crowing glory

I’ll admit it straight out. I’m vain about my hair. I love it. It's thick and long and usually the thing I get the most compliments on. However, I’m also a sucker for a bargain. Usually I don’t let those two qualities mix but sometimes I forget and the inevitable happens.

On the glowing recommendation of two of my sisters-in-law (Hi Joyce and Nora!) I went to Paul Mitchell The School where students are studying to be hairstyle professionals. I was wooed by the thought of an $8 cut and style. In these tough economic times, who wouldn’t love an $8 haircut?

Remember that old saying.....you get what you pay for? Yeah. I got that.

The girl was nice enough at first; spunky and kind of old school with her punked out hair. But as the cut when on (and on and on) I began to rethink my original opinion. She told me how she had dropped out of school after her sophomore year and had started getting into trouble. Her parents had given her an ultimatum - go to Paul Mitchell or go back to high school. She ended up here. Normally, a high school drop out would not have concerned me. I know that school doesn’t appeal to everyone. But when she started to wander off for products, wander back with nothing, look at me questionably and ask, “Now what was I doing?” I really began to worry.

At the beginning of the session, I had told her that I wanted to keep the length, taking no more than half an inch off, since it had taken me quite awhile to get it halfway down my back. She said she understood perfectly because she would kill for hair like mine. Then she started cutting and I began to wonder if that hadn’t been a threat. After 2 hours (2 HOURS!) she was finished with the back (the back!). She pulled it over my shoulders and I couldn’t catch a breath. About 5 inches was gone. (GONE!) I didn’t say anything, I was kind of in shock, and she said “I did the half inch thing but then thought ‘Well, she’s just going to have to get it trimmed again soon,’ so I kept going.”

Aghhhhhh!

She kept going! Without asking me! I couldn’t do anything but nod. She had already chopped it off. I couldn’t do anything to fix it so I just let her finish with the blow dry. The whole time I just kept looking at it, becoming more and more sick to my stomach. When I finally made it out of there - after 2 and ½ hours! - I realized it was actually much worse than it looked. None of the lines were straight, all of the layers uneven and nothing blended. I called my regular stylist immediately and set up a repair appointment.

It’s all better now. I didn’t even have to lose much more for my girl to fix it. I don’t know why I have to keep re-learning all of these hair lessons. You’d think, by now, I’d know not to trust some random 18 year old high school drop out with my hair.

But then again, you also probably think I would never have accidentally dyed my hair pink and orange. And you’d be so wrong.

overheard part 2

Customer to her friend: So yeah, I got pregnant and I'm not really sure how it happened.....


{I think they might need to teach more Sex Ed classes at school}

overheard

Coworker 1: Why isn't this stupid copy machine working? It never works when I have to copy something! Someone always breaks it and then leaves it!

Coworker 2: Has anyone else had problems with it?

Coworker 1: I don't know! I just know that it never works for me. What the hell kind of place is this that we can't have things that work when we want them to? It's broken and we need a new one, obviously!

Me: Have you checked if it has any paper?

Coworker 1: {silence}
Coworker 2: Oh. No. I guess it needs paper to work, huh?

....and then there were two

Some days, I have no business being at work. Some days I'm so out of it - tired, stressed, bored, what have you - that I am absolutely worthless. Like today. I have spent at least three hours out of eight playing Speedy Bubbles. That doesn't include the hour I took for lunch.

At the end of last year, Administration moved one of the other secretaries to another division, leaving me with only one other. Two is fine. I like two. Especially since the one that left was chronically grouchy. But when she left, she also left behind all the work she did. Or rather, hadn't been doing. The first month of 2009 was filled with questions about why I was so behind and why I never talked to anyone anymore. Maybe it was because they wouldn't have been able to hear me over the Eiffel Tower of paperwork all over my desk. Now I've finally gotten the hang of doing her job and mine and I'm doing them better than she was doing her one.

But such efficiency has it's drawbacks. Because I am so organized and thorough, I am frequently left with nothing to do but look busy. This has the potential to get me in trouble. I've learned to covertly surf the web or play online Yahtzee. Most of the time this is enough to keep me busy.

If I don't keep busy, I become tempted to write diatribes against my boss on this blog. And that, my friends, is something I swore I would never do. I swore I would not dedicate whole posts to the way Administration tries my patience. I said I would never tell stories of how my boss calls us to his office for an "important meeting" then continues to listen to voice mails on speakerphone for HALF AN HOUR. I warned myself that I couldn't rant about how time consuming, irritating and self-involved the boss can be. I couldn't possibly tell the interwebs that.....right?

the cat who sucks at jenga

After seeing this, Jason and I decided we need to teach Wash to play games. We may start with Jenga and move on to more complicated games, like Electronic Battleship. The highlight would be if he could learn to play Scrabble.

Game on, kitty. Game on!

things my husband says

"If cats played sports, it would probably be ping-pong."

and then i chopped off my own head because no one else would do it for me

I have apparently caught some kind of debilitating disease that causes all the functions of my body to stop working correctly. Instead of providing my body with air, my nose has decided that it would rather clog itself with boogers the size of Nebraska. Instead of allowing me to swallow food for nourishment, my throat has decided it would rather burn like the flames of Hell in summertime. My ears would rather muffle all sound instead of letting me hear the dulcet sounds of Jason's snoring. OK, maybe that part isn't so bad. My voice is almost non-existent. I like to think it's husky like Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone. My dad says I sound like a dying seal. Because of all this I have developed an intimate love affair with some cough drops. If I could, I would rub them all over my body so their soothing menthol scent could follow me throughout the day, like a lover's cologne.

They say this mind-rotting disease is known as a cold but I prefer to think of it as the spawn of Satan throwing a kegger in my brain pan.

This has been going on for about a week now and I feel worse everyday. Something I didn't even know was possible. I thought I would surely die on Monday, but here it is Thursday and I'm still begging for relief. Jason refuses to shoot me on the basis that cops can get in a lot of trouble for killing their families. I told him to stop being such a wuss. I'd even sign a note saying I asked for it. Or he could just tell them what a bitch I can be when I'm sick. I'm sure the judge would understand.

super sunday

I watched the Super Bowl this weekend for the first time in about 15 years. As an elementary school brainiac, I had religiously watched every Dallas Cowboys football game, trying to win the affection of a certain blond haired would-be Troy Aikman in my class. Now being older, and much wiser, I no longer feel the need to pretend to know every nuance of the game to impress my husband. He will love me whether or not I know what a safety is.

But last night, I felt compelled to watch an American Primetime Event Such Has Never Been Seen. I had to watch something that I never, ever, EVER thought I would see in my lifetime. The Arizona Cardinals in a Super Bowl.

Being born and raised in Phoenix, I had lived my whole life never taking that team seriously. And honestly, they had really never deserved it. Until last night. I know they didn't win. But, dammit, they put up a pretty good fight. Our house was filled with cheering, cursing and groans of disappointment. Thank you, Cards, for a fun-filled Sunday night.