The most heinous woman EVER

Today, driving home from work, Jeni, Erin and I encountered a woman driving a Rav-4 who was somehow driving, smoking a cigarette and PLUCKING HER MUSTACHE, all at the same time. It was both the most freakishly hideous display I had ever seen, and also one of the most deft.

Scared: straight?

As hard as I try to focus on the upcoming presidential election, I cannot escape the demon that has been chasing me around every corner, greeting me every morning in the mirror, staring back at me from countless photographs:

I think my hair is turning straight.

This, I believe, is totally unfair, as it took me until the age of 21 to even embrace the fact that I had curly hair; until this point, I wore my hair in a puffy haystack configuration, seen below:

(I got the idea for the parted bangs from Madonna's Immaculate Collection liner art, and stuck with it for far too long.)

Upon finally understanding that, like being left-handed or severely awesome, both of which I am, curly hair can be a major attribute in life, particularly in Attaining a Dude, I began to wear it that way all the time, thus ushering in a seven-year golden age the likes of which few hair-wearers have ever had the chance to experience.

But lately-- specifically since one week after my wedding, when I got my hair cut short again-- I have noticed a terrifying de-curled trend in my hair. Witness the artfully-crafted before and after shot below:

The photo on the left, taken at my cousin Jennifer's wedding in 2006, shows a shiny, sassy head full of super springy curls. The photo on the right, taken just a few weeks ago on my trip to Richmond with Megan and Matt, tells a much bleaker, limper tale.

So what has caused this grim transformation? A few theories:

1. After wearing my hair long for so long, it was not prepared to shrink back up into curls upon this, my most dramatic cut in a few years. However, I have had this cut since October now, and it is clearly Still Horrible.

2. My hair is turning gray at an alarming rate, and gray hair has a different texture than straight hair. Unacceptable.

3. Now that I have a super-sexy husband, my hair has given up the fight needed for Dude Attaining, and is taking a much-needed break.

4. The price of gas has uncurled it.

I could go on and on. But now is not a time for words, it is a time for action. And for spending lots of money I don't have on expensive conditioners and gels that I found on the Internet (they should be here next Wednesday!). In the meantime, I ask that you keep my curls in your thoughts, that they may recover from this malaise and return to their peppy selves, before they give up the fight completely, and I end up looking like Julie Andrews in Victor/Victoria.

Thank you, and God bless.

The art of beauty

As the wedding grows closer, I find myself attempting, often in vain, to somehow correct the years of bad habits and master the unlearned arts of beauty maintenance. On my list this week:

1. Fade embarrassing tan lines
2. Curb insane sweating
3. Artfully shape brows

The tan lines are going to be an issue, because for some reason, my tan never really goes away, which is really great, except that I have tan lines from my past three bathing suits threatening to draw attention away from my sassy dress. Solution: go tanning ($7).

As for the sweating, I figure-- outdoor bridal shower? Outdoor wedding? Many hugs from people who do not want my constant patina of perspiration on their nice dresses and suits? Solution: procure prescription strength Secret deodorant ($8).

And my brows? Manly and wild, like the great forests of Tennesee, they must be contained. Solution: plucking (free!).

Sounds like I have it all under control. But you would be wrong. So, so wrong.

For all three beautification rituals collided in a shocking miasma of decline on Tuesday, when, armed (no pun intended) with a liberal coating of prescription strength anti-stink and sporting a bald spot in my left brow that apparently no one can see but me, I entered the stand-up tanning bed, only to learn that even the most powerful anti-perspirant is no match for the 100-watt bulbs of fury, and that, when exposed, the skin under your eyebrows can burn.

So now I am a stinky, piebald, sunburned mess (although I will say that after my stinging all-over burn subsides, my tan lines WILL be almost gone), just in time for my engagement photos, which were earlier tonight, and my shower and bachelorette party, which is this weekend. After which I will be sealing myself in a large Ziploc baggie to prevent any further damage. But you might have to let me out after awhile, due to the stink.