Ok, dudes. Here’s me with my lovely new haircut. I’m so in love with it – I went to a new hairdresser today and she did such a good job. I was feeling guilty about breaking up with my last hairdresser, but no longer. This was a way better cut than I had been getting before, and I just felt like this woman today listened to me a lot more and was way more responsive. So hurrah! The way it is now is really easy to style, but I can also do it so it’s chunkier and more textured-looking and a bit more funky. As my mom said the other day, “I want a haircut that is funky but that I can preach at the cathedral in.” And although I’m not planning on delivering any sermons anytime soon (other than the informal, political, isn’t-Annacyclopedia-so-knowledgeable-and-wise-and-blessed-with-the-right-opinions-on-everything kind of sermons), I think this haircut meets both standards. And I am happy about that. 
Here’s me yesterday with what appears to be a forehead made of solid gold. Alas, even with commodity prices tanking along with the rest of the economy, it is not solid gold, just very shiny and apparently at odds with the harsh overhead lighting of the office.
My problem with my hair is that if it’s long enough to be in a ponytail, it is in a ponytail, hence the frumptasticness of the second photo. I had been considering keeping it long because my flamenco recital is coming up next month, and long hair and flamenco kind of go well together, like yogurt and granola. But I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and now that it’s all chopped off, I’m so relieved. Nothing like a good haircut to make a girl feel all shiny and new.
So that is my glamorous life – cool hair, cool gadget (both photos were taken with the iPhone, by the way, although I don’t know how to upload them to the blog directly from the phone) and, although it’s not news to anyone, cool method of reproduction. I’m feeling so modern today that I scoff at anyone who conceives the usual way. Plain old sex? Ha! So inefficient and time consuming! I have the imported sperm delivered directly to the top of my uterus at exactly the right time! It is specially selected and purified, kind of like Fiji Water. Very prestigious, I tell you. It’s the must-have assisted conception method of the season.
I have to say that having the iPhone is making the wait a lot more bearable, just because I can’t seem to put the damn thing down and am therefore constantly distracted. I realized the other day, though, that the previous tries have all been rather light for me, and this one is certainly not. I have a lot more hope of this actually working, which comes with some of the fear I alluded to earlier this week, and I realized this time how much more I want this. Not that I didn’t want it before. But this time, I REALLY want it. I’m really feeling the pain of what the Buddhists call “wanting mind.” Just seeing very clearly how much suffering comes with attachment. But it’s not an attachment I’m working on releasing myself from anytime soon, just in case “The Secret” people are right and my thoughts do create my reality. Covering all bases, so I am.
My visualizations have certainly been aided by knowing that you lot were all holding me up on Wednesday and sending me and the cells virtual bearskin rugs and Barry White and fine wine and violins and stuff. I spent some time with Dr. Google the other day to get a clearer picture of the process of conception, and apparently, my embryo, if it exists, is in the free-floating stage right now, as it’s too early for it to have implanted. So I keep picturing it as the screensaver thing that everyone watches during meetings on “The Office” and cheers for it to hit the corner exactly. Just bouncing around. I’m picturing the seed being planted in the garden and surrounded by velvety, irridescent orchid petals, too, and the cells merging and dividing and all that, too – never fear. But the screen saver is the dominant image for me the last few days.
There you have it, internets. The glamourous life of Annacyclopedia on a very windy Saturday in October.
