This is the kind of bullshit Sarah sometimes comes back to when she’s working.

Growing up in a landlocked province exactly halfway between two oceans, fish was not a staple of my diet. In fact, I don’t recall my mother ever even trying to feed me any kind of seafood (other than tuna salad, or battered whitefish in a fish-and-chips scenario) until my mom married my dad came along — and the violent retching with which I met their first efforts at introducing me to shrimp is still part of family lore. (My mom didn’t want to give in to what she thought were theatrics, whereas my dad either could tell I wasn’t faking my revulsion or didn’t want to ruin his own meal with the threat that I might not choke mine down.)

As I’ve grown up, I’ve been increasingly embarrassed by my aversion to seafood. Fortunately, over time I’ve incrementally moved closer to one coast or another, so the quality of fish to which I have access has gone up. Though I wouldn’t go out of my way to have it, I can enjoy a cold shrimp appetizer, and in Hawaii I had amazing sushi made with ono (local white fish). I still haven’t had lobster. But I think I would like it. And given that it’s summer — lobster roll season in New York — it seems like the time is right.

The experts have weighed in on the best lobster roll purveyors in the city, but I am looking to you, dear reader, to advise me. Which lobster roll do you think is the best choice to be the first lobster experience of my young life?* (On the other hand, if you think I should start with lobster in some other format OR not eat lobster at all, I’m interested in those arguments as well.)

*Not young. I’m thirty-six. See why I should be embarrassed?

This may prove to be my best purchase of the summer.

Leah: Would you have sex with Kelsey Grammer for $4 million?
Me: Yes. …Well, wait: if I wasn’t already married.
Leah: What if Dave could also have sex with someone who’d pay him $4 million?
Me: Who?
Leah: Someone equally as gross as Kelsey Grammer?
Me: Who’s equally as gross as Kelsey Grammer?
Leah: Camille.
Me: Hm.
Leah: And if Dave was okay with it.
Me: This is disgusting even as a hypothetical!
Leah: But you would.
Me: …yeah.

Or should I say, “I got new hairCUTS”?! I shouldn’t. But let me explain.

In 2008, I got this haircut. And I kept it like that, more or less, for the next three years. (In early 2009, I changed salons, and my new stylist — the wonderful Lee at Arrojo — started undercutting it with a razor to take out even more weight in a sneaky way.) It was a good cut that served me well. But then mid-May came, and with it the first hot weather of the year, and after just ten blocks out in the humidity, the whole back of my head would be soaked with sweat. “There’s GOT to be a better way!” I told myself. And then I made a haircut appointment.

So here’s what I looked like before:

You can tell I was really trying to sell this look because I put makeup on. But you can tell from the fact that I’m wearing a sweater that it was kind of cool that day. NO MORE. It’s too hot to bother putting on makeup that’s just going to melt off anyway.

That said, here’s what my hair looks like now.

BAM.

But that’s just the default look. What if I busted out some bobby pins? BOOM.

This is kind of a ’60s look, reserved for the very hottest days when the thought of having bangs anywhere near my face makes me want to cry or barf. (New Yorkers have probably already guessed that I took that photo on Wednesday.) What else might one do with a pair of bobby pins? Oh, you know. This.

That’s what it looks like with the sides pinned up, and is kind of my favourite.

So that’s the latest on my head. Thank you for your time.

He wasn’t a man with much blood on his hands
Though he’d shoo human trespassers off of his lands.
But the time came for him to take one of his stands,
And Dave had to murder a roach.

In the heat of the night, he intended a run.
He was donning his shoes in the last of the sun
When an insect came out for some frolic and fun,
And Dave had to murder a roach.

First, Dave noticed the bug with a cry and a yell.
He got up so quickly that he almost fell.
But what happened next, none would ever foretell:
Young Dave bravely murdered a roach.

The shoe on his hand, he did slam on the floor.
‘Twas too late for the pest to escape by the door.
Dave’s aim was so true, the roach scuttled no more.
And thus, Dave — DAVE! — did murder a roach.