Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

The life and times of a girl named Swishy.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Houston, we have a problem

So. I'm at work, and as I often do at work, I get up to go to the bathroom. I walk out of the stall, look myself over in the mirror as I wash my hands and ... ohhhhhh, no. No, no, no, no, no, HELL TO THE NO.

I immediately walk back to my desk (this is my first mistake) and then (second mistake) ask the guy next to me if he notices anything different about my hair.

"What?" he says.

"Anything, you know ..." I start tugging on individual strands of hair to give him a clue, and then I just give up and half-blurt, half-scream: "DO YOU SEE A GRAY HAIR ON TOP OF MY HEAD? DO YOU? IS IT BLONDE OR IS IT GRAY? I CAN'T TELL BUT I THINK IT'S GRAY AND I KNOW I JUST HAD A BIRTHDAY BUT AHHHHHHH I CAN'T HANDLE THIS DAY OR THIS WEEK OR THIS WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. I CANNOT HANDLE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW."

By now I've attracted a bit of a crowd, all male, who start picking through the top of my head like a bunch of monkeys.

"It's a little lighter, but it might just be the lighting in here. The lighting blows in this place."
"Look, it's shorter, like it's broken off. I don't think it's gray, I think it's just broken."
"My wife's younger than you and she has some gray hair. She's, like, REALLY self-conscious about it, too. Like, REALLY. Which, I mean, I can totally understand--" He's interrupted by one of the other guys: "Dude, NOT HELPING."
"I can't tell. I'm color blind." (Pause.) "Is there a color blind test online? I want to take it."

I resist the urge to yank it out, start rocking myself in the fetal position and pretend the whole sordid thing never happened, because you know if you do that you're cursed forever and, like, 75 million of them appear in its place. Now, I can't find it. Which means it really is blonde and is blending in with the rest of the blonde hair. Which is the story we are sticking to for the next day, week, month, 50 years if we have to.

Sunday, March 07, 2010

Let's talk about the Oscars

OK. It's a little after 9 pm and we've made it through the red carpet, the opening monologue and the first half hour of awards. Let's pick it up from here, shall we?

* My friend Allee can back me up on this: I called the Neil Patrick Harris thing an hour before the show. I swear I did, Seacrest dropped a couple of hints and there you go. I'm so proud of myself, you'd think I just gave birth.

* Whose idea was it to have Kathy Ireland co-host the preshow? OH, MY SHRILL. Move over, nails on a chalkboard, there's a new most annoying sound in town.

* I am totally on Team Sandra Bullock. She looks nervous, and I think it's adorable, and I totally hope she wins and says something sweet to her husband.

* I sat up on the couch and clapped for Ryan Reynolds. Literally. Anyone who looks that good deserves applause when he enters a room, even if it IS through a 32-inch TV in my living room.

* This is the first awards show in a very, very long time in which Cameron Diaz doesn't look like a drunken ex-sorority girl turned cougar.

* I like the longer clips for supporting actor, and I like clips instead of performances for best original song (the performances always take FOREVER and they're never songs anyone knows anyway). Has anyone seen Crazy Heart? That song is pretty, I'm almost tempted to download it.

* "I love you more than rainbows." Wait. Wait a second. I don't mean to crap all over the sentiment here, but isn't that more the kind of thing a 4-year-old says to her stuffed animals than something a grown man says to his wife? Like ... what does that even MEAN? (That was the best original song winner, by the way.)

* Coke commercial: I love this song, Sweet Disposition. I listen to it all the freaking time.

* They said Chris Pine and I totally thought they said Chris Klein. I was like, wha-wha-whaaaat? Suri's real daddy? Wasn't he paid to disappear forever? Where did they find him? But it wasn't Chris Klein, it was Chris Pine. Total letdown.

* People I want to win, part II: Kathryn Bigelow for best director. GIRL POWER!

* Molly Ringwald has crazy eyes. I feel like she's going to pull a machine gun out of her dress any second and start going ballistic all over the Kodak Theater. (But that was a really sweet tribute to John Hughes.)

* * * * * *

OK, Monday morning update: I got a little derailed with the commentary last night by a pack of crazy boys (long story). But: so glad Sandra Bullock won. So glad Kathryn Bigelow won. So weird that they announced best picture so fast like that. And so sad that it's a whole SIX MONTHS until the next big awards show! Emmys, I love you, I'll be waiting!