Mar 042011
 

My friends think I’m a bit off my rocker, but it’s true: I hate Johnny Depp.

I mean, I don’t hate him as a person; I’ve never met the guy. I’m sure he’s a kind, gentle soul. But unlike the majority of the females I have come in contact with, I do not find him “hot” or “smokin’ hot” or “sexy” or anything remotely attractive. I usually want to give him a bath, a shave and a haircut. To be fair to Depp, I kind of have a type of man I am attracted to, and it never involves long hair, guyliner or scruffy facial hair.

As such, I cannot bring myself to watch movies that include Johnny Depp. I have not seen: any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies (an aside: I am also not attracted to Orlando Bloom), his Sweeney Todd, his remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, his Alice in Wonderland, the whole movie of What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, Sleepy Hollow, and really, so on. In fact, the only movie that Johnny Depp has been in that I have watched in its entirety is Edward Scissorhands. I don’t dislike that movie, but I certainly haven’t watched it again. I hear he’s a great actor, but I just don’t seem to find interest in his movies. (Or, really, most movies. I’ve also never seen a single Clint Eastwood movie — much to my husband’s dismay — and he isn’t a scruffy dude.)

Why am I telling you this?

Because I’m going to see a Johnny Depp movie this weekend. Fortunately for me, I won’t have to look at him.

I’m taking the boys to see Rango tomorrow afternoon. I’m mainly doing so because we’ll be in the tail end of a 36 hour shift, and occupying the boys for two solid hours seems like a good parenting decision on my part. Also, I have a crazy hankering for movie popcorn.

A good friend asked me if I wanted to go as we got ready for Hip Hop Cardio the other evening. I told her of my Johnny Depp aversion and she looked at me like I had two heads. But then I realized that FireDad would be pulling that 36, and I would likely be crazy by Saturday afternoon, seeing as how the forecast accurately called for rain, rain and more rain. So, I said yes. And now we’re going. Because when it comes down to it, making my kids happy matters to me. (And it sure is much easier to swallow when we have movie passes that we got as a Christmas gift.)

We don’t go to the movies often — with the kids or without. It’s a special treat. I think we’re deserving of a special treat this weekend. Despite a glimpse of spring a couple of weeks ago, it’s been rather cold and awfully rainy; floodlike, if you will. We are kind of on each others’ nerves. And I don’t just mean that the boys are annoyed with one another. All four of us are fighting off that If Spring Doesn’t Get Here Quickly And We Have To Spend One More Day Inside We Might Spontaneously Combust fever that is reportedly going around many households right now. I think we need an afternoon of childlike laughter, movie-made-escape and general relaxation.

And that popcorn.

Jul 092010
 

I went to get a haircut today. Before I left, I told BigBrother where I was going.

Okay, but don’t get ElastiGirl hair.

Uh, noted.

Last year, I came home from a particularly nice salon experience. BigBrother was going through a phase of Nothing-But-The-Incredibles, a strange and brief departure from his first love of Toy Story. I walked in the door from that salon experience and he said, “Mommy! You have ElastiGirl hair!”

Then he laughed, so I’m not quite sure it was a compliment.

It’s kind of true though. The somewhere-around-chin-length bob is a flattering cut on me, whether I wear it curly (its natural state) or straight (a completely unnatural state that most curly-headed people try to achieve unless it’s mid-August). I admitted to FireDad after BigBrother’s comment that my hair did resemble that of ElastiGirl. It was a running joke for awhile.

Apparently BigBrother is over The Incredibles, despite occasionally sporting some Mr. Incredible underwear. And apparently I am not supposed to sport the hairstyle any longer. Yes, I realize I’m taking fashion advice from a four-and-a-half year old. But he knows his stuff better than I do. Maybe he reads She’s Still Got It when he’s supposed to be playing Zoodles. I don’t know. I mean, it’s not a secret I have no fashion sense. Even Sassymonkey is on my case about it. Which, by the way, I’m not trying skinny jeans. Can’t make me.

I had a lovely salon experience today. The general ambiance of my salon is one of happy chatter, some of which I participate in and some of which I quietly smile at as it bounces around the room. My stylist laughed at how much my hair had grown in two months and commented again on how thick it is. (It’s ridiculously thick.) She turned my hair from a crazy, frizzy, over-grown, no-shaped mess to a sleek, stylish new version of me without sweaty hair on my neck. She’s my new hero.

I got home from the salon and asked BigBrother what he thought.

Well, it’s not ElastiGirl hair.”

“No, it’s not. Whose hair is it then?”

Well, Mommy. It’s your hair, you silly head.

That it is. Kind of a Reverse ElastiGirl… which sounds… kinky. I think I’ll be sticking with this style for awhile.