I cannot tell a lie.

Yesterday morning did not go smoothly, and in an attempt to avoid being late to work—or, rather, any later than I already was—I decided to forgo a badly-needed shower in favor of a beauty trick I was always hearing about but had never tried: baby powder in the hair.
Allegedly, sprinkling baby powder in your unwashed hair and then brushing it out will absorb the oil and give your hair the illusion of fluffy next-to-godliness. And actually, it seemed to work quite well. My hair’s volume was restored, the grayness that is the sum of filth and blonde had vanished, and I smelled sweetly of baby. It wasn’t until I was at work that I realized that in certain lights, I looked a little like George Washington.

This incident seems like a sad little parable for my life somehow, but I’m not sure why.

Segue!

I love my Tivo-esque like a hooker loves her last vial of crack, I tell you. But it has made me a bit drunk with power. I now PAUSE AND REWIND LIVE TELEVISION at least five times an episode, just because I can. And I have fallen into a delicious habit of ending the night watching Tivo-esque in bed while drinking hot chocolate spiked with something alcoholic. I prop myself up on some pillows, fast forward through commercials, and sip my toddy. And when I am too sleepy to continue this strenuous undertaking, I call for the Actually to take my cup away and tuck me in. It is like being a child again, except with cable channels and whisky.

Segue!

Now that my semester is over, I am finally able to catch up on blogs, including my own. I visited my sitemeter this morning, and was reminded of how much I miss knowing that, for instance, I am the second result to come up when some poor unfortunate searches for “my boyfriend wants to give me a facial.” I’m going to go right out on a limb and assume her boyfriend is not training to be an esthetician.

Because of all the time I suddenly seem to have, wedding preparations have resumed. I am ordering invitations this weekend, and the Actually and I are in the process of registering–which is much more confusing than I had anticipated. For instance: when registering for our dishes, do we register for the discounted four-place-setting sets, or do we register for X individual place settings? And how many place settings do we need? There are only two of us, but we do tend to break things.
It is all very perplexing. Also, besides dishes and silverware and knives and a pretty Dutch oven, what should we be registering for? The Actually wants to register for one of those inexpensive wee stereos you plug your iPod into* (from Target), but I don’t know if that is proper registry material.
Is there anything you registered for that proved indispensable? Is there anything you thought would be essential but now never use?

And as long as I’m imposing upon you all for advice, the Actually’s birthday is on Tuesday, and I am having a dreadful time thinking of gift ideas. He is revoltingly gifted at gift giving, always striking the perfect balance of sentiment and usefulness, and conversely, everything I have ever given him has been a disaster. There was the watch I gave him that we never got to work, the cashmere hat that was too small, the piece of original artwork that he loved but has never gotten around to framing, the video game that he beat in one sitting, etc. etc. etc.
I wish I could buy him a new computer (Ha! Beat that, Actually!), but alas I don’t qualify for Mac’s stupid Mac financing for happy perfect credit people. I have already gotten him a couple of small things, but nothing that stands out, and there are already mysterious packages arriving at our house for my birthday, full of what I am sure are diabolically clever gifts the Actually has purchased for me.

I know what you’re thinking, but I can’t get him a pony because we have nowhere to put it. Any suggestions?

p.s. If anyone knows of a way to lose weight that doesn’t involve limiting my French fry intake or exercising for more that 15 half-hearted minutes a day, please email me post-haste.

p.p.s. Gaining height inches: is the only way to do this truly though “genetics” or “posture” or “yoga?” Isn’t there some sort of rack I could be stretched upon?

*My god, the prepositions in this paragraph!