Between a Rock and a Hair Place

I am having a problem. With my hair. I know this is not consequential to anyone other than me, but indulge me, I’m having a crisis.

The thing is this: I am a short hair girl (not Sinead O’Conner short, more like short bob short). Though I love the long locks, I don’t have the fortitude to make it through the in-between stages and always end up lopping it off…which brings me instant relief.

Since it will be wedding season in a few months, I am unable to shear off my awkwardly medium length mane for now. This means that every morning I stand in front of the mirror and form a plan of attack. Most of the time my tresses end up locked away in a pony tail. My hair hates me for it, but ‘though thou doth protest, ye strands of gold will be imprisoned yet another day’ is what I have to say to my hair about the subject. It’s not a party for me either.

They say that hair grows a half inch a month. If this holds true, my hair will surpass awkwardville in about 8 months… Geez!

Sorry hair, that means approximately 240 or so more ponytails to go…

Honk If You Hate Bumperstickers

I have a Mac, and I'm doggone proud of it. I had to work pre-tty hard to buy (or I like to say 'adopt') it. I sent out e-mails that looked like birth announcements when it arrived to my family and friends. I hope that this shows you just how proud of it I am. However, I chose not to display either one of the two apple stickers that were provided to me by Apple on my car. I just don't feel that need. Do I love my Mac? Yes. But do I communicate this to the world via apple shaped stickers? No.

I have a thing with bumper stickers. I just don't like them. I admit I form some pre-judgements about those who are pro-bumper sticker, but I don't think I can be blamed for this because YOUR OPINION IS STUCK TO YOUR BUMPER AT EYE LEVEL FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE. You're kinda asking for it, don't you think?

I guess why I am anti-bumper sticker is because I don't need to communicate my thoughts an opinions right above my muffler. I don't need to be labeled as a "liberal," "conservative," "dog lover," "mother of a bright child," or "owner of a bright dog." I don't need to parade around town with a 3 x 12 inch sticker declaring that I think George Bush is the devil, or that I completed a triathlon, or that I am pro-life or pro-choice, or that I think we should all just co-exist, or that I think Darwin was right. And please, whatever you do, don't tell me to honk if I......you get the point.

Driving to work this morning, I found myself behind a truck that had: 1) a bumper sticker declaring that he listened to public radio, 2) a bumper sticker that said 'share the road' on it with a picture of a bicycle on it, 3) a 'I love to bike' sticker, 4) an Obama election sticker, 5) an anti-Bush sticker, and last but not least, 6) a recycling symbol. I actually wanted to pull up beside him and ask, "Hey, man, I am looking for a liberal, bike-riding person who recycles & listens to public radio. Do you know where I could find somebody like that?"

I guess I'm just not a label girl.

Toxicodendron radicans

Poor Mr. L! While attacking his yard full of weeds, we apparently unearthed the wicked, vile weed known as poison ivy or (for those scientifically inclined or MENSA folks) Toxicodendron radicans. He has been suffering for 2 weeks now, and is on his way to the doctor today to get a steroid shot in the bum.

I, (knock on wood), have never suffered an attack of the T. rads, but understand that it can be pretty terrible. According to the source of all knowledge, wikipedia, people who develop rashes from T. rads are actually suffering from an allergic reaction and approximately 15-30% of people are allergic to it. Apparently, one of the worst things to do is to pull it up by the root, and that, my friends, is what Mr. L and I unknowingly did.

After my wikipedia "research," I found a picture of the poison ivy root:

and I remember the EXACT moment we encountered it. We were hacking down limbs and weeds, and Mr. L exclaimed, "Look at that crazy root growing into my power meter." I think I remember calling it 'creepy' and saying that it looked more like an animal than a plant. I mean, look at that horrible, nasty thing! I distinctly remember an ominous feeling when I saw that root, and now I know why.

Anyway, it was stuck so firmly on the brick that we had to get a garden hoe to pry it off. We successfully unpeeled it from the side of his house and pulled it up by the root (oops!). I think Mr. L hauled the pile of limbs that contained the T. rads root, and the rest is history...

