Have I mentioned that I'm doing this no snacking, lower calorie, smaller portion thing and it's totally killing me. It's not like I'm starving myself, it's only common sense like don't eat fried greasy things, or eat between meals or have seconds. (Which reminds me, have you seen this shit? I thought the French women don't get fat mania was as lame as it got, but now Japanese women are not only thin, but immortal. I love all this secrets of my (grand)mother's kitchen crap. I'm totally going to pen a memoir that will enlighten the world via my upbringing and the women who imparted their culinary knowledge to me. I will cover the finer points of Pizza Hut, bargain bags of puffed wheat cereal, fried eggs and bacon for dinner [I swear I ate this weekly as a kid, though if my mom is reading this I'm sure she'd argue otherwise] and frozen vegetables. I'm waiting for the diet book about black and Hispanic women getting fat and dying prematurely, which is pretty much the theme of this week's uplifting New York Times series on diabetes.) But I can't stand it and I'm feeling overly emotional and both spacey and snippy. I haven't eaten any sweets or drank any alcohol either, and there's no way that's going to last, especially since I'm going to a party tonight and water is not an option. I'm not trying to detox, just not become cancerous and diabetic before I'm forty (after that, lord only knows). So far, this Friday the 13th has been downright dull, but there's still time for plenty of unpleasant surprises. I hate being cryptic, but I must be, and I'm afraid that I'm having a case of buyer's remorse in an aspect of my life. Normally, this would be a depressing situation, to be stuck with a possibly bad decision. But I'm not stuck, there's potentially another option on the near horizon and that's where the problem and stress lies. It would be like getting married and then running off with another guy in a month. But should you stay with something so-so to avoid incurring wrath (not to mention horrible karma) and eat the misery or be rash and selfish because after all, it is your life and I'm a big proponent of not doing things out of duty or obligation. Ok, here's something far less serious, but still problematic, that I can speak freely about: my greasy patch of hair. I don't know what the fuck happened, but something is severely wrong with my never-luxurious-in-the-first-place locks. There is this patch of hair on the right side of my head towards the back that for the past week or two has been perpetually wet and/or crispy looking like there's product in it. I wash my hair every night and I usually let it air dry and end up going to bed with damp hair, and thought this might be the problem. But it's not. I tried using a dandruff shampoo, thinking that it'd be harsher and get rid of weird build-up, I stopped using conditioner, thinking that maybe it wasn't rinsing out properly. It doesn't matter, I still have a wet-looking chunk. All I can attribute it to is that a few Sundays ago I colored my hair with semi-permanent, no ammonia dye (which is stupid because it doesn't do shit to my gray hairs except turn them golden-brown and makes it look like I have light brown roots and that my real, dark brown color is the fake hue) and instead of leaving it on for 20 minutes like recommended, I kept it on for almost an hour because I got caught up in an episode of Small Space, Big Style that had a segment (I made a mental note to catch this, but now it's been on like five times and I'm bored with it already, please get new episodes, HGTV) with the guy who runs Peek-A-Boo Records that I've had a blind crush on for no particular reason since I know next to nothing about him other than that he's been in a few bands that I like and isn't horrible looking. I thought he might be gay, but apparently has a wife that he lives with in a "small" 900 square-foot Austin condo. Oh my god, how do two people live in such tight quarters? (I know this is a national show, but come on. A 350 square-foot NYC apartment from the same episode is small, but most of these houses have kitchens that are triple mine, and are easily as large as many studios.) But in reality, I've never had any love for band guys and I was bothered that his wife said he never sets foot in the kitchen because I need a man who can cook. And more importantly, because of him my hair now has a permanently waxy texture which is becoming difficult to live with.