I spent three hours filing this week.

 
This is the after picture.

That’s right, it was worse. I haven’t filed since… um, when did I move here? June? Of 2004?

Yeah, so I haven’t filed since me and my basket full of papers moved here.  I wonder if I can get away with calling into work and using a “Need to File” day.

When Lindsey says “It was in full on rigor” in normal conversation and not only do we know exactly what she means, we don’t even blink an eye.

I’ve never been very particular about my hair.  I know this is hard to believe since this is the third post in a week about it.  I’ve done some strange things to my hair, willingly.  High school was all about ponytails.  I cut it pretty short after I graduated, and thus started the cycle.  I would grow it out for months, not even getting a trim, and then walk in one day and have it all hacked off.  Getting your hair cut is a pain in the ass, I’d rather just let it do it’s wild thing and rock a ponytail.

I’d also never really found a stylist I liked.  When I started dyeing my hair in high school and would need all sorts of color correction I began going to my Mom’s stylist.  Now, nothing against their hair, but I probably shouldn’t be going to the same stylist as my mother and my grandmother.

I tried out a couple people before I moved to Virginia, none of which I really liked.  My hair was pretty short by the time I got to VA.  I just let it grow and do it’s own thing, which for naturally curly hair that I wanted to be straight probably wasn’t a good idea.  And growing out a short hair cut that wasn’t great to begin with?  Not pretty.  Eventually something had to be done to it.  We jumped in the car and started driving, hoping for the best.  Fate stepped in.

We spot a place, your average $15 dollar haircut chain.  We had to wait a bit and I remember watching this one woman.  She was not friendly.  I did not want her to cut my hair.  Guess who cuts my hair?  Of course, just my luck.  And I loved it.  She was amazing.  Yes, she was a little lacking in the customer service part of the job, but that also meant that we could snark about the other customers while she was working her magic.  And it was magic people!  Thank god, I had finally found a stylist I liked.  I don’t know what it was, but my hair actually behaved itself.  I was getting up to drive to work at four in the morning, sweating my ass off all day chasing preschoolers and building sets, and yet I barely had to do anything to my hair.  Straighten the bangs and rub some wax on the back and I was good to go!

I was going pretty regularly to get trims, which speaks to how much I loved what this woman did to my head.  At some point I found out that my simple little hairdresser was “famous” in our town.  I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon this information, since I don’t watch The Bachelor, but she was one of the women on the season that was airing at the time.  Jean Marie was on a reality show!  That freaked me out completely.  I considered finding someone new to cut my hairs.  Women looking for love on TV scare me in the same way that strippers do, I just don’t understand why you would want to do that.

Eventually my love for short hair won out, and I went back.  She didn’t get the final rose, so maybe it explained why she was a crab ass.  She cut my hair for the rest of the summer, and then I moved back to Phoenix.  It grew out very well, but then I restarted my long/short cycle.  It would get pretty long (for me any way) and then I would cut it all off and everyone would cry.  I’ve done that two or three times in the last year and a half, and every time someone gives me hell about it.  Recently I made the commitment to let it grow, for as long as I can hold out.  I can’t stand this middle stage.  It’s boring me to death right now (obviously since I’ve taken to the scissors myself) but maybe I can push past this and have long hair again?  Who knows. 

What I do know is I miss my little reality TV star.  All bets are off if I have to go to Virginia for court.  I’m coming back sheared like a lamb.

Today was rough.  I’m still not sleeping due to overwhelming drama.  The drama meter is firmly in the red zone, and I’m way too old for this kind of thing.  I don’t have time to keep track of who said what to who and why and who knows that they said it and who it’s a secret from and when they told them and oh my god you are killing me.  I’m ADD and I have a very small filter, don’t involve me in that shit.

Then there’s always the power struggles, the overdrawn checking account, the endless to do list and an overwhelmed calendar.  And all I want to do is sleep.  And I can’t.  So since the “Throw The Phone in a River” plan was shot down, and crying in bed is not an option, I applied six tried and true remedies.

One:  Suck back two cans of soda.  Technically I’m forbidden to ingest that much caffeine, but desperate times blah blah blah.
Two:  Sit on back patio in nice weather. 
Three:  Throw open window and crank up music.
Four:  Froot Loops.  No explanation required.
Five:  Cigarette.  Yeah, they suck and I should have quit a year ago.
Six:  Beer.  I’m generally against drinking alone but beer isn’t liquor.

