able to belt out Happy Birthday, in true dramatic fashion, in between the part time theater person and the accounting person, with arms spread wide.

And not knock anything over.

You Can B So Judgical

Did you know that judgical is not a word? It sounds like it could be one. Kind of like dramatical which is not a word either.  Go figure.  I knew it was not a word but I ran across it in one of those annoying captcha code things on the internet and just knew it was the perfect word for the title of this post. Plus, I like made up words anyway. Unless they are being used in a professional setting or in a serious manner.

B came home the other night and said "your hair is long, it looks long" with wonderment and amazement in his voice.  Inside my head I yelled "victory!" and raised my arms to the sky.  Well, not really, but inside my head.  Why are we getting excited about my hair? Let me take you back about four years or so...

B and I were dating.  I was in San Antonio on a work trip with my friend E.  For whatever reason, I decided I wanted to cut my hair short. This may have stemmed from the fact that I have super fine baby hair that just lays there and really does not do much else.  But in any event that is what I decided.  E told me I should ask B after all he was "my boyfriend."  Okay. Sure. What the heck. I call B who says "whatever" and "it's your hair." That B. He played things really cool when we were dating. All nonchalant and relaxed.  Actually he is pretty nonchalant and relaxed. Except when it comes to my hair.  But back then? He was playing it cool.

So I cut my hair short. Pretty short in fact.  When my dad picked me up from the airport without any fair warning, his exact words were "wow that's short!" or something to that effect.  B never said a word. It was my hair after all.  This held true when I got highlights. I would get some noncommittal "whatever" before it was done and some throw away comment like "oh that's blond" when it was finished.

Fast forward to six months after we were married.  After growing my hair out for the wedding, I cut it again. B did not say a word.  By now I was used to this and thought "wow, my super cool boyfriend became a super cool fiance and is now a super cool husband."  Until the dreaded day in November...when I cut my hair shorter than it had ever been.   I remember quite well what B said to me before I left:

"Don't come home with a soccer mom hair cut."

But you see, I had a super cool husband who used to be a super cool fiance and before that a super cool boyfriend who didn't care that much about my hair because, after all, it was my hair (which he continued to say while we were married). He was nonchalant and relaxed.  I wanted shorter, cooler hair. Something with pizazz!  Wowza! Or some other crazy zingy word.  Instead I became:

Pat Benetar

I totally had Pat Benetar hair.  I am not kidding.  And I love Pat Benetar.  And I actually loved my hair. The thing is, I did not really look like me which would freak me out when I looked in the mirror sometimes.  Now, when I see pictures I think it was kind of cool (although there are not that many pictures at all). 

B hated it.

Hated it.

Every pent up feeling he had for all of my hair cuts came out in full force.  I had to sit and listen to how he told me not to come back looking like that. And queries as to whether I really liked this hair. And how long until this is fixed? And he cannot believe he let me invite my hairdresser to the wedding celebration in September.  And from there on he was going to go with me to the hairdresser EVERY TIME to insure this didn't happen.

As you can tell, he was no longer nonchalant and relaxed.  He was irrational and ticked off. It probably didn't help that he had to go on our honeymoon with me and my new hair.  Despite the fact that most people loved it (although B swears that they all lied to  me and that only he, the one who truly loved me, would tell the truth), I never quite accepted it either. I did not hate it as much as B did, but it didn't feel like me.  So I decided to grow it out.

That was over one year ago.  

I have not been to the salon in one year for fear that (a) if I trim even one little bit, it will stop growing and (b) B will want to accompany me and demand to talk to the GIRL WHO BUTCHERED HIS WIFE'S HAIR and who really wants THAT scene?  So it has grown. Not as quickly as I had hoped, but we have come a long way baby.   

So when I hear that my hair is long or looks long, yes I consider it a victory.  The longer it grows, the less we are reminded of the Pat Benetar haircut and all is well with the world.  B goes back to being the super cool husband and I go back to being the wife that does not look like a soccer mom.

Now, what color highlights should I try? After all, it IS my hair.  

