Monthly Archives: February 2008

Status: Better hair, more germs, and a few laughs.

I felt much better after I walked into the salon last night and received a knowing nod from the new (and much improved!) stylist. I could tell that she was trying to be professional (and I use that term loosely since we also had a lengthy conversation about margaritas while she was fixing my ‘do) regarding trashing the other stylist, but it was pretty clear that I am not crazy and things were really just bad. But much better now.

***

I’m sick again. I rarely get illnesses of the congested variety, and when I do they don’t last all that long so I’m usually able to deal with it. But let me just say this: Breathing through one’s nose is one of those things that doesn’t seem important until it isn’t an option anymore. I frequently use the term ‘mouth-breather’ (along with ‘knuckle-dragger’, ‘goon’, and several other even less kindly terms) to describe this particularly doltish man at work but I suppose I will have to stop lest people think that I am talking about myself.

And, honestly, I know I’m not the first person to get the common cold, but it sure does make the act of eating rather difficult. Hmm, would I like to chew? Or would I like fresh oxygen to circulate through my blood? Or would I like my lunch companions to watch me attempt to have my cake (or applesauce, whatever) and eat it (breathe) too, only to have it all go horribly wrong and end with a coughing fit the likes of which our cafeteria has never seen?

***

I don’t usually care to make my political preferences known, and I won’t in this case either (other than to say that there is one particular candidate in the mix right now who simply makes my skin crawl, and I honestly think I might campaign AGAINST this person, or at least spend my mental energy hoping that enough people are not stupid enough to vote for this candidate that he or she gets into office) but this just cracks me up.

I’ve seen it linked in a few places, and I can’t remember where first. I’m probably late to the party on it, as these things tend to be found first by people who are way cooler than I am.  I spent more time than I’d like to admit today coming up with these witticisms with my co-worker friend. I highly recommend replacing ‘Hillary’ with various celebrities, office executives, and friends – the results are entertaining to a high degree. My favorite, regarding a woman who frequently wears this blazer that looks normal from the front, but has a giant, hideous sequined flower on the back, was: [Woman] is mullet: business in the front, party in the back.

Oh, fine. Maybe you just had to be there.

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Very Important Hair Cut Update

So I called the salon tonight and I have an appointment for tomorrow at 6 to fix things up a bit. The lady I spoke to was very nice and understanding and I am hopeful that all will end well.

Thanks for commiserating with me – I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only one to have received a Bad Cut, and that no one thought it was a completely stupid thing to whine about. I mean, really, it’s just hair. But, it’s also my hair! Wah.

Elizabeth asked very nicely to see a picture of the Cut of Doom, but I am sorry to say that I simply cannot comply. Call me vain, but I cannot allow the first picture of me posted on this site to be one that looks like I crawled out of a cave stuck my finger in a socket had an unfortunate accident with a weed whacker let Paula Abdul style my hair.

(Seriously, have you seen her hair recently? Is there a nest of birds in there or something? My lands!)

And geez, I guess if you can’t be ridiculous and dramatic and self-centered on your blog, were CAN you be?

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A tale of woe. Also, layers! LOTS OF ‘EM.

Have any of you ever found yourself the recipient of a particularly bad haircut? No, I mean REALLY BAD.

Really, REALLY, bad.

No?

Well, would you like to hear about my own personal experience with just such an issue?

I got a gift card to a local salon for Christmas. This is not the salon that I usually go to, but it is one that I had gone to in college, and I had always had a good experience. So, when I finally decided that it was time to stop looking like I had crawled out a jungle (phrase stolen from Liz) (I last got my hair cut in EARLY NOVEMBER, yikes) I made an appointment at the salon for yesterday afternoon.

Let me preface this by saying that I’m not really all that picky about hair cuts. (See: last cut in early November.) Yes, I like expensive hair products, and I like my hair to look nice, but in general, well – I’ve had good cuts and so-so ones, and I’ve lived with all of them. My hair is straight, and pretty thick, and can look fairly decent with a minimum amount of hair-wrangling, so the absolute best cut is not really critical to my style.

So I arrived at the salon yesterday excited to get a bit of a trim. When I arrived at the salon, my hair was straight, angled in the front (ill-advised side-swept bangs of several hair cuts ago almost grown out), hanging to about an inch below my shoulders, and basically all one length. Here is what I asked for, pretty much verbatim:

“I’d like to keep it at about shoulder length, so if you maybe trim off about 3/4 of an inch, that would be good. Also, I’m looking to avoid ‘triangle-head’ so I’d like a suggestion to keep some of the bulk out of the bottom. I don’t want a lot of layers, but if you could take out some of the heaviness at the bottom I’d really like that. I really don’t want more than this much (holds up fingers, showing about an inch of space) between the start of the quasi-layers and the bottom of my hair.”

Yes, I used the term ‘quasi-layers’. Am geek. But also pretty descriptive, I think. What I described might sound kind of boring, but I think I was pretty clear about what I did and DID NOT want.

Here is what happened:

Sit down in chair, and experience the most painful combing process of my life. Um, hello, how about I would like to leave with my scalp in one piece, thank you very much.

