Apparently People Are Conflicted About Whether I Am Young or Old

Ok so last weekend, I went to Eeyore’s Birthday.  It’s a celebration my city throws every year.  It’s supposed to be a family-friendly event, but it ends up drawing in a lot of hippies.  Everyone I’ve talked to hyped it up as being really weird, but I was actually disappointed by its lack of weirdness when I attended.  It was just another day in the city for me.

I think this means I’ve gotten used to this city and its weirdness.

Anyway, I walked by a jewelry booth and started talking to the owner.  “Do you go to school here?” she asked. I said no and then did not elaborate, because sometimes I get weird with strangers and don’t feel like talking about myself much.

She said, “Do you not go to school or are just too old?” I said, “I’m too old.”  “Wow, you look so young,” she said. “I thought you were in school.”

YAY!

But then when I was buying wine at HEB yesterday, I DID NOT EVEN GET CARDED.

As in, THE CASHIER JUST SCANNED THE WINE AND DIDN’T ASK ME FOR MY ID.

I guess because I look older than 21.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Thanks, Autocorrect

On Friday, I received the following text from my dad:

Dad: You failed me.

My heart sank into my stomach when I read it.  I’m very close to my family but we’ve had our share of clashes this year, so when I read it, I immediately thought, I must have done something wrong again.

I texted back:

Me:  What do you mean, Daddy?

I waited nervously for a couple of minutes. Then the phone rang.  It was my dad, and he was laughing.  I had accidentally dialed him about ten minutes before, so he had meant to text me “You dialed me.”  But Autocorrect made some assumptions and decided to send another message, instead.

Thanks, Autocorrect!

The Hardship of Texan Winters

A conversation with my friend Andres:

Andres:  It’s a lovely 13 degrees and sunny right now in Chicago.
Me:  …yeah, it’s 74 here.  And yeah, I wore a jacket to work today,  SO WHAT JUDGE ME.
Andres:   I have so many words that I could say, but I will just refrain.

An Apologetically Vain Post About My Hair

When my cousin and I were shopping in Brooklyn last week (last week! sigh…), I selected a frilly, midnight blue top to try on.  It was one of those shirts that looked pretty in theory but ended up looking ridiculous once I actually tried it on.  I turned to my cousin, who has an amazing sense of style.  “Amanda?” I said. “I don’t think I like this.” “It’s not a bad top,” she said, looking at it critically, “but it’s just not you.  This shirt is for someone who is high drama and wants attention, and that is just not your personality.”

Keeping that anecdote in mind, where I provide proof from a third-party that I am not an attention-seeking individual, please excuse this post where I talk about…my hair.

I know! It’s so stupid and vain.  But y’all, I don’t know what it is lately – EVERYONE seems to be commenting on my hair.  Back when I used to dye my hair often, I could understand why people would comment on it (and my coworkers ALWAYS had something to say about it).  But I’ve matured, and I’ve had the same hair color for three months now – dark brown, more my natural color.

It’s not even amazing-looking hair.  It’s stuck in that frustrating stage where it’s neither long nor short.  The best thing I can say about it is that it’s not fried anymore.  I guess the only thing I’m doing differently is trying to change hairstyles every once in awhile.  I am not doing any award-winning hair styles here. I just got tired of my stupid ponytail/bun/straight hair combo and just try to mix it up by actually making it look like I’ve spent more than three seconds fixing it.

Maybe that’s it?

Okay. Yesterday a coworker came up to me and whispered, “Can I ask you a personal question?” “Uh, sure,” I said, bristling in preparation.  “Is that your natural color or is blonde your natural color?” she asked.

Then today, I took my car in to get fixed.  The agent at the front desk always recognizes me and asks about my drum playing.  I’ve seen him at least twice since I changed from blonde to brunette, and still he mentioned something about my hair.  “It’s my natural hair color,” I said – I’ve had to say it so often to people that it’s become some sort of automatic response.  I could be in a coma, and if someone said something about my hair, the first thing I’d say waking up is, “IT’S MY NATURAL COLOR.”

“Natural is good,” he said.  I ignored that comment.

Then hours later, I was at work when a different coworker approached me in my cube.  “Hi Jen,” he said. I said hello.  He got kind of shy and said, “I like your hair.”  “Oh, thanks,” I said.  “That’s all I wanted to say,” he replied.  (Said coworker is also married).

I think my favorite response to my hair in the past two days happened yesterday. One of my coworkers returned to the office after working 11 months in another state.  I was happy to see him, since I had missed working with him.  When I heard his booming voice down the hall, I walked by and waved hello to him.  He responded in a very non-enthusiastic fashion.  I brushed it off, thinking he was busy, and went to talk to another coworker.

On the way back from my cube, I heard someone saying, “Jen!” My coworker approached me, saying, “I didn’t even recognize you when you walked by!” Then I remembered that when he had left, I’d still been a blonde.

I guess I should just enjoy the compliments, but I’m more amused than anything.  Maybe if I had hair like, say, Angelina Jolie’s, then I’d be more understanding of the attention.

A Frequent Customer

I frequent a Thai place by my apartment a lot.  It’s one of my favorites.  Their pineapple fried rice with chicken is divine, and I like to pretend that it’s semi-healthy.  I have been ordering take-out from this place at least once a week now, so I am a familiar face.  If I take a break from the restaurant, the wait staff will comment how it’s been awhile since they’ve seen me.  It’s nice to have that familiarity with a restaurant, but it also reminds me that I maybe should start cooking more or something.

Tonight I called with my usual request and had this conversation with the waitress:

Staff:  Yes, what would you like to order?
Me:      I’d like to order pineapple fried rice with chicken.
Staff:   And your name?
Me:      Jennifer.
Staff:   Wait a minute…I think I know which Jennifer.
Me:      Yes, I come here a lot.
Staff:    You’re the pretty one!

Well, wasn’t that nice?!