And hey, I've got four readers, so popular can most certainly be determined by one of those readers asking for pictures. On Saturday, I went to the salon that was reccomended by my boss and good friend Shamrock*. It was a lovely place, and the woman who cut my hair was great. Instead of being befuddled by the girl who didn't know exactly how to describe what she wanted (other than the vague "Maybe sort of really short in the back, but not too short", and "Like a bob, but with less, you know, stuff"), she was very accomidating and asked me questions while she was cutting, until she had a good idea of what the girl wanted. Then she went for it, and here are some pictures of my fabulous new haircut:
*Shamrock would prefer to remain nameless, if she even knew about my blog. So I shall keep her that way.
Of course, I took that opportunity to dye my hair as well, and I don't have any pictures of that. I'm sure you all are sick of seeing those, after the Dying Debaucle of a few months ago, anyway. Suffice to say, it was pretty much the same situation, but with less hair. Sufficely.
On Sunday, we mowed the lawn. Rather, I watched my hot husband mow the lawn, and got all swoony:
And then we watched some must-see TV, which if I were to be honest with myself I would totally admit that it makes me want to cry - in fact, I cried several different times during this little portion of The Sopranos - because I didn't have that big-family-people-you-hardly-know-who-love-you-and-wish-you-well type of reception to my wedding. I had the not-unconsiderable people-who-love-you people there, and also some of the reassurance-that-the-people-who-love-you-want-to-see-you-off type of thing, but it didn't seem to be the same. I always wanted a small wedding, with a huge shin-dig following. You know the kind, the kind where the bride is all decked out and her husband can't see straight enough to get her garter off, and then your cousin Mandi falls on the dancefloor and shows the world that she went commando that night, that sort of reception. In any case, here's one of the scenes I cried at:
And then we had some friends over to help us eat a whole lot of food:
That's Cam, Little Nicky, and Brad. Wonderful people.
I guess that if we were adults, we would call our weekly BBQ a freaking dinner party, instead of labeling it a poor-man's-pot-luck. But hey, we're young and unabiding to stereotypes! Damn you, stereotypes! Straight to Purgatory!
(Sidenote: What's up with this Judas' Gospel? Hello? What an upset! Here I was thinking that all of God's Creation was set in stone, and out crops this minefield of un-doctrined thinking. What do you think about this? Does it surprise anyone that it's contradictory to what us Catholics have been taught for years and years? Was Judas the unpopular disciple? Is that why he got the bad rap for so many years? Frankly (who is Frank?) I'm surprised it ever came out. Nevermind being discovered, it's amazing this has seen the light of day. You know, you get all self-assured that the media is evil, and then then they pull something so controversial on your ass. It makes me happy; Oh, to be in Catholic Grade School (Hell) today.)
Exciting, huh? I bet you wish you had been here! Except for the fact that Bruce and I both woke up with sinuses that weren't working. Except for if by "working" you mean "any time they are not completely clogged, they are working at expelling everything they have ever been capable of, in the form of snot". In that case, they were working like a couple of mother-fucking bandits! We think it's the cutting of the grass that did it.
Well, to be honest, I think it was the cutting of the grass. Bruce thinks it was a freak meteorologist phenomenon that caused it, because he's "Never been allergic to grass before in his whole life". That may be true, my dear, but that doesn't mean it didn't all of a sudden just happen. Many people, this happens to. Talk like Yoda, I have a tendancy to.
This afternoon when I went into work, we all had a discussion about this very thing. Instead of treating their condition, some persons act like it could never happen to them, just because it never has before, and also? Allergies are like a defect, according to them. They won't let themselves take something to make them feel better, because to take something would be to admit that something is wrong. Hello? Whatever happened to the old standby of, "Hey, something seems to be wrong with me, perhaps I should take the advice of my seasoned medical professional, and remedy the situation!"
I don't mean to leave you with a bad feeling about Bruce. He is more likely than most guys to listen to my reasoning, and he does admit to feeling better once he took the medication I recommended. It's only that period of malcontent when one realizes one is all-of-a-suddenly allergic to things one has never been allergic to before that is driving him to denial.
So, that was my weekend. How was yours?