I guess the most exciting thing that happened to me recently is that I got bangs. Bangs! Will the thrills never end! I did it Sunday night, see, after half an hour of watching the Oscars red carpet. I saw Mark Ruffalo's wife with her perfect shiny bangs and I thought "Bangs! I will get those!" and half an hour later I was in the stylist's chair, which sounds really impressive---like I am the kind of person so convinced of her need for bangs that she will stop watching the Oscars red carpet and hunt down a hairdresser on a Sunday afternoon---until you consider that I had an appointment anyway, so really the timing was just kind of convenient.
Bangs are one of those things where you walk out of the salon really feeling like you got your money's worth. And maybe that's why I did it: I like to know that I'm getting my money's worth, so a couple of seconds after the "Oh, just a trim, please; maybe just take off a quarter inch?", I started to remember how much this was costing and I was all "AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE, I WILL HAVE SOME BANGS, MY GOOD WOMAN, AND MAKE IT SNAPPY!" except I didn't really say that at all. (For a start, I would have said snippy, not snappy. Hair pun!)
I feel like this is the part of my blog post where I'm supposed to show you a picture of these new bangs, except guess what, I haven't taken one (Bad blogger! Bad!), so instead you will just kind of have to remember what I looked like the first time I got bangs eighteen months ago, because the effect is basically the same. I had forgotten so many things about bangs: how you always feel like you have this weird toupee lying across your forehead, how you look like a horrorshow in the morning, how you will sometimes catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror accidentally and wonder, abstractly, who that dude is who looks like the fifth Beatle---OH GOOD GOD IT'S ME.
Apart from all that, though, I rather like them, and I certainly like having done something different. I've been in a little bit of a funk recently, for one reason or another, and a surefire way to pull oneself out of a funk is to make a bit of a change to one's.....well, to one's anything, really, so I suppose we should all be relieved that I didn't, like, get the cartilage between my nostrils pierced or tattoo a giant eagle on my back.
Speaking of which, I saw a woman the other day with a PIERCED CLEAVAGE. I don't even know how to explain this phenomenon, except to say that her.....well, yes, her CLEAVAGE was pierced, right at the little groove where the, uh, leftie meets the rightie, if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do, and I couldn't stop staring at it because.....what? Your ears weren't good enough? Doesn't it hurt? Don't you get your necklaces caught on it? Do people think it's a mole and tell you to get it checked out? So many questions I had for this girl with the earring lodged between her boobs, and yet all I could manage, when confronted with the situation, was "Oh no, not for me, thanks." (She was a waitress offering me a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Though my answer, had she asked me if I'd ever get a cleavage piercing, would have been much the same as it was for "can I interest you in a mushroom tart?")
Another thing I've started doing recently is going to the gym again, and I'm sort of horrified by how long it's been since I've gone to the gym regularly, because I think my whole routine started to fall apart right around June or July of last year when I simultaneously got a new job and bought a new house and realized that any free time I once had was but a hilarious wisp of the past, so screw the treadmill, who even has time to pee anymore, which is certainly not a good way to think about things, particularly when you find yourself wearing your Spanx more often than not wearing your Spanx, you know? So now I am back at the YMCA I started paying for in September and whose director I am probably financing a Porsche for at this point, and I have been twice in five days, which is a whole lot better than my previous record of NO TIMES in five days, so I think we can all agree that this is a success.
Also, it's a success because I discovered a farmer's market in the parking lot adjacent to the YMCA, and it was at this farmer's market that I tasted my very first tangelo, and friends, if you have not tasted a tangelo, I am going to put a dollar in the mail to you right now and insist that you take it and buy yourself a tangelo, because oooooooh, they are just so tangy and tart and sweet and delicious, and somehow they are all these things at once. I don't even know what a tangelo actually is really----"a tangelo," mused Sean, as we tried the free sample at the farmer's market: "a cross between a tangerine and....an angelo?"---but I am the self-appointed president of the tangelo fan club, and I have made it my duty to bring tangelo awareness to the masses, so please consider yourself tangeloed, which is kind of like being tangoed, except maybe more citrussy and less about dance.
There is not a lot of narrative to this blog post, is there, but this is what happens when I don't write forever and ever, see, my brain gets all backed up with things I wanted to tell you about, and besides, I gave a 15-minute presentation in front of 100 people at a conference today, which is something I had been nervous about for weeks, and now that it's over, the sheer relief has taken over and all the parts of my brain that had been storing important information about KPIs and performance metrics are now just all TANGELOS TANGELOS TELL THEM ABOUT THE TANGELOS, so this is what you are dealing with, I'm afraid, and I'm sorry.
Tomorrow I will tell you about the $800 cab ride I took from the conference to my office, which is a distance of maybe fifteen blocks. Yes, there is a story there and it's coming.