Well, now we know, right? After I saw the picture of the root on the web, I quickly phoned Mr. L to let him know that I identified the culprit of his distress. He was waiting to get his shot. Poor, poor Mr. L. I think we will go shopping for matching coveralls this weekend to prevent a travesty like this from reoccurring. (That will be a sight....Mr. L and I in matching jumpsuits working in his yard. Maybe we can get orange ones to get that 'stay-away-I'm-a- convict-on-a-work-release-and-I'm-dangerous' look)

On a side note, apparently "Poison Ivy" is also the name of a super hero, or a super villain, because when I conducted an image search for it I found a lot of pictures of her:

She may be cute, but she'll give you one hell of a rash....

P to the M to the S

WARNING: IF YOU ARE A MALE AND FEEL LIGHT-HEADED OR SICK AT THE MERE MENTION OF HORMONES, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK OR AT LEAST READ IN A SEATED POSITION WITH COLD CLOTH AND GINGER ALE AT HAND. THIS BLOG WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY INJURIES INCURRED FROM READING THIS POST.

If anyone out there has actually read my posts lately (besides Mr.L), they would notice that I mentioned PMS 1,451 times. (And that's a lot considering I have, like, 11 posts) And it's true, I had been suffering from usually unsettling hormonal distress. This happens to me a couple of times a year and they are the most dreaded of days.....and not only for me, for all those around me.

I am a sweet natured, kind-hearted person, EXCEPT during these hormonal 'perfect storms' that build energy like hurricanes. Poor Mr. L was confused my all of my vast mood swings, gnashing of teeth, and unpredictable, yet, predictably over-reactive response to situations. I tried to explain PMS to Mr. L and told him that you don't experience different feelings than the ones you usually feel, just seriously intensified versions of those feelings. I even gave him examples to give him a better understanding:

Example #1:

If you normally get a little irritated when the person in front of you is using the self-checkout (which is designed for a 4-year-old to use) slowly or incorrectly, during PMS, you want to yell at them while smashing their purchases beneath your feet and laugh at them after they start crying and begging you to stop. (Evil laughing preferred)

Example #2:

If you normally get a little sad when you break a nail because you've worked so hard to even them out, during PMS, you feel as if you life is over and you'll NEVER have even nails again. Crying, you flail yourself onto your bed, think all of all of the times you've tried and failed to grow even nails, feel defeated, ugly, and resign yourself to being ugly. Angered by this thought, you bite off all other nails to get out your frustration. More crying ensues, then there's the ice-cream eating to comfort yourself, the hating yourself for eating ice cream, feeling unbelievably obese, then crying again. It's a vicious cycle.

Example#3:

If, during hormonally balanced days, you feel a twinge of envy towards those around you, during PMS, you might start to hate those sons-of-a-gun that have it all. You start to wonder-who do they think they are, these perfect people with all of their hopes and dreams coming true? Why have none of my danged dreams come true, you ask yourself. You convince yourself that you're doomed to be an unlucky, lonely, unhappy person for the remainder of your life, and since this is bound to happen, maybe you should look into getting a few more cats. I guess I'll be the crazy cat lady, you tell yourself. No kids, no husband, no future, just you and your 32 cats. Where is the number to the animal shelter. I guess I can call them on my lunch break....

I think I may have scared Mr. L with my PMS examples, but this man needs to know what he's getting into. You know, informed consent, and all that jazz.

Since Mr. L started looking a little pale after this conversation, I put his mind at ease by telling him that these symptoms, this craziness, is all temporary. I also went on to tell him that this only happens to me a couple of times a year, thank goodness. He seemed to get his color back after that last bit.

I am happy to report that, for now, this session of PMS is adjourned and we hope it will not reconvene until Fall at the earliest. Ahhh, sweet relief. I no longer feel like a homicidal, self-obsessed, depressed, freakish, obese, future-crazy-cat-lady with anger management issues. Now, if I could just kick that ice cream habit.....