When I get older, losin' my hair

For some reason the electrical outlets in the guest bathroom stopped working. The weekend we had guests. And now the outlet in my bathroom stopped working. And I still live there. What's up with that? When my guest told me her outlet wasn't working I said, "I'll inform the management." And of course what I meant was: I'll tell Phillip, the person who doesn't believe there are little elves sitting behind the outlets in the wall and breathing the magic of electricity into my hair dryer cord. Except, Phillip doesn't know what's wrong either and it's right about now that I could really appreciate having an apartment manager. Even a manager who doesn't do anything, like our old one who, when we told him about the Great Ant Invasion of 2004, was all "Uhhh, you can look up an exterminator in the phone book maybe?". Because even if you have a manager who doesn't do jack, it's not your fault and not your responsibility. At most, the outlet that doesn't work is a very great annoyance because who likes having to blow dry their hair in the kitchen? But when you own your house? Drying your hair in the kitchen because you don't know how to fix your electrical outlet falls somewhere between Pathetic and Damn Fool.

So anyway. This is why my hair is still wet at 9 am.

Which makes me think of another subject entirely because, DUDE, my hair used to dry INSTANTLY. Is 26 about the age when you start to notice that, hmm, things were a bit different when you were 20? Because all my life I've had a scrawny handful of flat stringy hair that took about five minutes tops to dry. This is why I could make my winter death march to the bus stop every morning with wet hair and have it dry by the time I got to school. But now? Ten years later? I have about two scrawny handfuls of hair that does not dry in five minutes and when it does dry, it's WAVY. WHAT'S UP WITH THAT?

I know you guys totally don't care about this, but it is a wondrous thing to me, the girl who PINED AND PINED for a perm in sixth grade. (Dear Mom: THANK YOU for banning the '90s perm, thereby sparing me the triangle-shaped-head junior high pictures. And while the pink plastic granny glasses didn't do much for me, at least they are not compounded by a frizzy perm.)

Also, upon reaching my mid-twenties, I now have the knees of a 87-year-old woman. I've stopped wearing heels for the most part because they seem to throw my alignment all out of whack. I'm considering seeing a CHIROPRACTOR, THAT'S how shoddy my joints are. (Of course, an ideal time for your knee to go out is right when you are supposed to be moving no end of heavy boxes up two flights of stairs.) While I can't say that I look back all that fondly on my afternoons of running sprints and full court press drills, I do miss those knees. (And those lungs. Sigh.)

Before I end this sorry excuse for a post, let me leave you with the Mighty Maggie Tip of the Day: when making risotto and after you realize that you don't have any dry white wine, do not substitute with rose. Do NOT.