how do they stand it?
On Saturday morning I thought to myself:
“Today I’m not going to harp on things that shouldn’t matter. Like the fact that I tripped on a certain 2nd grader’s filthy backpack on my way to the gym this morning. Twice. I’m also not going to wax on about how much Maya’s been on the iPad lately. And I’m certainly not going to mention Ali’s cables or laptop(s) or socks.”
It was a long thought.
Weekend Pictures: Lunch with friends at Monsieur Marcel, chocolate from a very generous friend, coffee at Vosges in Beverly Hills.
After that long thought, however, I got into it with our contractor who quickly went from my awesome list to my sh#$ list. Which snapped me straight into the bitchy mood that I’d tried so hard to avoid.
It takes so little.
First I went off on Ali for refusing to recycle a stack of restaurant-related magazines, despite the fact that he’s never owned a restaurant and likely will never own a restaurant. This because we’ve established through much research / discussion / self-reflection that 99.9% of restaurants make no money before they inevitably fail within the first year.
When the dust settled, me and Maya agreed to let bygones be bygones so we could take this picture. Not sure why I still look really mean.
Next I channeled my inner Tiger Mom by drilling Maya on her Serena Williams presentation, over and over, until she could recite Serena’s entire life from age 3 to the present in her sleep. Complete with the awkward fact that Serena “Now lives in Florida with her two dogs, where she oversees her clothing line with Nike.”
After that I decided to make homemade waffles (that nobody asked for) so I could complain about how dirty the kitchen is and then about how nobody appreciates my cooking. And after that?
I tried to figure out how people can stand me.
oops i did it again
Despite the fact that I can’t read a map and sometimes have to use my fingers to do quick addition (don’t tell Maya) I think I’m a fairly intelligent person. That’s why it continues to amaze me that I cannot stop burning myself with a curling iron.
Yes, I did it again.
It’s hard to have friends with really good hair…hair that doesn’t need hot tools!
It started innocently enough: as I waited patiently for my Japanese straightening appointment, I tried to fix my broken hair by using every hot tool I could find to burn it into submission.
Unlike previous attempts, however, I made sure to put safety first:
- I curled in a well-lit room.
- I curled my hair away from my face.
- I remembered not to complicate things by using the clamp part of the iron.
Lunch at my friend Nadia’s…she’s one of those people who just has a knack for making everything look so perfect.
What I didn’t remember was to get a firm grip on the iron. So of course it fell. On my forehead.
You might be thinking: “Wow Ameena. You’re pretty lucky…you could have been burned really badly!” And yes, I would agree with you. Except that for the last 5 days I’ve been walking around channeling Rudolph because right after the curling iron hit my forehead?
It hit my nose.
And her daughter? Has very good taste in shoes.
On the upside, you wouldn’t believe how many people find their way to my blog by searching the term: “I burned myself with a curling iron.”
I’m thinking a red nose is worth the few additional page views?
clueless comments x 3
On Friday afternoon I did something completely out of the ordinary: I made an effort.
This translated to me putting in my contacts and wearing something other than black. I also changed my earrings, broke out the straightening iron, and even contemplated make up!
(Didn’t follow through with that one but I believe contemplation deserves recognition.)
I did all of this because I figured that instead of defrosting Trader Joe’s Turkey Meatballs or ordering takeout, we might actually go out for dinner. On a Friday night no less!
So after taking Maya to the doctor and Target, after a dropping off books at the library and then picking up milk, Maya and I returned home, excited about the endless possibilities for a dinner beyond my sad repertoire of pasta and omelets.
Since I didn’t eat out this weekend (due to bad hair) I have no good food pictures. I have this random one instead!
But then, this:
Ali – Clueless Comment #1: “Your hair looks really dry.”
Me, in my head: How does one respond to this?
Ali – Clueless Comment #2: “It looks like it might break any second.”
Me, in my head: Why thank you Ali. Nothing like a compliment to kick off my Friday evening.
Ali – Clueless Comment #3: “I think you need a better conditioner or something.”
To be honest, I wasn’t really offended as I know this is Ali trying to be “helpful.” Still, I put my glasses back on, took my diamond hoops off, and thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t dumb enough to put on makeup hours earlier. And then I said: “So are you picking up CPK or Cheesecake Factory for dinner tonight?”
And then immediately after that? I made the soonest Japanese straightening appointment I could get.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 