Steve Works Hard — Updated

Posted on | May 20, 2008 | 9 Comments

How you like me now, Internets? That’s right people, I mowed the lawn yesterday. And by I mowed the lawn, what I mean is, I did two stripes before growing bored and resentful and then Steve spent 3.5 hours doing more lawn mowing while I dyed my hair. Yes, I dye my hair. A few things you should know about my dying my hair: 1) my hair is naturally this color, I dye it because I have gray hair. And I’ve had gray hair since I was 13, and I don’t believe children should have gray hair, nor do I believe 32 year old women should have gray hair. But please know that it only makes me violently angry when people assume I dye my hair and say things like “your hair surely is not that dark,” and I say, “hey mother fucker, the curtains match the carpet and if you weren’t such an assumptive douche bag I would have shown you as much but because you behave like an asshole, I won’t drop my pants for you.” 2) I had a good friend who worked in the beauty industry and she told me that the hair dye is the same in the salons as it is at home, so just use the home stuff, because I ain’t doing anything fancy. 3) If you still don’t believe that my hair is this dark, you can ask my mommy who said “gee Melissa, do you even know what color your hair is? I don’t. I can’t remember the last time I saw your natural color” and I said, “Woman, you’re looking at it.” And then I pressed my hair down at the part and showed her the gray hair and my normal hair and she agreed that my hair is actually black. 4) This time I used hippie organic hair dye that had no ammonia and the box was compostable, because that’s how we roll in Portland and it was actually very good.

This morning, I blogged while Steve cleaned out the cupboards and the fridge and made Arch’s breakfast and my tea. And he keeps saying things like, “we should go to the market this morning” and “goddamn it woman, don’t you have deadlines, and is this what you do every single morning.” And I said, FUCK, I’M WRITING, IT’S MY JOB, EVER HEAR OF IT? IF YOU HAVEN’T, I’LL REFER YOU TO MY TWO NOVELS, WHICH HAVE MY NAME ON THEM. And that shamed him into changing Archer’s diaper. And so to appease his slave driving ways, I told him I’d attend the gym with him. I don’t go to the gym because I think it’s painfully boring and because the moist air makes me feel like I’m inhaling a lot of naughty sweat-borne bacteria.

Oh jesus, here’s a picture of what happened after that discussion. “Please don’t look, honey. I’m sorry, I promise I won’t open up photo booth and take pictures of the bruises and then upload them to flickr and then post them on my blog.”

Okay, now he’s like, “we are going to the gym and you are going to wear spandex and a sports bra and that will be your punishment for blogging while I was working.”

And because I’m now off to the gym, check out The Underblawg. It’s a very cool blog documenting the daily life of a public defender. Television law dramas ain’t got nothin’ on this blogger. And because she asked me to link to her, ask and you shall receive. But I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t read her daily and think, oh my god, thank god I don’t smoke crack. Even though I sometimes do. But I’m white and middle class, that makes me exempt from things like laws and laws.

Rachael, if you live in St. John’s, girl, let’s meet over here. I bet you live like three blocks from me. Because the world is crazy that way. We’re the house with the nicely mowed yard.

Update: I just got disinvited to the gym when I asked, “what sort of items does one bring to the gym.” And then I said, “What if I don’t fancy showering at the gym?” and finally, “I don’t believe I have a small towel to dry my equipment with, perhaps they’ll lend me one?”

And then Steve rubbed his own shoulder and said, “what if we meet after the gym and I buy you lunch.” And I said, “gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd, you never want to spend time with me. You haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate me. Wait, so I’m excused from the gym and you’ll treat to lunch? OKAY!”

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