New doesn't always equal bad

I must admit that I've not had a 'new' kind of haircut for a LONG time. Like maybe since Oasis or Pearl Jam had a hit record. Or maybe since I stopped eating frozen pizzas every single night or since I owned an actual telephone answering machine with the cassette tape (or even a landline phone, for that matter).

I decided yesterday at about 1 pm that I was going to cut off my bangs (maybe 15" of very thin post pregnancy hair, not the thick stuff so it wasn't too traumatic) and at 3:15 pm I was sitting in the chair of a random stylist who happened to be available to meet my whim and was texting my best friend in Chicago the play-by-play of the situation. "Bangs are cut!" and "Oh. My. God. So cute so far". The kind of stuff that men just wouldn't understand because they have to act like they don't give a shit about the way they look or their masculinity comes into question.

So, I now have short bangs that aren't too bad, actually; however, I've got to teach them to behave as they're all over the place and are in complete and total rebellious shock at the recent amputation.

Making up for lost time

A few noteworthy events have passed in the last few weeks.

One occasion worth mentioning because I so enjoy making fun of myself was the weekend I went to visit my family in northern Indiana and to also spend some time with my dearest friend.

We chose a bowling alley with cheap beer and even cheaper mixed drinks and which also employed a man named Jack who appeared to be an 80-year-old gentleman on a mission to knock the self-esteem of any bowler with imperfect form right into the gutter. So I was an easy target for Jack as I take (gasp!) five steps instead of four during my walk up the lane.

I'm trying to hang out with a girlfriend that I see maybe 4 times a year and I get the Bowling Alley Lieutenant perched atop the steps behind me yelling out to me about the shitty way I approach the game. Had I been with anyone else I probably wouldn't had been as polite about this man and his opinions, but it seems that we always find ourselves in some comical situations.

Not everyone can say that they closed down a bowling alley that had a family of nine at the next lane who was playing with four carseats filled with sleeping children on the floor next to the scorebox or that they woke up the next morning with such muscle strain in their body that it took them two days to figure out the cause of it and thinking that they had pneumonia or something because their lungs felt bruised and in such pain and then were teased endlessly by their friends about their 'bowling injury' or that when they got back to their mom's house that night her dogs had peed all over their luggage while they were gone because they smelled like another dog or some other stupid dog rationalization.

I'm pretty sure I was the only one.