That lasted about eight minutes.  So much for tried and true.  Something made me get up and put my shoes on.  A five minute drive and two quick visits later I was here.

Sometimes this type of silence is necessary.

I came home ready to give it another try.  I’m going to call it a success as I managed to get some of the things I had planned today done.  And I didn’t injure anyone.  I even ordered a new cell phone, for free dollars.

That said, I’m definitely going to need to find another solution to this.  There has got to be an easier way to reset your internal mechanisms.

Finally went to meet the newest arrival, Michael.  He looks so much like his Momma, right down to the chin.  He’s already a pretty adventurous kid having already completed his first a helicopter ride (Hey, I haven’t even done that yet!), but he slept through the whole visit.  If Dad hadn’t been guarding the door I totally could have slipped him in my purse.  Next time.

Congrats Jessica and Michael!!

There have been some requests for an “After” photo on the hair disaster I’ve created.  Riiiight… here’s the problem with that:  in order for there to be an after photo I would have to stop cutting and I, um, haven’t.  So instead here’s the before photo.

All that nice hair over my eyebrows?  Yeah, in my sink now.  Should I ever be a recovered cutter we may get around to an after photo.  I might be wearing a hat though.

I woke up too early today.  Can’t sleep.  I’m angsty.  On the verge of weeping or screaming all day. 

On an unrelated note (HA!) I did this today:

I cut my own hair.  Fuck.

I love listening to music while driving.  But I loathe CDs.  I want to listen to what I want, when I want to, and loud.  So when we discovered that my stock stereo in the truck had an auxiliary setting I probably danced a jig.  I don’t really remember, it was a long time ago.  I know Jay and I took the dash apart a few times, plugged a cord in the back of the stereo, and I spent the next two years rocking out with the mp3 players.

Until my cord went bad a few weeks ago and the music died.  No big deal right?  A couple hours on a weekend, a new cord and I’m back in business.  I listened to the same three CDs for almost a month before I found the time to actually do the deed.  Here’s basically how it went, in 568 simple steps.

Start by spending several days searching every tool box in the house for the little bolt thingie you need to get the screws out.  Find it after about four combined hours of searching. 

Try to find a stick thing to attach it to.  Have no luck for a week.  Realize that you can’t call your Car Boy to borrow tools when you don’t know what they are called.  Continue to search, eventually finding a stick type thing to attach the bolt remover doohickey to.

Now you have a proper tool.  Spend five days loosening screws whenever you get stuck in traffic.

All plans get cancelled on a cold, rainy and windy Sunday, now is the time to spend hours in the driveway taking your car apart.

Ignore everyone who says you can’t do this.  I’ve done it twice before with help, I know it can be done, it will just take longer alone.

Contort body into yoga position #1 (Ow!  This Hurts) to slide under steering wheel.  Take 8-10 screws out to remove two random panels.  Curse General Motors.  Why must they make everything so difficult?

Remove many more screws, feel around for ten minutes for the ones you know are hiding.  Find two covert screws.

Break finger nails trying to yank off dash.  Go get screwdriver to use as wedge.

Finally yank large hunk of plastic off dash.  When it doesn’t move much remember that you have to unplug the four wheel drive and rear windshield wiper switches.  This is easy peasy if you have three hands and a screwdriver attachment coming out of your forehead.  I do not.

Assume yoga position #2 (Ass Against the Glass), actually laying on top of the dashboard.  Make a mental note to duck next time to avoid the rearview mirror.  Prop leg up on door.  Use brute strength and a large screwdriver to remove offending switches.

Take cigarette break as you are now bleeding from two knuckles, have a lump on the head and are freezing.  You are also a little miffed.  Say prayers that switches still function.

Attempt to assess the stereo situation.  Experience vivid memory of why it took two people to do this last time.  In order to get stereo out of the hole you have to shift car into first gear.  Idiot gear shift is keeping large plastic consol pressed up against stereo face.

Stomp into house, throw something.  Flop on couch and pout for ten minutes.  Put hex on Chevy.

