I cut Gil’s hair today. As thrilled as I am at the money-saving potential of this newly-learned ability (especially considering how quickly the man’s hair grows), I have inadvertently discovered that hair-cutting is a terrible task for a woman with even mildly obsessive compulsive tendencies.

Here’s how it went down:

Erin: “Okay, let’s go cut your hair!”

Gil: “Yay!”

Elapsed time: 10 minutes

Gil: “Are you done yet?”

Erin: “Shh.”

Even. Must make it even.

Elapsed time: 20 minutes

Gil (with growing frustration): “Unngghh!”

Erin: “Hold still! I’m almost done!”

Even. EVEN. EVEN!!

Elapsed time: 40 minutes

Gil: *Weeps silently.*

Erin: *Keeps snip-snip-snipping. Her eye twitches. She is blind to everything except the giant, sneering, uneven haircut in front of her.*

_____

Furthermore, this neurosis has gone ahead and extended itself to everything I see today, as evidenced by the fact that I am sitting here on my parents’ front porch trying to write my thesis and all I can think about is how much I’d like to take some giant scissors to the uneven patches of grass on their lawn.

I’d snip those bits there… and those there…

And those ones over there…

Me (in reference to my continued frustration with trying to write my thesis): “It’s kind of like giving birth… except it’s the kind of giving birth where you’re afraid it might turn out to be an alien.”

*Pause*

Gil: “I’m an alien.”

“What?”

“All of my children will be lizards.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. Years from now when you have lizard babies you’ll remember this conversation.”

“To dream about losing a tooth represents man’s innermost worries — concerns about dying, aging, weakness, destitution and loneliness.”

- dreamforth.com’s dictionary entry for “toothless”

… In that case, I suppose dreaming about losing multiple teeth means that you are well nigh dead from worry?

This is my new recurring nightmare. I actually dreamt it twice last night, both times totally convinced that it was real—that this time my teeth really were falling out and we wouldn’t be able to get them back in. These dreams usually include a rushed trip to the emergency room, or the emergency dentist (I’m not sure if emergency dentists really exist), or the emergency something.

Now, to be fair, last night was also the first night that I had worn my retainers (which are supposed to be worn every few nights) in a couple of weeks. So it seems reasonable to infer that the aching mouth I woke up with this morning could have had more to do with those dreams than “concerns about dying, aging, and weakness.” But the dark streak in me finds that interpretation appropriate nonetheless.

How about you? Have you ever had a teeth falling out dream? Did you derive any meaning from it?

_______

Just for fun, two songs about teeth:

Happy Monday!

I kicked and I screamed.

I plugged my ears and hollered at the top of my lungs.

But sooner or later, you have to give up…

… and admit that you are getting a cold.

*sigh *

(WARNING: This post contains a picture that might make you throw up a little bit in your mouth.)

… I will go the extra mile. I will throw myself into the effort of getting that perfect shot.

Sometimes more literally than others.

It’s funny how, when one is so focused on capturing the perfect shot of the bride and groom leaving the building, one can completely miss the existence of a step down from the sidewalk to the driveway.

It’s also funny how, when such a moment of neglect occurs, the sidewalk can decide to take a chunk out of one’s knee as a keepsake.

See? It’s pretty:

I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to see that. But you know what? I didn’t really want to fall down those steps and rip my black pants that I payed $26.50 for at Old Navy. I know exactly how much I paid for them because the receipt for them is still sitting on my desk—because I bought them last week.

But, as I told all of the concerned onlookers at the time of the incident, at least my camera was fine. As long as my camera was alright, I was alright.

In case you haven’t been keeping track, I am developing quite a knack for falling down while carrying expensive equipment. And you’ll notice—none of the equipment has been damaged YET. So, to anyone out there who might have been thinking about lending me their expensive camera equipment: BE ENCOURAGED. I will die before it will.

But if you’re thinking about lending me pants? Um… Not so much.

P.S. I should mention the fact that this wound was acquired at the amazing Friday the 13th wedding of two dear acquaintances who are some of the most truly awesome people I know. So it was for a good cause.

(This post contains a BIG spoiler for the Star Wars novel Sacrifice. You’ve been warned.)

I know, I know.

Star Wars is not real. Mara Jade is a fictional character. Authors have a right to do what they will with their fictional characters. Yada yada yada…

But… do you even know how many hours I put into this website? Do you know how many more hours I spent longing to be Mara Jade? Or at least to meet her? Yeah, I thought not.

So, what do you think they did in the latest Star Wars novel? They killed her off!

Never mind the fact that I have not read a single Star Wars novel or spent more than thirty seconds thinking about Mara Jade for the last four years; I am still taking this personally. I wish there was some way I could rectify this horrible atrocity—but it seems the deed has been done, so all I can really say is…

… Mara lives, folks. MARA LIVES.

Finals week has me in its grip right now, so I don’t really have time for words. I just wanted to share this photo, taken a few weeks ago on a brief jaunt to the river, which has been gracing my desktop and making me giggle ever since:

I think this shot sums me and my friends up pretty well.

This one is for all you mp3 player—iPod or otherwise—owners out there who have ever faced the dilemma I am about to describe.

Picture this: you’re listening to your music. Alone.

It’s a fun, groovy little time for you, right? But it’s—let’s face it—a little bit solitary. What happens when you suddenly think to yourself, “Gee. I would really like to share this rocking Decemberists song with three to five of my closest companions.”

Up till now, if you didn’t have a pair of speakers with the proper connector handy, you were out of luck. But NOT ANYMORE! Now, all you need is your iPod, your earbuds, and—are you ready?—your mouth.

That’s right, folks! Your God-given oracular cavity is a perfect sound chamber to transmit your tunes to those standing immediately around you. Just follow these simple steps:

1. Turn on your iPod-like device.
2. Choose a rocking song.
3. Crank the volume.
4. Rest your earbuds on your lips, and close lightly around them. (Adjustment may be required to produce fullest sound.)
5. Watch your friends ooh and ah in amazement!

I know, I know… only a Gutenberg student could discover something quite so awesomely revolutionary. And trust me—there’s more where this came from.

A quick search through my archives tells me that I have not talked about the primary obsession of my formative years on this blog as much as one might think I would.

I am talking, of course, about Star Wars; and although you might not guess it by looking at me, I probably once could have given you a brief outline of almost every Star Wars novel in existence. (Especially those involving Mara Jade.) And that’s not even touching the wealth of knowledge about the films I gained by poring over the annotated screenplays.

Turns out my friend and housemate, Teal, is also a Star Wars fan. So when we discovered that the U.S. Postal Service was placing special “R2-D2″ mailboxes around the country in honor of Star Wars’ 30th anniversary, this was the only logical action which could follow:

You may feel free to point and laugh. We are immune.

I mean, heck… Teal was willing to stand in the middle of the UofO campus wearing a Mu-Mu inside out. I was willing to climb on top of a trash receptacle in the effort to capture the perfect shot. What do you think you’re going to do to us?

So. It was Easter today. You’re probably wondering: Did she do it again? Did she make the trek up Spencer’s Butte at dark-thirty in the morning? Did she toss her proverbial Easter cookies at the top?

Of course not, silly! Here’s what my friend Noah thinks of that idea:

Instead, a couple of us less-intrepid folk climbed ALL THE WAY to the top of the stairs at our house and watched the sunrise from our back balcony.

And then, after a blindingly bright ten or fifteen minutes, we retreated inside for coffee. And then we ate sticky buns.

All in all, it was a much more relaxed (and far less pukey) Easter morning than last year. I hope you all had good ones as well.