I got all my hair chopped off yesterday. I suppose I had been growing it out - for no apparent reason - since I’d broken up with Sean last year. I had kept it short, as in shoulders or above, for about four years. And yesterday, it was about four inches past my shoulders. And it was irritating me.

So I went to the hairdresser that I have gone to exclusively since I was born to have her fix that. (Even when I’m away in New York for four months at a time, I wait until I come home to get it cut. Not because she’s the best, but because I have a horrible aversion to changing long-standing traditions.) She did exactly what I wanted her to: Blunt cut with very subtle layers just above my shoulders, just long enough to still be able to pull the majority of it into a ponytail. I feel much freer now.

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Speaking of change, my father and stepmother are, I am 99% sure, getting a divorce. Of course, I haven’t actually spoken to either one of them since the last time I visited them about three and a half weeks ago, at which time my dad said he still wasn’t sure if he was going to move back in with Judy. Well, he supposedly sent her the mortgage bill, saying he wasn’t paying it for her anymore. This is all news I gathered from my sister, who received a series of text messages from Judy revealing small details of the situation. Judy only texted me to ask if I’d burn her the Maroon 5 CDs.

Why my dad hasn’t called me yet is hard for me to figure out. There are multiple possible answers:

1. He doesn’t want to call me.

2. He is utterly terrified to call me, as he has not actually done so himself in about 10 years. Judy always called me, then handed the phone to Dad.

3. He doesn’t actually have my cell phone number, since he’s never actually called me.

I don’t have my dad’s cell phone number either, since no one bothered to give it to me. But Judy did give Jennifer his work numbers, since Jennifer needed it for some sort of federal form that had nothing to actually do with him. So I’m going to call him today, since he works 7AM-7PM Central time on weekends. I don’t know what I’ll say.

Since my former second family is now falling apart, I think I’m subconsciously clinging hard to my new one - Josh’s family. Last night we drove an hour to Bonnieville to have dinner at Bacon Creek Cafe. His parents live only about 20 minutes from my house, but it was his mom’s birthday and that’s where she wanted to eat. I ate a lovely meal of chicken tenders and fries while his dad pretended to steal my cole slaw and his mom kept telling me to slap the both of them.

Normally, at the thought of spending time with someone else’s family, or strangers in general, I would get the feeling that I need to vomit and wish that I suddenly had violent diarrhea so I’d have a good excuse not to go, and could provide the liquid excrement as proof that it wasn’t just because I was a snotty bitch. But it’s not like that with Josh’s family. I don’t think it’s just because they’re going to be my in-laws and I feel I have to get along with them, because I never did like going to Sean’s parents’ house after three years of being together. Granted, Sean and I had no chance of ever getting married, but his family never welcomed me the way Josh’s does. They’re just like my family, really: all crazy, talkative, and constantly picking on each other. I just feel right at home when I’m with them. After dinner we even went to his grandfather’s (where his aunt Betty also lives) and stayed for a couple of hours, just talking - until I nearly passed out on their couch. I guess I should’ve felt embarrassed at how rude falling asleep on their couch would’ve been, but I was too enthralled at the fact that I was comfortable enough to do so in their presence. I wasn’t all bug-eyed, sitting up straight, eagerly nodding my head at everything Pappy had to say. And he didn’t look at me like I was the devil come to corrupt his son.

Just more evidence that Josh and I are clearly meant to be.

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