I Got My Hair Did

On Wednesday evening I went to the salon and spa place at Lifetime Fitness, where I usually get my hair done. The girl I go to has developed this three-color, Neopolitan ice cream thing she does to my head--highlights, lowlights, midlights (?), I don't know. It was well overdue, as you could see in my post the other day.

When I checked in at the salon, they told me that my amazing new sister-in-law, Robin, had called them and gotten me a gift certificate. It covered my hair, it will cover a massage and more, and I think it would cover having the aestheticians come paint my house. I was beyond tickled. Just awesome. And then I enjoyed a two-hour conversation with my stylist about all the amazing health properties of many different berries. Maybe some good advice in there. Also the conversation was about how she still can't stand her husband and if he misses his flight he better not call her from the airport because he can just deal with it on his own. Or how maybe they can just get a duplex with a washer and dryer in the middle and live in separate halves, because she will never fall out of love with him, but she is getting too old for his crap.

While we're looking at my hair, I will tell you that I am terrible at taking pictures of myself in the mirror. Like, I took probably twenty pics of myself in an attempt to get my whole head in the frame. It got to be funny. Here's the only other one that worked.

Note the crazy eyes. But really I wanted to show you this wallpaper in my bathroom. Are you having a total Charlotte Perkins Gillman moment? (Your homework for the day is to click that link and read that story, if you didn't read it in Freshman English, 'cause it is a corker.) When we first moved in to this house, I couldn't decide if the wallpaper was pretty or ugly, so I decided it was pretty, and we called the bathroom the domus aurea, because it is kind of crazy huge. Huge in that mid-nineties-big-bathroom-fad kind of way. Now, almost four years in, it is getting on my nerves. I can see things in it. The Gillman story explains what I mean:

It [the pattern] is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide--plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.

Matt and I agree that we can see strange bulbous fruits in there, and mosquito-like things, and weird scaphoid shapes. I've decided it's not pretty. But as much as I like color and pattern, I'm kind of terrible at picking out paint and stuff. Anybody have a bathroom that you love? It is a project for the future, definitely.

I have not been good about getting in and responding to y'all's comments, but I read them at many points in the day, and they make me feel so much better. And then my mom or dad will call me and say, "Did you see what so-and-so said? How nice!" And I say, "Yes, it's like they really like me or something!" I appreciate all your good thoughts and prayers so much. I am just doing normal stuff, and enjoying it, but I was telling Matt, it's like the days go on so long that it's hard to be brave all day and not crack a little bit. So I do, some. Last night Pretty Neighbor came over and we watched that movie about Vogue, The September Issue. That was good. We also ate honest-to-God potato chips. Decadence!