I’ve never been the type to broadcast a new hairstyle on Facebook

But that’s probably because I have a blog.

And let me tell you, now that we’re in broadcasting mode, I did something drastic.

For a lot of people, haircuts are pretty standard, run-of-the-mill procedures. A few inches off here and there; add some layers; keep it fresh.

I, however, decided that I wanted a new look overall, and that, while I was at it, I might as well donate to a good cause.

So, last night, I went from this:

To this:

And apparently now I have to worry about my tag sticking out…

Now, I’ve had short hair before. But I’d either forgotten or didn’t realize how nervous I would be to chop it all – again.

Yes, I know it grows back, but what if I hated it immediately? What if my face looked too round? Or it made me look too young? Or any number of inane scenarios? The what ifs are endless.

MJ encouraged me. “Even if you don’t like the cut,” she said, “you’ll still love it because you were able to donate your hair.“

And she’s right.

I do like the style (though it will absolutely take some getting used to), but more than that, I’m glad that someone else will be able to use my former ponytail.

Plus, as an added bonus, with hair this short there’s a significantly lower chance that I’ll be compared to a horse.

Though, I’m not ruling anything out.

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But don’t think this means I’m going to start updating my status

Thanks to the wonder (or devil, as you like) that is Timeline, I can unequivocally say that today is my 8 year Facebook anniversary.

More than anything else in my life, that makes me feel old.

More than friends having babies; more than getting married; more than the Beloit mindset lists.

More than my impending 10-year high school reunion; more than 19-year-olds in major league baseball.

More than babysitting a kid who says, “Whoa! You were born in the 80s??” with a mix of wonder and horror.

Social networking is what does it.

Congratulations, Facebook. You win.

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“Actually, we’ve got a nice little Saturday planned.”

I was standing in the kitchen, starting dinner when I heard it.

“So, do you want to go to Ikea on Saturday?“

And before I could even turn around and express my glee, Husband was slapping his forehead, saying, “Dear god, what have I done?“

“You already said it! You can’t take it back!” I wanted to yell. What I actually said, trying to play it cool, was, “Sure. I mean, do you want to go?“

As he begrudgingly nodded (because he understands the no takebacks rule), I immediately started envisioning our cart. And after supper, I began to Pin my little heart out, noting all the delightful things that Ikea has to offer to make an apartment a home.

(Which, consequently, does not have the same ring as “to make a house a home,” but you get the idea.)

This time around, though, I’ve been notified of some new ground rules.

Because, while I would love nothing more than to buy all our [totally necessary] new furniture in one swell foop, apparently we have to think about things like “our budget” and “not overpacking the car.”

Where’s the fun in that? Lord knows I love a good challenge.

But they say that marriage is all about compromise.

So perhaps this trip we’ll stick to one piece of furniture (plus, you know, all the little things that the ground rules are fuzzy on), and I’ll content myself with not having to hang on to our purchases, lest they fly out the window.

That, and the prospect of another Ikea trip in the near future.

Husband is really just prolonging the inevitable.

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Sometimes you just need a little nudge in the right direction – or a shove

I have been on a running hiatus.

After becoming a Marathon Maniac, and riding the running wave through the end of the year, my body simply decided to stop. I became better acquainted with the elliptical, and kept the running to a minimum.

Which doesn’t exactly mesh well with my race goals from the 27 list.

Because to accomplish them, I actually have to register for races. And to be able to PR, I need to train for said races. And to train, I need to actually run with some regularity.

And at this point in time I really don’t feel like running on a regular basis if I’m not training for anything.

So it would seem we are at an impasse.

Or rather, that we were.

Because now…

In four and a half weeks I’ll be racing another half-marathon, gunning for a PR.

Husband and I signed up about a week ago, at the invitation/encouragement of Heather (who will be running as well).

I started training on Monday, and have so far completed a grand total of 1 run. Woo. Hoo.

That doesn’t leave a whole lot of time to get up to speed – especially if my training is limited to the treadmill.

And, let’s be honest, if the humidity keeps up, I’m not training outside.

But maybe – just maybe – this race will be the motivation I need to regularly slip back into my little running shorts and embrace my new, barely used (but very stylish) sneakers.

After all, isn’t the outfit what running’s all about?

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Swimmin’ with the fishes

When we signed up to go snorkeling on our honeymoon, I didn’t really think it through. I don’t know why, but in my mind we were just going to show up somewhere and get in the water – no boats necessary.

First timer over here.

In reality, we were about 30 people on the boat, getting ready to go out nine miles to the Molokini Crater.

And I should probably mention: I’m not so good on the water.

When I was much younger, I have a memory of being with my family on a boat – a very slow-moving almost ferry-like boat – and feeling sick. So I fell asleep on my dad’s lap to try to ignore it.

About 12 years ago – again as a family – we went on a cruise. Cruise ships are pretty big. Sometimes you can almost forget you’re out on the water. Unless you’re me.

I felt every dip and every swell, and was guzzling ginger ale (and virgin daiquiris) to combat the nausea.

With all that history, I think it’s clear that I overlooked the boat aspect of the snorkeling.

But that’s a good thing. If I had, I might have psyched myself out and missed out on one of the best honeymoon adventures that we had.

This does not do it justice. I’m a poor photographer, and those underwater cameras don’t mask that fact.

Yes, I was a little nauseous as we started moving. And super jealous of the kids that kept running around the deck without a second thought.

And once we got the snorkeling gear on, I was extremely nervous about jumping in the water. I wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom! There were fish! There was coral! What if I got water in my mask?! What if I touched some ocean life I wasn’t supposed to?

(Apparently even when I’m scared I’m worried about breaking the rules.)

I’m mid-jump here. And while most people kept one hand on the mask when they jumped, so it wouldn’t move, I kept two – one to keep it on, and one to cover the tube lest any water get in.

But once I jumped in and put my mask under water, all those worries disappeared.

The view was breathtaking and the water was calm (except for all the other snorkelers churning it up). It was anything but scary, even as we got farther and farther from the boat.

That’s not to say that suddenly I’m an ocean girl. I still like my beach time, reading and lounging in the sun.

But, after swimming with the fishes (and one turtle!), am I as scared of the ocean as I used to be?

Not a chance. And that’s definitely a step in the right direction.

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