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Why does nobody know how to cut hair properly anymore? I hate my hair now. Or rather what I hate is the fact that all hairdressers feel compelled to give you shitty layers as opposed to helpful, movement enhancing layers. I have told the last 6 people who cut my hair that I “wanted to grow it all out to one length.” My hair is very thick and it is wavy. So when you cut any layers near or above my jawline, I end up with this fucking mass of hair that looks like the ears of a cocker spaniel. I hate it. Most of my hair hits mid-breast at this point, but this layer bullshit will take another fucking year to grow out, which means PONYTAILS, which means BREAKAGE at the cocker-spaniel ear zone which equals a de facto extra layering process, and I blame you, Williamsburg, for thinking somehow that every girl with long hair wants to look like Valerie Bertinelli circa One Day At A Time. Trey once said to a customer that his wife was “like Barbi Benton with a MacArthur grant:” I wish that grant was for a decent haircut. I want long, nice, Birkin-Bardot hair. It’s called HISTORY, people. It's in MAGAZINES. Look it the fuck up.
I made a veggie pot pie last weekend which turned out very nicely. But I don’t understand how anyone works with homemade pie crust! It’s crazy! The only thing harder would be to make pie crust from a ball of mercury. But I did it, and with CRISCO which is pretty scary in itself. It’s white and waxy and profoundly un-organic in appearance: astronaut butter. The pot pie had leeks, onions, shallots, homemade seitan, peas, carrots and potatoes. I made too much filling so I may make another pie tonight. Other crazy cooking projects were bruschetta from heirloom tomatoes, a chickpea salad with red onion, capers and cumin vinaigrette and everything bagels with spinach basil tofu ricotta. I am almost done with this cursed afghan, and can move on to other projects FINALLY as I think knitting it on the subway is why I am going to the chiropractor Monday.
This may be the bloggiest blog I’ve yet to blog. Over and out.