I have a new boyfriend. Or, to be perfectly accurate, I have four new boyfriends: my new zils.

If you are not involved in Middle Eastern-ish dance, that word will mean very little to you. Suffice it to say that yesterday I bought my first pair of real finger cymbals so that I could go to a drill class and stop wearing the clanky trainer zils. This was strictly to take the training wheels off my fingers, you understand, and I unexpectedly fell in passionate love. As soon as I finished sewing up the finger elastics while Scherezade, Mason and I were eating at Caplansky's (speaking of mad crushes: Caplansky's), I started trying them out. They are so shiny! And their tone is so lovely, so bell-like, so unlike the dull clanking of the trainer zils.

I ziled all the way down College Street, until Scherezade and Mason made me stop.

I ziled through the half-hour zil drill (of course!)

I ziled when I drilled the Turkish Shimmy.

I ziled when other people danced and I sat out to give them room.

I seriously thought about taking the zils into bed with me last night, but sense prevailed.

This morning, instead of eating which I desperately needed to do, I started to knit my zils a special original designed-on-the-spot pouch out of (leftover) Lucy Neatby yarn.

I may take them to church.

I haven't been this excited about a new toy since my camera. And before that, probably Tenty. 'Sbeen a long time. Ding!

I also got a short dramatic haircut yesterday. This was necessary for a few reasons, the most important being that I haven't had my hair cut in half a year and the lesser being that, um, I met the Boy's new girlfriend last week and it’s important that I look better than her.

My hair has been lank and uninspired this spring. The blonde bits are completely fried and breaking into little crazy turfs. I was more than ready for a change. Now for some new glasses to replace the unflattering ones the Boy talked me into so many years ago! Why am I wearing these ugly mf's? Because I left my nice frames in a dressing room in Kitchener after a bellydance recital. In October. (Of course.)

New zils and new hair. This should compensate for an afternoon spent marking and quite possibly making a dance costume.

Labels: dancing, hair, happiness

Trying to gather my thoughts. I’ve been painting for 2 days and it’s taking a toll on my coherence. It's not just the fumes; it's also the fact that I listen to the same CD over and over until the painting is done. Last summer my album was “The Else” by TMBG (I still can’t listen to “The Bee of the Bird of the Moth” without thinking about edging my kitchen). This year it’s “In Our Bedrooms After the War” by Stars. Yes, I still manage to be electrified by bands everyone else has known about for years. At this point it’s a lifestyle choice.

So! Painting. The good news is that the second coat is drying in Blake’s room, and it is BLUE, baby. The bad news is that now I really, really want to make him some curtains. With some appliqué stars and planets and a rocketship. I think I need someone to talk sense into me before I go to Fabricland and set up my new-to-me sewing machine and spend days cursing about my seam ripper.

Speaking of crafting obsessions, here are some photos of the projects I was yammering on about last time:

As always, click through for more.

This Friday I got a haircut, which I immortalized at the same time Strong Bad was trying to get into Scherezade’s email.

This isn’t so much a photo of my hair as it is a photo of me and Scherezade in the park near the flatiron building. We tried to get a photo of my hair, but the results weren’t that striking. Suffice it to say that I walked into Destiny’s salon with serviceable but boring shoulder-length hair* and walked out with a bob. I even let her give me a fringe, as it’s summertime and it’s not critical that hair stays out of my face. It makes me feel like a flapper. And so damn cute besides, especially when I wear one of the few baby doll dresses that hide in my wardrobe, and I’m not speckled with blue paint. Cosmic Pluto was inspired to ruffle up the back without warning. It’s that kind of hair.

* Tomorrow is my eleventh anniversary of this journal. I’m pretty sure that when I woke up on Friday morning, I had the same hair as I had when I banged out that first semi-coherent entry. Plus ca change, etc.

Labels: crafty, friends, hair, house rich, on-line diaries