if, like me, you were worried about the dog...

...in the movie "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest", which was about the only thing that got my heart rate up in the watching of that movie, be sure to stay through the VERY LONG credits for a little clip at the end.

hair today

Perhaps it was the beginning of the new season of "Project Runway" that pushed me over the edge, but I have been feeling frumpy and stale recently so, by Jennifer standards, I made some fairly radical changes to my hair.

Or so I had thought.

A week ago I went to Connie-from-Chicago, who I'd had cut my hair before but I had not visited her in easily a couple of years and she has now conveniently moved just a few blocks from Union Square. I trusted her to gussy up my tresses and she magically gave me a cut that would take advantage of my not-curly-but-not-straight-either hair. I was happy. And it was still long enough to keep my tender neck protected while scootering. Problem was, it now made my not-blonde-not-brown-not-really-any-particular-shade hair look, rightfully, like it's not seen the sun in dog's years. So I bit the bullet and went back for color on Thursday night.

Three different shades now sat atop my head. I liked the way it looked in the salon but when I got home and saw my face in my pseudonaturally lit bathroom mirrow, I freaked a bit. Sure, all over it looks "richer" (Connie's description) but I felt like I was trying to look like a rock star. And then it hit me: the next day I'd be going to UCOP for my last admissions committee meeting. Would anyone in that staid building gasp or roll their eyes at me?

Not a word from anyone.

So I thought I'd spring the 'do on someone who knows me well: Hannah. We arranged to meet for dinner in Hayward and though the restaurant not very well lit I thought surely she'd gasp or give me theHannahlook. She did say my hair looked nice styled but she said nothing about the color. Not a peep! So somewhere in the middle of our sushi feast I couldn't stand it any longer and I blurted out something I instantly hated myself for saying: "So you haven't said anything about my hair." I even pouted, I'm ashamed to say. She ignored my childishness and said she didn't think my hair looked altogether very different! In fact, fairly similar to how it used to look when it used to spend more time in the sun. Hm.

So all the way home I started to wonder if I'd made such a radical change after all. Rock star, indeed. So does that mean I didn't get my money's worth? I am clearly unaccustomed to this whole primping thing.

a musing

O, the time for you approaches
and the heart jumps back and forth
and almost as though you were pressing
two moist fingers there my breath falters
at the base of my throat.
The mind recalls the last conversation and
a thousand pictures
(smile, eyes closed,
bent over to retrieve a fallen pen,
an elegant hand the vein wants me to touch it)
of you are hung all 'round.
The peculiar vibration
that belongs only to your voice is my
favorite sound second only to the shuffle of
your step just around the corner.
You smell of nothing in a world of odious aromas
and this pleases me in a way only I can know.
The time for you approaches but
the ache of seconds waiting watching
each one a pulse of delight.