A big thank you...

Thanks to all of you who responded to my previous post about Lindsay and her need for prayers. I am touched by those of you who came out of the blogosphere woodwork and shared your thoughts either in the comments section or via email. It means a tremendous amount to me. I am desperate to believe in miracles, as the doctors have been pretty straight forward with my cousin in that a miracle is really, ugh, the only hope. It pisses me off to even type that. But so it is.

I'm trying not to waste my energy on the whole being pissed off thing (although that is the safest and most comfortable route for me to take. I could compete in the pissed-off Olympics). I know I probably shouldn't include the phrase, "fucking stupid tumor" in a prayer, but I figure the powers that be are used to hearing profanity in desperate pleas for miracles. And if G-d truly is omniscient, s/he will know that I'm thinking it, even if I don't say it. So I've been spending a lot of time (when I wake up, when I'm in the shower, when I'm driving somewhere, when I'm changing Ethan's diaper, when I'm cooking dinner, when I'm grocery shopping, before I fall asleep at night...you get the picture) asking the powers that be to make that stupid fucking tumor dissolve away to nothing with the help of the radiation and the chemotherapy so my little cousin Lindsay gets a fair shot at life.

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And now to an entirely different universe---I chopped off my hair. Well, I didn't do it. I paid someone to do it. I paid the most stereotypically gay stylist in the metro DC area to hack it off and give me some kicky color. He was, of course, fabulous, and by his own *modest* admission, "a fucking genius" as he slathered my hair with color and foiled it up. Okay.

I don't know about genius. He cut my hair and entertained me with stories of his newest boyfriend (who I met at the end of the night---by my assessment, a pathological liar and complete narcissist--but very convincing. I guess that type transcends sexual orientation). I like the 'do and the color is more or less what I asked for--I sat in his chair & said, "I am in my mid-30's, so I don't want to look like I"m trying to be 19. But I don't want a 'mom haircut'").

So here are the results, in all their before & after glory....

Is that a deer stuck in the headlights?? No, it's just me, looking ridiculous while I pose for myself with my camera at arm's length. I don't think I've ever felt so silly...

Oh, no, wait! I felt that silly here, too. This is the new cut. Unstyled and smidge flat, AND I'm not sure why the color seems confined to the root region (could I have more disclaimers??! Can you sense the insecurity??!), but here it is.

Oh my. Someone get me some blush, mascara & lip gloss. I should have to take pictures of myself daily before leaving the house. It is quite eye-opening.