Snip. Snip snip snip.

Hmmm. This lady is not the chattiest hair dresser in the world. But to each her own.

However, the lack of chattiness somehow made me suspicious, so I was watching like a hawk. And that is how I saw the lady pick up and lop off A GIANT CHUNK OF MY HAIR.

She then paused and took stock of the situation. And then proceeded to cut a lot of hair off of my head.

(I honestly don’t know what I was doing at this point other than sitting in horror and playing the part of a mute. I was so shocked that I couldn’t even speak up, and I know, I KNOW, that I should have said something immediately, but it was pretty clear that something had to be done to cover up the giant lopped off section. I really wish I had said something immediately, but it’s kind of difficult when you are in the middle of it.)

Finally, it was time to start blow drying, and I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn’t that bad. Except… that once she started drying she had to stop TWELVE times (I counted) to pull out the scissors and fix things, because… my hair was completely crooked. The left side was about an inch longer than the right, and all of the layers (THE ONES THAT I DID NOT ASK FOR AT ALL) had these strange straggly pieces that she had missed while cutting them.

Here is what I ended up with:

My hair is very definitely above my shoulders and I have tons and tons of layers which start around my ears. It refuses to lay flat and instead flips out in a manner that might be cute if it were not so completely horrifying to me that I ended up with THIS instead of, you know, what I very explicitly asked for.

Overall, this isn’t a completely bad style. I am willing to admit that even though every fiber of my being is screaming HATE because I am so cranky about the whole thing. I don’t have a mullet, and I actually think that the cut looks really similar to that choppy Katie Holmes bob that has been so popular recently. So it’s not like no one in their right mind would ask for this cut. It’s just that I DIDN’T ASK FOR IT.

That said, it is just not cut very well. The fact that she kept having to stop drying to fix her mistakes kind of backs that up. I keep finding pieces that are about an inch longer than the rest of my hair, and I really think that it would be easier to style (seriously, I usually spend 10 minutes on my hair including blow drying, and this morning I spent more than 20 just trying to get to state that made me not want to put on a damn hat and call it a day) and much better looking if it were just cut better.

Here is where you come in. I already know that I will be calling the salon once I get home from work to explain the situation (I can’t even begin to tell you what happened when I attempted to do this after the cut. All I’ll say is that my good friend Karma should be dropping a house on this lady’s head as I write this.) In addition to expressing my extreme displeasure, should I:

  1. Ask that they immediately schedule me for an appointment with their best stylist to attempt to fix things. Attempt to have stylist make things less scraggly without taking off more length.
  2. Simply ask for my money back, and that it be in the form of a check and NOT a gift card as I have no interest in going back.
  3. Schedule an appointment with my regular stylist to have her attempt to fix things. (Only problem here is that it would cost a fair amount of money.)
  4. Suck it up and wait a while for things to grow up before going to my regular stylist.
  5. Something else entirely/some combination of the above.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to go put on a hat.

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Hello, and welcome to my shopping blog.

I bought the dress today. I was planning to go to the mall this weekend, but then Janssen kindly pointed out ATL was offering a $25 savings card with any purchase over $50, and the promotion ended today. And THEN I went to the site and saw that in addition to the $25 savings card, they also had free shipping on any size order, and LO, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

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Internet, you are a bunch of enablers…

… And I love you for it.

So I think the general consensus is that I should run, don’t walk, to Ann Taylor Loft to buy the dress. Unfortunately, I think this will have to wait until the weekend, but rest assured that it WILL be in my possession soon enough.

I must say that my favorite comment came from Lori:

I think (and I believe Stacy and Clinton would concur) that it needs red shoes. Or shoes in some other bright color. So unless those are the shoes to which you refer, I’m afraid you’re going to need a new pair. If you need me to explain this to Matt, let me know.

First of all, how did Lori know that I practically live my life under the mantra of ‘What would Stacey and Clinton do?’ Second, anyone who can find a very reasonable justification for the purchase of new (and brightly colored!) shoes deserves a pink puffy heart from me.

Now, I was originally thinking of the shoes mentioned in this entry as a good match for this dress. But then, you know, there are these. Or these. Or these. Or – well, the list goes on and on, really.

Sadly, this newfangled budget nonsense may not allow for all of these fabulous shoe options. I’m working on a post about this budget stuff, but in the meantime I leave you with several questions.

Why can’t I be independently wealthy?

Winning lottery numbers: what are they?

What shoe suggestions do YOU have for that dress?

What other cute dresses should I be looking at?

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Laundry Woes and Cute Dresses

On Saturday afternoon, I was moving some laundry from the washer to the dryer when I noticed that several items in the washer, including my Very Favorite Sweater, had large yellow spots on them. I immediately burst from the laundry room to interrogate Matt about WHAT, EXACTLY, WAS IN YOUR POCKETS, AND HOW COULD YOU DO THAT MY SWEATER IS RUINED AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT AND NO I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE AND YES IT REALLY IS WORTH GETTING THIS UPSET ABOUT.

