Can I tell you guys something?
I want a scooter.
Really, really badly.
Don’t you think that would be the best? Something more eco-friendly to pop around in? Then I can stay within the safe confines of Kittery and Portsmouth and the Rite Aid on Shapleigh Road.
I’m thinking something like this:
But I think the one I can afford looks like this:
My mom told me it was NOT VERY SENSIBLE ERIN to get a scooter, which of course means I will be popping around Kittery with that pink radio flyer any day now. Watch out, Rite Aid customers.
In other news: I’m thinking about shaving my head again. Because I got my Maine license (finally) you guys. It’s really not good. It’s like – I’ve finally found the dark side of Maine, and it’s my license.
In the same vein as shaving my head, I almost put it as my profile picture. Because fuck it right? Why does your profile picture have to be a super cute picture of you? It’s like – to a much, much lesser extent than shaving your head of course – a powerful way to confront your own vanity. But, much like the razor got stuck in my hand, tears streaming down Anna’s face while she yelled that she DID NOT WANT TO BE THE KID WITH THE WEIRD MOM my gaze is stuck on ‘upload new photo’ and the picture itself. I actually didn’t think it was that bad, but then I showed it to my coworkers. At first, no one really said anything, which caused me to be like:
But you guys. That’s not what I look like, right?
In Real Life?
For real you guys?
In Real Life?
It’s not that bad, right?
While they quietly turned to stone.
And then I realized that one of them was frantically googling – until she said “FOUND IT! THIS is what it reminds me of” and backed away from her computer screen so I could see what she pulled up:
And initially, I was like NO WAY YOU GUYS! But then, this:
And further, this:
I know. You can’t even tell where I am in that picture, can you?
Breaking news: Anna just came up behind me while I was typing and pointed to the picture and said OH MY GOODNESS YOU LOOK JUST LIKE THAT WOMAN MAMA!
The hits keep comin’.
Here’s what I think though, staring at the perfect brown helmet that is my head. Even if I don’t shave it – ever (even if I really, really want to) – I can kill the blow dryer, because it’s killing my hair anyway? And maybe just cut it super short, like a BUZZ cut. Or wear wigs on a regular basis.
Or shave it. Because why not.
Or leave it exactly how it is.
And that is actually, what I look like, when backed up against a wall at the DMV, awkwardly talking to the unpleasant woman that’s telling me where to stare, pretending I’m so laid back I don’t even need to review the picture (and then asking her to take one more shot?). And I look different when I’m happy (and who is legitimately happy at the DMV?) or devastated, or excited, or scared, or turned on, or brushing off my knees after tripping in the woods on a run, early this morning. I just don’t have those moments as properly documented as the government required one.
And who cares? Brown helmets are hot! And I mean, just look at that picture. So am I.