On Friday, I got my hair cut off after work. But first, on my way to the salon, I had street parked up a hill in Silverlake. I made a misstep coming down the hill, my right ankle buckled, and I fell hard on my left knee. It hurt, but whatever. I get down the hill and realize my knee is wet. Lift the jeans, and, sure enough, it’s Vietnam down there. I enter the salon and — rather smoothly, I do say — said, “Hi, I’m Bronwen. I have an appointment with Jamie at 7:00. Do you have a first aid kit?” The nice desk boy returns with a band-aid. No, that won’t quite do. Some gauze and tape is located; I mop up as best I can. I’m still gushing though, so I’m holding the gauze to my knee being all, “No, really, please cut all my hair off. Seriously.” I was really kind of looking like a crazed pirate at this point, so Jamie believed me.

She cut off a foot of hair — which she was going to donate for me — and now I have a messy, chin length, very layered shag with bangs thing going on. It’s crazy delightful and very versatile. I am enjoying it very much.

Because I am me and I don’t care about propriety so very much, I am wearing a skirt with my huge scar showing to work today. (It may surprise you to learn that August in Los Angeles is hot.) The knee bandages that I bought don’t work so well, so I just have a liquid bandage sprayed on top for protection. I have been employing different reasons for the scar when people have asked how I acquired it: skateboarding accident, eaten by a lawn mower, the proverbial “you should see the other guy,” and my favorite (suggested by my boyfriend), “I had an altercation with Lindsay Lohan.”

So, that’s the haircut. Saturday morning, I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum. Of course, it kicked some ass.

Saturday afternoon was a cooking class at Hipcooks. My friend Shannon had given me a gift certificate to one of their classes for my birthday, and it’s taken me this long to get in to a class I wanted to take. I signed up for “Tarts for Tarts.” The savory tarts were all very eggy, so I wasn’t really into them, but the sweet tarts were fantastic. I would recommend Hipcooks, however, to people with more cooking experience than I have. I felt pretty remedial and embarrassed.

Saturday night was a big birthday party for lots of friends at Seven Grand. Many people showed up, and it was quite fun.

Sunday morning was epic. It’s my new go-to anecdote, so I am totally not wasting it here. The happenings were real, and they were spectacular.

Sunday night, I joined my boyfriend and his parents for dinner at the Village Idiot. His parents are friends with the parents of the chef there, so we were all dining together and chatting. I totally reverse what I wrote about this place earlier. Why’s that? The food was fucking ace. I didn’t eat there when I was there before, but, man, was this meal good. With a Craftsman beer accompanying, it was really a very perfect evening.