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 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.

Random Office Tales Part Deux

Yes, the tales just keep coming.  

So, walking along the hall today from the kitchen to the bathroom when I notice that there is someone walking behind me.   It is one of my coworker's mother.  Yes, apparently if you are overworked and need your filing done, our office will hire your mother to assist you.

(Mom: Are you reading this? You know my assistant keeps on losing my stuff. You may be recruited, I mean hired, at any time. Be forewarned!)

This woman, who I only know as "Mom" (as if I am going to call some strange woman in the office "Mom" simply because she is someone's mother), rarely talks to me. I say hi to her when I see her because she usually just says hi and moves along her way, which you all know I like.  Today, however, was different. When I turned around she said "My God you have a beautiful figure."  Well, okay then.  I thank her profusely and go about my way.  It was a very sincere compliment but odd in its tone and in the fact that I have had the same figure the entire time I have worked there and was not even wearing a new outfit.

Yeah, I know I am hot. Don't be jealous.

Oh, and then to add to that. I received a phone call a few hours later from Mom's daughter calling me from the phone booth.  You read that right.  Our office has a phone booth - two in fact.  Okay, they are not really booths but little rooms with a phone and a chair and a small table. I guess for clients or others to use when they need to call someone and do not want everyone in the conference room to hear them.  

However, in my mind they are phone booths, probably because of both their use and their size.  And, yes, that is where I go to change into my beautiful figure - how did you guess?  Also, that is apparently where much of my stuff goes when it disappears (Mom: take note).  My coworker called to tell me that a huge stack of my stuff was in the phone booth.  Who knows how long it had been there.  Our office has vortexes that take stuff from one area of the office and makes it reappear somewhere totally different and random. But it keeps us on our toes. Just like the random compliments and random office tales.

Carry on.