Now that that is over, climb into truck, stick feet under loose wiring and dangling floor panels.  Shift car into first and assume yoga position #3 (The Stretch of Death).  Yank consol out of the damn way and consider ditching it all together.  Who needs a dash?

Return to yoga position #2 (Neighbors Getting A Show) and finally pull out stereo.  Wow, that’s a shit ton of wires.  Reassure yourself you only have to find the old cord, swap for new cord, put car back together.

Begin to wonder why you have not found yourself a mechanically inclined househusband.

Stick hand into black hole of dash.  Pull out, two more knuckles bleeding.  Commence screaming “WHY IS EVERYTHING SHARP?” repeatedly.  Feel around gingerly for fifteen minutes.  Find nothing that remotely leads you to believe you are making progress.

Take smoke break when you’ve stopped groping in the dark and are just screaming/growling into the hole in the dash.  Call fellow iPod lover for a reminder on why the hell you are doing this.

He senses your desperation and offers to come help.  Saves your ass.  Buy him dinner.  Offer him first born child.

Last yoga position #4 (Gas Pedal in My Hair) involves sliding on the floorboard underneath the steering wheel.  Drop screw on your own face.  Find protective eyewear.

Putting car back together turns out to be much easier, especially with help.  Hands are numb from the cold and the bleeding has stopped.

Go to bed with heating pad on sore muscles.

Repeat:  Never!  If this cord goes bad, the truck gets sold.

Friday -
I was called out for looking angry ten seconds after walking into the bar, by a stranger.
I shoved my best friend, several times.
I had to walk away from a conversation before I burst into tears in a strange kitchen.
Heard some gossip I prayed wasn’t true.

Saturday -
I burst into tears, over chickens.  I fucking hate chickens.
I was called out for looking hung over.  By someone I don’t want to see me looking hung over.
Found out gossip was very true, and worse then I thought.

Sunday -
Got uber defensive when someone called me anti-social.
On my one day of rest I decide to take my truck apart.  Stupid.
Someone lobbing the word “secret” makes me realize that not only do I not trust people, I fully expect them to stab me in the back.

Monday -
I realized I miss the boy who reminds me to take off my wrist bands.
The 18 day standoff ended, to mixed results.
I pissed my Mom off.
My big fat mouth nearly got me in trouble.

Tuesday -
I had to physically hurt myself to get out of Petsmart without a hamster/gerbil/guinea pig.  I don’t even like hamsters, but I need something new to love.
I came home and threw myself on the couch to watch a DVD, my last bit of free time for the next 11 days.
Must have passed out on the couch.
I had some scary dreams.  I some how managed to get into jammies and my bed.

Today -
I crawled out of bed at noon, not remembering how I got there.
Quick check of the cell phone showed I had called into work, five minutes after I was supposed to be there.
I had slept 19 hours.
I am still tired.

Put some rules up, cause I’m bossy like that.  Standard stuff, nothing freaky.

The idea sprang because so many people in the real world mentioned that they read this site.  (Hi Mom!)  Now, I only told two of you about it, the rest found your own way here.  So, welcome!

It does get a little sketchy when you’re doing this here writing thing in an attempt to open yourself up because you can be such a closeted untrusting bitch when it comes to relationships.  And now you’re all reading along!  Scary!!

There are, of course, pros and cons to real life people being here.

Pros:  inside jokes that we get a kick out of, having a general idea what’s going on with me if we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I love when the real lifers comment.

Cons:  no secrets.  Some people never call me because they assume they know everything about the situation based on what they read here.  I’m afraid they’re taking things I’ve said the wrong way, or taking them out of context.

I have no censorship chip in real life.  I don’t intend to have one here, this website is not a secret.  But it also makes me uncomfortable to think you would keep it a secret from me that you know about this site.  No secret stays that way forever, I’ll find out eventually.  Please don’t make me get pissed at you about something like this.  If I’m going to lay it bare, I want to know that you’re reading it.  I’m doing the best I can to work through all these walls, but it’s still hard to let people in here.  Especially people who are going to be at the bar with me the next weekend!

So, here’s what I’m getting at:  If I know you in the “real” world, tell me now that you read this.  Email, comment, call me on the phone.  Just do it.  In return I will write one post about any topic you want.  Just, please, be gentle.