Friday, February 5, 2010


So Smokey is okay. Still a diabetic, but he needs less insulin, or so the vet is thinking. So that's all well and good. However, like predicted, he's going to need special care in about two weeks. I'm going to do at at-home glucose curve. Oh yes. See, I have to test his blood sugar once an hour for a day. Yeah, so drawing blood from my cat hourly should be a good time. Good way to spend a Sunday. But it's Smokey and I loves him, so I'm obviously going to do it. I never knew being diabetic was so expensive. Those test strips are about a buck each. I'm glad I don't have it. Jebus.

In more superficial and girly news, I finally get my hair done today. I haven't had it cut and coloured since... Late October. It's February. I just kept putting it off and now it looks like ass: roots, split ends, no shape, blah-blah-blah.

So here be the before picture:

Note the grease, as the roots are less obvious in this light.

I'm still trying to grow it out. I'm several inches away from a goal length that is vague and mysterious. I'll just know when I have enough hair. I started growing it out around the same time I quit wearing pants a couple years ago. Yeah, I avoid pants at all costs, unless a dress or skirt is just far too impractical.

My late 20s seem to be calling to me to be more feminine. I was actually never really that girly in my teens. I had short punky hair. I never wore the kilt for my uniform after grade 10, opting for pants, and I wore skater sneakers instead of dress shoes. I had a bob in college, dressed like a hobo, and wore makeup about twice a year.

After college I settled into moderation and looked more like a normal woman. I acquired a couple girly things to wear, grew my hair to my shoulders and started wearing makeup half the time I went out.

But this, this is something else entirely. I feel sad when I have to wear pants. I really enjoy putting together a nice look and making my face look more attractive. I love the process of making myself pretty.

I remember before my mom died, I went to see her in the hospital. I was 16 and she saw me in an outfit she liked (rare) and she said that it looked like I finally found "my style." And of course it was just wishful thinking on her part because she would never see how I'd turn out and she knew it. But I was wearing a skirt that day. And so that little memory makes me smile.


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