I may have been a little bit worked up about the sweater. However, my accusation was not without merit, since in the time we have lived together I have found the following items in either the washing machine or the dryer:

  1. Golf pencils, about 20 of them (note that these actually broke the dryer and I had to pay a repairman to come remove them from the innards of that stupid machine).
  2. Crayons from Friendly’s (WHY? Why, I ask.)
  3. Gum
  4. Mints
  5. An entire bag of Hall’s Cherry Throat Lozenges
  6. A package of crackers with peanut butter
  7. His cell phone (found before it was submerged in water, luckily)
  8. One of those cheap corkscrews that are like a buck at the liquor store
  9. A corkscrew AND pocketknife in one (Bonus! Also, I did not find that one until it was going round and round in the dryer and making the MOST HORRENDOUS clunking noise I have ever heard.)
  10. Assorted papers, business cards, pay stubs, credit cards, etc.

And that’s just what I can remember off the top of my head. Needless to say, I am usually very careful about checking pockets before starting the laundry. However, in this case I was convinced that I had missed something that something from his pants pockets would be the culprit.

So, I treated the yellow spots with stain remover and began a thorough search of the wet pile of laundry for the Yellow Spot Creator. And… nothing. I was almost ready to toss a yellow highlighter in there just so that I would have an excuse for my tirade.

It was a mystery! One that I hoped to solve before running the machine again and adding to the Yellow Spots of Rage. The only thing that the spots seemed to resemble in color was mustard. And therein lies the dilemma:

Matt does not eat mustard. (I KNOW – its an issue for another day.) I tried to remember the last time that I had, and I realized that it was actually on the day that I had worn the Very Favorite Sweater. Which leaves me with two options:

Option 1: The spots are a mystery. A mystery with no discernible cause, but luckily one that seems to be slowing going away with a liberal application of stain remover and several runs through the laundry.

Option 2: The spots came from a very very LARGE amount of mustard. That I spilled on my sweater. That I then walked around with all day and that was visible, front and center, as I presented to four separate groups of people in an all day meeting that I attended that day.

Which is worse? You decide.

Luckily, a co-worker assures me that she would have noticed, and that she would not have let me walk around all day like that. And based on the way the spots appeared, I tend to believe that it is not actually mustard. BUT – this is going to be one of those things that bothers me for a very long time. Yellow spots do not just appear, people. And no, I will not apologize to Matt until he is proved innocent. It’s guilty until proved innocent in my house, dammit.

Annnd, to totally change the subject, what do you think of this dress? I really like it, but current budgets being what they are, it would mean using up the last of my precious (so precious!) ATL gift cards that I received for Christmas/my birthday. So the good news that I wouldn’t be spending any of my precious (so precious!) cash, but the bad news is that any future purchases would need to be made with that precious (and limited!) cash supply.

I’m thinking that this dress would be versatile enough to wear to a few upcoming functions (bridal showers, weddings, a fancy dinner) which is what gives it such appeal. It’s definitely my style, and since literally every ‘nice occasion’ dress that I own is now about 3 sizes too big, I’m thinking that an investment wouldn’t be a bad move.

Or am I just trying to talk myself into thinking that I NEED it? Am the Queen of Justification.

What say you? Do you like the dress? Does it help if I told you that I already have shoes that will go with it? What if I told you that that has NEVER stopped me from buying shoes before??

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Filed under Kwit yer bitchun, My Sweet Babboo

Three

Three years (and one day) ago, we went on our first date. We went to Applebee’s and it only took about half an hour before we both confessed to being the world’s pickiest eaters and yeah, I would have DIED if you’d suggested that we go out for sushi. After dinner we sat at the bar and talked and literally lost track of time until the employees started shutting the lights off. I remember thinking at the time that it was terribly cliche but maybe a good sign of things to come.

Two and a half years ago, we moved in together. I was terrified, and I think you were too, but neither of us would admit it. You put these hideous duck paintings on the wall (your mom had given them to you for your old apartment when you had nothing on the walls) and I hated them SO MUCH. Even though I wasn’t surprised, I was still relieved when everything worked out so well. We ate a lot of frozen pizza.

A little over a year and a half ago, we bought our house. It was another scary time, and so stressful, but I knew that we could do it. I’m still proud of how prepared we were, how well we communicated and how much we handled. Water poured through the kitchen ceiling the day after we moved in, and we figured out a way to solve it. We’ve made repairs, planted flowers, decorated, and made this place our home. And we ate a lot of frozen pizza.

Last night, we went out to dinner to celebrate three years. I was prepared, honestly, for the time when that gooey, lovestruck feeling of the first few months would fade. What I wasn’t prepared for was what would be left – and the fact that it would be even better. You are my best friend, my family. My cheerleader and my commiserator. My comedian, my protector, and sometimes my pain in the ass. I am a very lucky girl.

Thanks for all you do. Thanks for sharing things like dancing and mini-golf with me. Thanks for listening to my boring work stories. Thanks for saving all the little crunchies (you know, the white ones) in the Chex mix for me. And most of all, thanks for making all of that delicious frozen pizza. 

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