Hair Cut

 "So what can I do for you?"

"A layered bob." I have no idea what that means, but 6/10 times it gets me a hair cut I don't want to attack with pinking shears.

"Okay, we'll do a little texturizing--"

"BY ALL THAT'S HOLY DON'T TOUCH THOSE WEIRD SCISSORS!"

"Okay, okay--touch-ee! How do you propose I thin your hair out?"

"Layers."

"Are you sure?"

"Lots of layers. Do NOT massacre my hair with those things."

"Fine. Layers aren't going to do it."

"They have in the past."

"How about if I buzz cut your back and--"

"Oh God."

"And do a little stacking here--"

"Please God, not the iron throne in the back--"

"And wings! All girls love wings!"

"Please, for the love of God could you layer the front?"

"Layer how--bangs?"

"THAT'S NOT LAYERING."

"You know, you're being awfully picky for someone who didn't know what they wanted."

"A layered bob."

"I don't think you know what that is."

"Well four out of ten hair stylists hear those words and do what I ask."

"What did they do differently?"

"More than one layer in the back of my head, and a flirty little layer in the front."

"That's not really a haircut."

"It was if you grew up in the 80's."

"No, seriously, this will look better."

"Fuck it. I don't care. I don't have to look at me. Whatever."

"Sure. This'll be great. Your hair will take forever to grow out in the back and it will live in your eyes during the heart of summer. You'll love it."

"Fine."

"No, seriously, a little blowdrying, some curling, some product--"

"Look, I know we just met but do you see anything about me that would suggest that's going to happen?"

"Well you don't live in a cave."

"Not by choice."

"Seriously--what do you think?"

"Please tell me you sell scrunchies."

"Yes."

"Then it's fine."

"But--"

"No, seriously, all fifty-somethings like to put their hair up in that little pixy thing 2 year olds do when they don't have enough hair."

"But if you don't like it--"

"If you touch those texturizing scissors I'll stab you with them."

"Who hurt you?"

"PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW HOW TO LAYER!"

"Fine, tip?"

"20% okay?"

"And this is why we don't layer."

"Keep the change."

Whining Me

 I sang my pain into the ether

Disgusted by my whine

My troubles are so tiny

Not worth sorry, not worth time

Tell your troubles to the river

The river carries on

People have their own loads

It's important to keep calm

But I had a moment's weakness

(Let's face it--there's been more)

And I made my pain a banner

For a friend to see--or two, or four

Or more and more or more

And I hid my face against my pillow

Embarrassed by my pain

For the trifling of my sorrow

And vowed not to sing again.

But I sang my pain into the ether

And my friends didn't think I whined

I'd forgotten that in sorrow

True friends--the best of friends--are never less than kind.

So all--thank you, to everybody who said a kind word to me after last night's blog. EVERYBODY. Everybody. I'm more hopeful today--and I thank all of you for your kindness and the hope you leant to me when mine was behind the drier.

Thank you.

Disposable Humans

 Knees ache. Fingers ache. Today I could actually hear my crepitus  echo. And we all know what happened in the Supreme Court. Fuckers. So Mate is pulling me out of my chair because I can't make it without help at the moment, and he says, "This is the last time for the night, right?"

And at that moment my knee gives a giant pop.

And I start to cry.

"I'm useless. I'm so stupid. So stupid. I never should have gotten this fat. If I wasn't this fat my knees wouldn't be crumbling so bad."

"You'e not stupid."

"I'm disposable. Ask the Republicans. I'm too old to be an EZ Bake anymore--absolutely worthless. I have a uterus which satisfies their one requirement for being a woman but it doesn't function, anymore. Women's healthcare is a sin. You could throw me in a trash can but there's not one big enough."

"I'm not throwing you away."

"If we lived in a red state you could just shoot me and let my body fall into the trash truck. It would be fine."

"No. Nobody's getting thrown away."

"Progressives want to--they're great at finding reasons someone isn't good enough to join their club. They throw people away like tissue--there is no other side of the story."

"Well, those are Twitter people. They're like Sicarians (sic) in Guardians of the Galaxy. They're like paper people. In real life you could kick their asses with no knees."

"In real life I couldn't kick their asses when I had knees."

"Well, you've always been a pacifist."

"True. Even when it meant getting my ass kicked."

"And you always got up again."

*sniffles * "I just need more help right now."

"I'll help. I swear I won't throw you away."

*more sniffles* "Even though I'm stupid enough to get fat?"

"Swear."

"Good."