Hair Like Meg Ryan

For our date night a while back, my husband and I ordered take-out and watched You’ve Got Mail. This was no Netflix and chill, though. Instead, we kicked it old school and watched the DVD I’ve had since I was in high school.

My grandmother was a fan of romantic comedies, so I watched a lot of those since I lived with her. She was a Meg Ryan super fan (until The Affair with Russell Crowe, sigh), and I became one too after watching You’ve Got Mail. As a teen who had recently gotten an Internet connection, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. A smart guy! Who enjoys books! And can write! Such a guy didn’t exist in my class of 70-odd students (that I was aware of), so that movie gave my love life a little hope.

You know how couples have a song? It might be the first song they ever danced to together or the one they danced to at their wedding. This movie is our equivalent of that. (Well, technically we have a Song, too, and it’s not a Hanson song since my husband put his foot down.)

We went the same route as the characters, meeting online, taking forever to meet, and when we did it was amazeballs (well, it was amazeballs a couple months after we met, when my nervousness wore off and I didn’t treat him like a brother). Our story isn’t quite as interesting, and consists only of a few missed hints and involuntarily dodged kisses — no business war and all that — but otherwise IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME.

We were getting sappy and stuff while watching the movie, reciting lines here and there, like it was of Star Wars or Shakespeare importance, when it dawned on me that there was something about me that my husband didn’t know about me. Once you’ve been married to someone for 10 years, finding something new to share from one’s past is pretty major. It’s almost on the level of giving diamonds. Almost.

“Oh my god, that haircut!” I commented. “I loved that haircut when I was in high school. I had it for the better part of two years. But it never worked out for me.”

This is it, in case you haven’t watched You’ve Got Mail or just don’t remember:

Alternatively, you can look at the haircut here, if the doodle isn’t doing it for you.

Between my lack of being able to blow my wavy (but not curly, dammit) hair straight, it not being the right haircut for my face, and the crappy stylist whose cuts rarely resembled the picture given, the haircut didn’t work for me. It didn’t work the first time I was a sophomore in high school, or the second time adding blonde highlights, or even the 89th time, when I was a senior in high school, and I’d highlighted my hair so much that it was nearly straight up blonde. (This is when I realized I should just let it grow out and go back to my natural color.)

The idea of having Meg Ryan’s haircut was amusing to my husband.

“She wasn’t in her 40s at the time,” I said, defending my style choice for god knows what reason. “Probably like her 30s. Or mid-30s.”

“That’s really not better. You were 15!” he exclaimed.

“Almost 16, though. And it was a cute haircut! Just not on me. Which may be why I didn’t date more in high school.”

“Aw, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” he said. “Just pretty bad.”

(And if you think admitting you wanted the haircut of an older woman was bad, try admitting that you had a crush on Tom Hanks when you were 15…or 33, for that matter. Sigh.)

I didn’t show him my picture in the yearbook from that haircut — the one where I was wearing a plain white t-shirt for, again, god knows what reason. Add in being sweaty as hell because it was early September in SC, plus that haircut, and you’ve got loads of awfulness.

See? All the awfulness.

My sharing the haircut story pretty much ruined You’ve Got Mail from a romantic standpoint. The idea of wanting to look like a middle age woman in my teens kind of overshadows the whole “how we met” thing. That opens the door for making a Hanson song Our Song, though, so there’s that.

Have you ever aspired to look much older than you actually were, or otherwise have any interesting Bad Haircut stories to share?

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#AtoZChallenge: M is for Marriage

First came love (yesterday), today comes marriage (as promised), and then comes…eh, I’m not promising any babies in a baby carriage.

Little Man has had a few thoughts on marriage, which is no surprise, since he has thoughts on everything. One is that all wedding ceremonies are like Jim and Pam’s wedding in The Office, and that they all start out by guests dancing down the aisle to Chris Brown’s Forever and end with a kiss. Another thought is that my best friend and I should never end texts with “Love ya!” because I’m married. (And so is she, but I guess he’s not too concerned with preserving sanctity of her marriage.)

Both of today’s doodles occurred when Little Man was five. With the first one, you should know that I’m a big fan of The Lord of the Rings. I’ve got the poseable action figures, Sting replica, and tattoos to prove it. One day I was talking LOTR with Little Man when he informed me that there could be no future between Gandalf the Grey and me. (No, I don’t have a thing for wizardly looking older men — this is one of those random things.)

Another thing you should know is that I’ve got freckles. Lots and lots of freckles. Depending on the lighting and how much time I’ve spent in the sun, sometimes I look like the bucket-of-blood scene in Carrie, only if someone dumped freckles instead of blood. I choose not to doodle them because it’d probably look like I had a tick infestation or something. Anyway, Little Man asked about my freckles one day, and I told him that they were angel kisses, which is what my grandmother told me when I was little. As a little girl, I loved the idea. Little Man? Not so much.

And lets not even get into the time I referred to Robert Downey, Jr. as my other husband. But at least he’s looking out for his dad, right?

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Netflix Zombies

As new parents might expect, having a little one changes things quite a bit. Well, quite a lot, since there’s the matter of there being a new human in the home who is completely dependent on you. And that child is basically a puke-diarrhea-pee factory who is also the most precious thing on the face of the earth — so you might not mind too much when some of those bodily fluids land on you, or in your mouth (all three categories, both kids — pretty sure a FML was appropriate).

Pre-kids, my husband and I had so much fun together. Sometimes we’d go away for the weekend, but mostly we had our fun hanging out, having deep talks, playing softball, playing chess and card games or video games, having some drinks, and going to football games (and having even more drinks). Typical newlyweds-without-kids stuff.

Now things are different. I know we could still do all of those things. Maybe not the drinking on a regular basis (well, definitely not, because hitting 30 apparently means you get all the heartburn galore from a single drink), but the chess and card games and video games — sure, we could. But we usually don’t. When 10:00 comes, and the last kid is finally down for the night (or, in the case of the toddler, for a few hours), we’ve got about an hour and a half together before my husband lies down. That time is usually spent zoning out to TV because we’re just so damn tired. We do have our dates nights, but half of those are spent getting pizza and watching something on Netflix because, again, tired.

This will change as the kids get older and more independent, but for now, that’s life, and you’ve gotta find the funny in life.

And that brings us to today’s doodle —

Can y’all relate?

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