Head to Toe

My break-up coping mechanisms have been twofold: 1) make myself feel as foxy as possible and 2) have other people pamper me as much as possible. So far, this has included spending money on new clothes that give me an ass, getting a pedicure and getting a haircut.

My haircut Wednesday night was perfect. She didn’t talk to me at all, just let me drift away. She gave me this wicked head massage that felt like it went on for 15 minutes. And then she made me look like it’s 2006. Or a 2006 version of 1986. Close enough.

It’s a bit Joan Jett, which makes me feel tough. Shelley said “You look like Shaun Cassidy, but in a good way.” I’ve posted another of the Hey Baby series in honour of said statement.


Very serious, this haircut business. I actually hate having my photo taken, even when I'm the one doing it. This is why I'm giving the camera my death stare. I look like a knob when I smile in most photos. But in this digital age, I suppose I'll have to get over that. Besides, I do want to show off my haircut. And my oven mitts.

I also took Shelley for a pedicure, since that is something we like to do together. We ended up in separate rooms. We were a bit bummed about that initially, but they poured us libations and we got tipsy and napped while the lovely staff massaged and scraped and dipped our feet in hot wax. Fun times.

My toes now look like smarties. This makes me happy. I’m fond of my toes anyway, but now they look like candy, and I imagine that makes them happy. Happy toes, happy person.


Tight jeans (now proud? owner of 3 pair) have also become an essential part of the foxification project. The internet does not need to see a picture of my ass. There's already enough ass on the internet.


* That scab on my lip? Herpes. Thank you, stress. It’s gone from my lip now. But I’m sure my coworkers think I’m doing coke. I can’t seem to stop myself from rubbing the outside of my right nostril in a ridiculous attempt to quell the burning itch of the cold sores inside. At least no one can see them.