You have to get right back on the horse…
You may recall I fell and got a concussion at Santana Row a few weeks ago. Not to be deterred from great shopping by a simple head injury, my BFF Beth and I ventured there for dinner & a movie last night. Oh my goodness, Yankee Pier has this frozen strawberry lemonade for $4 a pop with no alcohol, but easily as addictive. I could have swilled a few of those, but I refrained (I was holding off on the calorie count for Sour Patch Kids and Diet Coke at the movies).
So we saw Mamma Mia, which was incredible -- the right kind of cheese! So much fun. Colin Firth in scary plaid and um, paisley. I know Colin, you’re trying to counter your Mr. Darcy effect. You took that role to say to us obsessive fans that you will not be typecast – and I have to admit, you looked really bad in Lilly Pulitzer-type paisley. Which tells one how cheesy the movie is, because a gay man would never dress so abhorrently, but whatever. Not helped by BFF whispering in movie, “Your boyfriend is wearing paisley.” Still a GREAT time, in singing/laughter-infused estrogen-fest and Colin, you will always be Mr. Darcy to us. It brought us such immense joy in our lives, it cannot be swayed by a fun role in bad beachwear. We…we will always remember the white fluffy shirt…the pond…the brooding, how ardently you loved and admired Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We withstood “Circle of Friends” and we can overcome this as well.
Onto something more serious. I currently am sporting a very bad, self-inflicted mullet. My hairdresser only had time for a color OR a cut. Well, go ahead, color me, I can cut it myself. Only I can’t. And I have a really scary business-in-the-front, party-in-the-back mullet of devastating proportions. And I’m too embarrassed to get a cut now because my hairdresser will have a fit. And none of this would have been that devastating, since I’ve been wearing my sunglasses on my head, but my DH arranged an appt early this morning, and my bedhead mullet, awoke to a gorgeous, young fireman at my doorstep at 8:00 a.m. Now I’m not so deluded as to believe said gorgeous fireman cares, but I don’t know, if you’re going to have a bad morning mullet, I’m thinking I want the guy at the door to be missing a few teeth. Is that too much to ask? DH had warm words of encouragement, “Well, you’re the one who cut your hair.” Sigh. The gulf between man and woman widens.
Update: Stardate 7/25 See attached photo, they fixed the mullet, but said it would take two haircuts to grow out. She said one side was actually one and a half inches longer than the other in the back. Pretty.
Labels: Colin Firth, Mamma Mia, Santana Row