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July 10, 2006

It's probably a latent Southern Girl thing.

I spent an entire hour on my lunch break doing a contortion act where I tried to cast-on and then photograph it, and it wasn't going very well but I figured, hey, I can fake it in photoshop with some good retouching and arrows and helpful text boxes covering up the oopsie parts because after all I am a trained professional! But then I discovered I left my camera cord at home anyway so I just wasted a perfectly good lunch hour making my yarn all twisty and fried.

Much like my hair.

It appears I may have inadvertantly skipped a crucial grooming step this morning and I can literally feel my hair frizzing up without any sort of taming gel or mousselike products, I know without a doubt I am going to be Aunt Geraldine with the Redneck 'fro before the day ends. [A Redneck 'fro is when you have (possibly not all natural) blonde, straight hair that starts to look all flyaway and floozy and ... unkempt. Also known as Floozy 'fro. Not to be confused with I-Live-In-The-Holler Hair or SheMullet Perm, all of which I have had in my day oh yes I did.]

But anyway! This is not about my hair, or even casting-on, woefully, so since I have nothing (nothing) at all going on in my life to share with you (the entire month of June can only be properly termed "The Universe Tells Me That Dating Is A Drag," or perhaps, "Men Are Real Turds Sometimes," but whatever, maybe that's the subtitle to the month) and so I have nothing at all exciting to tell you ... except that something odd happened on the day I turned 35. Apparently something in my brain circuitry got crossed, or synapsed, because I woke up that day and ate breakfast like normal, and cleaned the catbox, and contemplated all the many things I could do in this beautiful city like visit museums or Ikea, and you know what I did? I bought myself some fingernails.

Yes. I did.

Now, I am a notoriously low-maintenance sort of girl when it comes to general upkeep, with serviceable unpolished, short fingernails and a no-nonsense daily lipstick-and-mascara routine. While I do own a large amount of makeup and glitter and so on, I only wear the basics plus moisturizer daily. I use hair gel to prevent the floozy 'fro -- well, not today obviously -- and while I am girly and so on in the shoe department, flip-flops are still my favorite. See? low-maintenance.

But I turned thirty five and I looked at my hands and became strangely aware of my fingernails, as if they were a statement, and their statement was ... "I am ugly."

Truthfully, I have never been able to grow a fingernail. Mine are thin and bendy and they tear easily and no amount of Nailtique and expensive polishes and treatments and vitamins will ever change it. It's genetic. So I have had short, ugly nails my whole life.

BUT NOT ANYMORE. Did you know that with science and also magic you can create gorgeous fingernails where nary a nail has grown ever before? I discovered this when I showed up to the nail salon for a simple mani-pedi, with my clear, boring nail polish.

Me: Hi, I'm boring.

Nail Salon Person: I give you french manicure!

Me: I think you need fingernails for that?

Nail Salon Person: I give you fingernails!

Me: (logical brain) Nah. Too much work. Too expensive.
Me: (crazy 35-year-old brain) SIGN ME UP!

And it is magic! They use some combination of powder and gel and voodoo, and in only half an hour, you have these durable, pretty girly nails with a perfect french manicure and I do not even care that they are fake and I will probably have to get rid of HBO or something to afford the upkeep, but I am thirty-five, and I NEED TO HAVE PRETTY HANDS.

I look at them during the day. Like when I'm driving. I'm sure people think I'm totally narcissistic, admiring my hands as I am, but really what I'm thinking is, "Science! And beauty! I am so glad I have lived this long so I can enjoy the marriage of SCIENCE and BEAUTY! I have fingernails! And they are pretty! And made of SCIENCE!"

I am maybe a little bit of a nerd.

But even though I am nerdy, and currently my split ends are swirling 'round my nerdy noggin in an enchanting halo of REDNECKEDNESS, it doesn't matter. Even when I have spilled coffee on myself in traffic and my hair is tantalizingly trailerific, and I have no idea why I rush through projects for the brochures when the rates are changing anyway and this stupid fax machine somewhere in Asia keeps drunk dialing my desk phone and they're doing construction on 6th street so I can hear a jackhammer ALL DAY, people! It doesn't matter.

I have beautiful, polished fingernails. Much like my Aunt Geraldine, I might add.

Posted by laurie at July 10, 2006 12:54 PM