ammogirl

I am off work this week because my husband is home.  He’s awesome, if you are wondering.  The best thing?  I immediately got him hooked on ROCK BAND!!! and of course he was duly impressed with my super drumming skills, and of course he loves ROCK BAND!!! because how could you not?  However, he’s not as impressed with the Vita-mix blender, but that’s okay.

Anyway!  The weirdest thing happened the other day!  I spent all Thursday doing last minute vacuuming (what a weird word, vacuum) and…oh!  ANOTHER weird thing happened, when I went to get a pedi.  I got there a little early, and figured, what the hell, I want a massage.  I love massages, by the way, and at one point, I even considered becoming a massage therapist, but now I am decrepit and can’t stand up for more than five minutes without saying, “ow.  my back”  like a broken record, so that’s out.  What?  Get back on track?  Fine: so, I go into the massage room, and massage massage blah blah, and all of a sudden, the massage lady is massaging the top of and in between my BOOBS.  It was sort of awkward.  Also, wow, I could really spin that into a Penthouse Forum letter, couldn’t I?  Dirty.

That was it, though.  No lesbian massage encounters at Elke’s Day Spa for me.  Now, back to the original story, I vacuumed on Thursday night, right?  So there were no piles of, say, smallish bugs laying around in a big mound by the front door.  For example.  HOWEVER.  On Saturday morning, when I went to put some recycle in the recycle bin, there were!  Piles of smallish bugs in a big mound by the front door, TENS OF THEM!  It was like Jonestown, but with bugs.  And it happened overnight!   There were no bugs there Friday morning, or Friday afternoon, or Friday evening.  There wasn’t!  We were going in and out of the door all day, and trust me, we would have noticed.  Also would have noticed?  Tens of little bugs flying around the house.  Which they were not.  So.  Where did the suicidal bugs come from, and why did they perform cult death at my front door?

I am perplexed.  Okay, now I’m going to work out and visit work, because that’s what you do when you have the week off.

Tschuss!!

I got my hair cut today, and in a fit of bravery inspired by Jane, I got bangs. I mean, my bravery was actually very thought out, with the purchase of two hairstyle magazines at lunch. After much bullying and cajoling, I was able to enlist the help of my coworkers in finding a cute haircut–although, they weren’t really very helpful, or nice, for that matter. Some comments I recieved upon asking “Do you think this is cute” while holding up a particular picture: “Yeah, if you like BOY haircuts” and my favorite, “That would be really cute on you, if you looked the girl in the picture.” To that, I said, “Ouch.” The maker of that comment, if you haven’t already guessed, is single.

Anyway, I found a hairstyle I liked, and then upon sitting in the chair, I did a really uncommon thing. I was SPECIFIC with Jasmine the hairgirl about what I wanted, and asked her opinion, and after a fairly lengthy discussion about both cut and color, she set about her business. She left the bangs for last, and as she worked her way around to them, I started to get more and more nervous, glancing at the picture in front of me, and then imagining myself with a perfectly straight row of hair two inches above my eyebrows, and as she grabbed a chunk of hair in her hand and started reaching to them with the scissors, I blurted out, “NOT TOO SHORT!” and she said, “What?” I repeated myself, but quieter, and with a please at the end. This elicited a laugh from Jasmine the hairgirl, as she said, “No, no, of course not! We’ll cut them long first and see how it looks after drying.” Still, getting bangs is…well, it’s traumatic. Male readers won’t understand that statement at all, and will probably even laugh a bit, but it’s completely true. You can’t put bangs in a pony, the way you can with the rest of your hair. Nope, they are just RIGHT THERE.

There was absolutely no reason for me to be worried, however, and when Jasmine the hairgirl was done with the hairdryer, I was so amazed by the cuteness I forgot I had also gotten highlights, and only remembered when she said, “And the highlights look good too!” I was all, “What? Oh! YES! They do look great!” Because for real, I am impressed. I’m sure it won’t last once I have to do my own hair tomorrow, though, because it never does, does it?

I’d post a picture but I don’t have a camera! So I can’t!

Also, I want to say something that will probably sound mean or heartless or rude or whatever, but why is there so much news coverage of Tim Russert’s death? Did he have that much impact on America? I’d never actually heard of him until now, but of course I’m not a big political show watcher. It makes me mad, because hi, a lot of people die every day, for really dumb reasons (Iraq), and while he is not less important than anyone else, he’s certainly not more important.

Tschuss!!

I was getting a little worried for a moment, because John is coming home very soon (earlier than Saturday, later than Thursday, but I can’t say exactly what day because of the military and it’s OPSEC rules) and as of Sunday, I had not had, you know, my monthlies.  This would have been a ginormous problem for my husband, who over the last five months away has descended increasingly back into 15 year old boy who just discovered sex.  Boys probably discover sex a lot younger than that, don’t they?  I’m assuming yes, but I am sticking with 15 for my example.  However, tragedy was averted, and I can tell you with 100 % certainty that I will be doing it on Friday.  And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I will never bring it up again, and I am still wondering exactly why I told you any of that.

Oh well.

We didn’t have to work on Monday, since it was the first day of Summer here.  I woke up feeling like crap, with a stuffy nose and a gimpier than normal back, and after I blew my nose for several minutes, I hobbled my way down the stairs where I lay on the couch nursing three cups of coffee until I felt alive enough to start cleaning the house.  It took me all day, because I would get bored after doing, say, all the bathroom sinks, and take a break.  Cleaning a house in this way is not very practical, and involves climbing up and down stairs way more times than I would like, so I wouldn’t recommend it.  Also not recommended?  Eating 3/4 of a box of ginger snaps like I did during my cleaning breaks.  Sort of hurts your stomach, that.

Anyway, I bought I whole bunch of books for my Kindle, and I got really frustrated with one of them.  Have you heard of the “You” series by Dr. Mehmet Oz?  He (and somebody else, I forget who) does a Diet You, and a You Manual, and…several others.  I got the “Stop Aging You”, which is not the real title, but you get the gist.  I was pretty excited, because these books got tons of good reviews on Amazon, and I thought I’d get some great information, like, butter is good for you, eat lots of red meat etc.  Instead, I trudged through chapter after chapter of the same thing said in different ways:  ‘Our book will tell you how to stop aging!  All you have to do is read our book!”  Seriously, a million different chapters of that, with a whole lot more words.  Every chapter, I’d come to the end, and think, ‘Finally!  I will turn the page and be amazed with the secret to eternal life!’ and then I’d turn the page, and it would read, “Hey there!  Thanks for buying this book, which will teach you all the secrets to staying young.  Secret number one?  Read this book!”  Eventually I got bored with it and went back to the novel I was reading, but I was so bugged I just went to bed, feeling at least two years older.

What I want to know is, are all self-help books like that?  A whole lot of crap and no actual substance?  Because the way I look at it, I write like that every time I post.  And I don’t think I’m helping anyone.  Or getting paid.  Or invited to various talk shows.  I think I need to find a better agent.

Tschuss!!