My Dear Hard Drive

Archive for June 3rd, 2008

When I turned 30, I shaved off all of my long hair that all my friends seemed to envy. As shocking as it was, everyone though that the bald looked great, and it was totally cool. About 6 months ago I started growing it back, and went from rad to hag… I tell you, I hate my hair now. I look my age which isn’t a good thing when you’re 32, have no job, kids, house or anything else that you could use to convince yourself that it’s FINE to be 32. Fortunately I have a loving husband and live in a fabulous country, but still, things could be a tad better. I could be more adult – I certainly look the part. With this look, I could go into politics for example. Of course if I didn’t have that dog bite scar in my face, which at least puts a little bit of the rad back into me, even though I’m convinced it’s the wrong kind of rad.

When we got to Australia, we stopped for a night in Melbourne, making our flight to Tasmania a domestic flight instead of a connection flight. That meant that the 20 kilos we had extra in our luggage had to come out. We unloaded the things we didn’t need immediately to my husbands cousins house and hoped to come back 2 weeks later to collect it. Of course that didn’t happen, so I’m still wearing the same jeans I had on when I got here. I have washed them in between, but still, you know it’s not fun wearing the same thing all the time… So of course they decided to tear in the but, fortunately horizontally and not vertically in the middle, but they tore. So now my mother in law is horrified of the fact that I won’t patch them up.

You see, the torn jeans are the only connection I have left to the young me. I’m not going to patch them up, certainly not by sticking a “Iron-on mending patch” on top of the hole, making me a hag with no money nor style. At least the torn jeans can give me some credibility, even if it was for bad fashion sense that people older than me frown at. The biggest compliment I’ve gotten this far is my mother in law complaining that I look like her grand son, who is as cool as they come. Unfortunately it had to be her grand son, but I explain that by her having only grand sons, no such daughters.

So the jeans mending operation has been postponed until I can find some groovy patches. I have something in mind, making the jeans more a work of art rather than jeans of a poor person (which I am no doubt, but you don’t have to look it, right?) Anyway, at the time I can’t do anything with my hair, so I just have to hang on to what ever I have left of my used to be coolness.

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