I have been meaning to have my hair cut. I miss having short hair. I was planning to have it before Chinese New Year but only last Saturday was I able to drag my ass to the salon.
Now most people usually associate haircuts with changes. There are those who get haircut to celebrate a milestone in life. Some get haircuts after a breakup. Most people do it on or before new year. For some, they do it out of sheer boredom. And I happen to know people who does it religiously.
I usually get two to three haircuts a year. They range from a trim to a new style to a really short cut. I also had a three-year stint of curly hair. I have loved it. The only problem with having curly hair (if your natural hair is straight) is to decide when to stop having your hair curled. A tough decision to make, mind you.
So anyway, I’m loving my new hair. It makes me a look a bit more mature — fine, older! But I like it. This cut doesn’t really signify a big change in me but it’s more of a reminder for me to do more of what I want to do. My haircut is a renewal of my oft pushed back promise to live more and be less invisible. Big words, huh? That’s what a new haircut does to me.
The techiest I can do is clear cache and cookies. My mobile phone lives in my bedroom. My tablet Is a permanent fixture at home, does not go out, kinda antisocial. I use Skype but dread the video calls. Have I told you I don’t have a boyfriend? Hah!
Because sleep is overrated.
Can you spot the infamous wine? And I’m sure you can smell Evert’s desperation to eat healthy and lose weight. Plus the stink of my perpetual denial of the need to diet.
You know how it is when you’re totally convinced that it’s just another uneventful day and then wham! you bump into something and your life is changed forever. And I mean forever.
So after devoting time reading and blogging two entries, I had to drag myself out of bed because I can no longer ignore my grumbling stomach. I was thinking oatmeal because I’m not exactly the most devoted cook in the morning. Plus I’m not exactly keen on reheating leftover food from the Chinese new year “party” last night. Too much effort for lazy old me. So I opened the fridge after mouthing a silent prayer that I’d find some surprise food there fit for breakfast and more exciting than oatmeal. Hmmm. Tons of veggies Evert grabbed from the grocery because he thought they were cheap. My brother and I really like to pretend we eat healthy. Then there was the wine left from the new year’s eve party, not the Chinese new year but the Jan 1 party. I really should throw it out. Wrinkled blueberries. They got crinkly after that first time they got thawed. They had looked lonely since then. Miracle Whip. Oh wait, we have roasted chicken from last night. Can I dip it in Miracle Whip? Mmm. No, thanks. Not in the mood for cold chicken. That’s when I saw the leftover pizza neatly stacked on the big blue plate covered with my fave swirly red plate. Who says you can’t have leftover pizza for breakfast?
So cold pizza and milk for breakfast. It’s like the biggest discovery I’ve had since that time I found out I’ve been tying my shoelaces wrong. You can have junk food for breakfast because sometimes you have to show your tummy who’s boss. And you can’t do worse than cold pizza and milk. I’m pretty sure that in some parallel universe, it’s the breakfast of champions.