Boa Constrictors, Dorothy Hamill & Clone Wars on Netflix: The Story of My Last Haircut

Friday.  March.  Seventh.  The boys and I had been looking forward to this Day of All Days from the moment we heard the news that the “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” series was finally coming to Netflix.  We had only seen a handful of episodes, but we are still big fans.  The show has been on TV for five seasons already, but we don’t get them fancy channels like VH1 or Cartoon Network, so we had to look elsewhere for episodes.  Luckily, the boys’ Uncle Jered had given them Season One on DVD, so we had the basics down.  [For more great moments with Uncle Jered, click here.]  We hunted around the net and found some mighty fine episode fragments on YouTube, along with a few full-length episodes that we could sort of see if we just craned our necks and looked past all the Serbian subtitles.

So, hearing that the show was going to be broadcast on Netflix (for FREE!) was most welcome news.  I ran to tell Sean immediately, and he and I did a mighty Happy Dance indeed.  Then he and I planned how best to tell his big brother, Liam, once he came home from school.  We had wanted to greet him with sparklers, confetti, noise-makers, and celebratory flan, but in the end it was just the two of us jumping up and down at the bus stop, yelling and swinging pompoms we made out of plastic grocery bags.  (Reduce, reuse, recycle, People!)  Upon hearing the news, Liam quickly brushed aside the humiliation of having his bus-mates witness his mom attempting cheer squad herkies while swinging trash bags, and was reduced to uttering excited, incomprehensible squeaks with his elated face frozen in ecstasy.  Yeah, that was a good day.

This actually isn’t Liam reacting to me telling him about Clone Wars.  It’s him freaking out over the awesomeness of this Red-Tail Boa Constrictor at Wildlife Safari, but he was essentially making the same face, so I’m using this picture.

The day of the premiere finally arrived, and as Liam only had a half-day of school that morning, we were going to begin our Clone Wars marathon as soon as he got home after lunch.  It was going to be epic … and delicious.  I broke out my Star Wars cook book and baked  a batch of Wookiee Cookies while the green Jabba Jigglers were chilling in the fridge.  I figured I could pop out and get my hair cut while Grandma was playing with Sean and still have time to assemble the Death Star Popcorn Balls before Liam got home.  And then my awesome day got shoved down The Great Sarlacc Pit of Carkoon.

Sean grabs a few Wookiee Cookies before show time.

I went to a salon I had visited before, just needing a quick trim.  My usual stylist wasn’t there, so I sat down with a different gal and told her I only needed two inches taken off, and since I loved my current cut I told her just to keep all the proportions the same.  And I told her what I tell everyone who cuts my hair, “Keep the layers immediately around my face at least chin length, or else I look like a raging dork.”  Then I took off my glasses, so she could work.  After what seemed like an excessive amount of cutting and layering for a “two-inch trim,” I put my glasses back on and went white.  What the heck happened???

She had just shredded my hair!  I had come in with long-layered, shoulder-length hair and was leaving with a feathering catastrophe with layers hanging above my ears!  And worst of all, she had taken about six inches off the hair right around my face!  The hair I had said to keep at my chin!  The hair that was now at my nose!  This wreck is going to take MONTHS to looks right again!  And the feathering!  Holy outmoded awfulness, the FEATHERING!!!  I flashed back to every awful haircut I had ever had in the early 80s when my mom was determined to get me to sport the classic Dorothy Hamill ‘do.  “But it’s so great,” she would say, “When she twirls on the ice, her hair goes right back to the way it was.”  I’m not a skater, Mom!   I don’t need a bad haircut that goes right back to being a bad haircut even when it’s subjected to G-force!

Yeah, when I was little I wanted my hair to look like Barbie’s, but I got to look like this instead.  To find out how much a perm did NOT help, click here.

Oh, how my day (and subsequently my entire spring) was ruined!  I’m just going to have to look like the aforementioned raging dork until about the Fourth of July.  Even our Clone Wars marathon couldn’t cheer me up.  All the lightsaber humming and battle droid chatter was drowned out by my heavy sighs.  And then, just to make things sting a little bit more, I caught of glimpse of Anakin Skywalker staring back at me from Sean’s Clone Wars plate (the one off which he had been eating his Princess Leia Cinnamon Roll).  My gosh, now Anakin and I have the same stinkin’ haircut! 