The Write Way

Today is election day. I know, you probably hadn't noticed.  Personally, I am excited for all of the campaigning and ads to stop. Then I can go back to my ad free life watching The Hills.*  But before that happens, voting must occur.  So, I have decided to write myself in as candidate for President of the United States of America.  Why not? I think I have the experience.  After all, I was President of a group at law school.  And, I was actually a successful write in candidate for student representative my first year.  That's a winning combination if I ever heard one.  Let me take you back about 9 years or so....

We were in the middle of a full fledged campaign for student something or another at school. There were probably about four candidates for the spot in our class although I only remember two of them and for two reasons.  First, they were my friends (yes both of them).  Second, they were running on a platform together although there was only one spot...and only one of them could win...so technically they were running together, but against, each other. Confusing, I know.

In the midst of all of this confusion, a few people remarked that I should have put my bid in for the spot.  The more remarks were made, the more I thought they were right. Why wasn't I running?  Well, alas, it was only two days before election.  Too late to do anything but ponder what could have been.  However, someone wiser than me, an upperclassman, suggested I should be a write in candidate. After researching and getting a permission slip or something, it was approved.  But how does one go about becoming a write in candidate - how do you get the word out?

Campaign posters were out.  We were told that I could put them up but the other candidates made such a stink that I modestly declared they "weren't necessary."  For the next two days, I and my upperclassman friend, proceeded to spread, via word of mouth, my message. That message consisted of "elect me" or something equally benign yet clever.  Word quickly spread like fire. Why, I don't know. Everyone wanted me to win, although perhaps not my opponents. The day of the election was upon us and we did not stop campaigning.  In fact, I sat by the election table introducing myself to everyone.  My opponents - the together yet against each other team - despite being my friends** did not trust me so they, too, sat by the table.  After a long hard day/night, the tally was in.

I won.

Yep - I, a write in candidate, two days before election, with no signs, won. Victory.  The power was ALL mine.  Never had I been so successful, wanted something so badly, that I took it and seized it, trampling foes and friends alike in my thirst.  I was riding high.

Until my first meeting.  That is when I realized being a representative was annoying as hell. All anyone did was bitch and moan and nothing good happened.  Victory quickly became lackluster enthusiasm which dwindled to pure hatred.

I imagine that might be what it is like to be elected President of the United States.  At least, that is what I will tell myself when my write in candidacy campaign fails.

UPDATE: Another candidate has declared his write in candidacy. He may win on cuteness alone.

*Yeah I like mindless TV. Who doesn't?

**Not much of a friend was I? Running against them like that. However, how could they even explain their dual platform for a single election? So puzzling.

The One Where I Look Like...

Yesterday I was at yet another proceeding wearing another dark suit. Luckily no powdered donut holes were to be found as it was an afternoon proceeding. As an aside, it is not really fun to go to the grocery store with people that read your blog like, say, your brother and his girlfriend. They just end up saying witty things like "stay away from those donut holes," "watch out that has powdered sugar", and "the corn is not giving you the evil eye."  Back on point - at a proceeding in a dark suit.  In the middle of the proceeding, as one of the in charge people is speaking, I can see and hear one of the guys across from me whispering (not so quietly) about me.  I hear snippets like "her glasses" and "see, look at her."  I loudly proclaim "I CAN HEAR YOU" which stops them for all of two minutes and they are back at it again, disrupting me and the proceeding.  When the person in charge stops speaking, the guy across from me announces to the whole room:

YOU LOOK LIKE SARAH PALIN.

Oh boy.  I really look nothing like Sarah Palin. I am pale, she is not.  We have different facial features. I have about 1/100 of her hair (seriously my hair is super thin and super fine).  So I tell him it is probably the dark suit.  My client chimes in with "and your hair is up."  But, he was not satisfied, that man.  He declares that I do not have the right glasses and that I should put on his client's classes. A man.  I repeat "you want me to put on his glasses?" Oh yes, he did. Well, as soon as I put them on, there was a collective gasp from the room and everyone chimed in "oh you DO look like Sarah Palin."  The injured party says "maybe if you had a little more poufy hair on top."  Thanks?

However, after expressing concern as to whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, I was told I was a beautiful woman so it was a good thing. I was also told that I was much more smarter than Sarah Palin.  I will take that as a compliment.  Sarah probably will not.

Then they asked me to do math and my reign as a really smart beauty queen came to a screeching halt.