Crud.  Now I’m going to have to watch six seasons of Clone Wars, seeing that horrible haircut staring back at me the whole time, reminding me that I resemble a surly Sith-Lord-to-be.  Ugh.  Well, I can see now why Anakin is always so moody and poised to slaughter.  It’s tough walking around, knowing you look ridiculous.  I guess we’ve uncovered the real reason our “feathered” friend finally turned to the dark side: snip-happy beauticians.  No wonder the Sith are always wearing hoods.

Yes, this is how I look now.  My hair is gone, and I’m armed with a lightsaber.  Look out!





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“Snowmageddon” is Upon Us … But Still No Zombies

Well, jeez-a-loo, there’s been some crap-tastic weather going across the country lately!  My dad who lives in Illinois told me that he has to alert my mom to watch him from the window when he goes out to get the mail, because it’s so cold that if he was to trip and fall, he’d be dead in fifteen minutes.  And my friend in Indiana says his dog refused to go outside in the -40 degree wind chill and opted instead to go fifty-two hours without pooping.  We had been relatively unscathed by all the winter devastation out here in the balmy Pacific Northwest … until this last ice storm.  It was actually quite lovely at first to see all the trees coated in glistening, icy splendor from the freezing rain.

Until this happened …

This is … uh … was the giant maple tree out in front of the house next door.  When it buckled under the weight of the ice it succeeded in taking out a couple of our trees, a bunch of laurel bushes, our front gate, and the power lines, which cut the power to our house and left some live wires sizzling in the street .  So, yeah, it was kind of a mess.

But we soon discovered that we were in the best possible neighborhood for such a circumstance, as about half-a-dozen neighbors showed up to help, each with their own chainsaw.  It was great to have the extra help, seeing as how a big chunk of the mess came down across our driveway, in effect imprisoning us in our own place.  Peter named the whole debacle “Snowmageddon.”

We took a quick inventory of the damage.  There were some losses.  The neighbor’s shed didn’t make it.

But, happily, Borodeer seemed fine.

We were without power for a few days, but we were able to turn that into a positive.  It got the kids “unplugged” for a bit, and they were able to get back to enjoying some of their more …. analogue toys.

We did some family bonding at the ol’ pool table, which was actually the first time I had played since we moved in a year ago.  We had the wood stove keeping us warm, so we really were doing okay without any electricity … for a while.

My lovely friend, Trina, called me up when she heard about our predicament and invited us all to come over to her still-functioning house for hot showers.  (To read more about Trina and her concern for my appearance, click here.)  I thought for sure that Peter would jump at the chance to scrub off, seeing as how he had been out in the rain for two days, performing heavy tree-chopping, branch-hauling manual labor, and was due to be back at work the next day.  But when I told him about Trina’s invitation he just shrugged me off and said, “No thanks.”  I was like, “What do you MEAN ‘no thanks’?  Don’t you want to get yourself cleaned off for tomorrow?”  But he just shook his head and confidently assured me, “I’m fine.  I got it covered.”  Then he handed me the solution he had already procured for himself: a travel pack of sixteen Huggies wet wipes.  Stellar. 

Peter actually is a pretty resourceful guy.  He was downright miffed when Y2K didn’t yield any disasters.  He was all set to load up the truck and head for the hills when the looting started.  Coming home from our New Year’s revelries that year to find the power on and humanity in tact was a bit of a blow to the man who is always so prepared.  I suppose offering him a hot, soapy bath in the middle of power outage would have been just plain insulting.  After all, he was doing just fine taking care of us with all the gear he had on hand.  He set up the camping stove in the sunroom and treated us to a pancake breakfast.

And the boys were just enchanted with eating by Coleman lantern light.

It was really precious to see the boys having a good time together without the aid of a Wii or television.

There was only one moment when I thought Sean might go all “Shining” on us, but it turned out okay.  Redrum!

Our calico, Missy, sure seemed to appreciate all our bedding camped out by the woodstove, day in and day out.  But I was ready to get back into my own bed …

… Mainly because my tiny air mattress kept getting taken over by multiple heavy, flailing snoozers.

Luckily for us, the power pole out front that was leaning over the road at a 45 degree angle put us on the upper half of the priority list for getting a utility crew out here.  Power was back up in a few short days, but of course not until after I decided to “pioneer up” and wash nearly every dish in the house with pot after pot of water I had to heat up on the camp stove.  Yeah, that was a lot of water.  Perhaps I should have just used the wet wipes instead.