Seemed like a good idea

Today has been one of those days full of good ideas. Unfortunately for me, karma had other thoughts. I started the day with a wardrobe issue. I, of course, did not realize it was an issue until it was too late. My pants would not remain in the closed and locked position. Luckily I recognized this early on and was wearing a long sweater.

I had to return some jeans that were purchased for me but a me that is ten pounds lighter. I have been running crazy all week but had a minimal amount of time to run in, exchange these pants for some pants that fit AND hid my underwear. As I was rummaging through I saw them. They were beautiful. There was one pair and it was in my size. I knew these jeans would fit because I have been trying them on in different stores for months now. I put them on and promise myself that when I lose some weight I will treat myself to a pair of fancy jeans. But here they were. I could not find a tag. I brought them to the counter and the saleswoman said,"We don't carry these in the store, so I think they are pretty close to this other brand, so I will just charge you for those." WHAT?!?!?!? I just bought a $160 pair of jeans for the same price as Guess acid wash juniors size clearance rack jeans. I started to breathe heavily. This was really happening. I just saved $130!!! She sold me a $160 pair of jeans for $30. I felt like I was stealing somehow.

I hurried through the checkout process before someone caught on that this woman just gave away a pair of jeans. I found the bathroom and put them on. OOOOO GIRL!! These were NOT the jeans I had tried on before. These were skinny jeans that are tight at the ankle. I am not a skinny girl with small ankles. Especially today. I looked at my watch and realized that in all my excitement I had lost track of time. I had twenty minutes to drive 25 miles. I had to go. I put on my high heeled shoes and walked out. Not having seen myself in a full length mirror I did not realize that I looked like a hooker. BUT, I looked like a hooker. Luckily, since I looked like a hooker, I ran into one of students. She wanted to sit and chit chat with her professor who looked like a hooker.

I passed a full length mirror on the way out to the parking garage. I looked like a hooker. I could NOT go to a meeting with hooker pants on but I also did not have time to go back to the bathroom to change. I ran to my car and drove to a deserted section of the parking lot to change my pants. Just as I am getting stuck in my hooker hot pants, I spot the elderly security guard making his rounds. PLEASE LORD PLEASE LORD PLEASE LORD. I picked up my cell phone and pretended to talk. He looked at me and walked by.

All flustered and aggravated I get to my appointment only to discover that I missed the call informing me that the meeting 25 miles away was cancelled. WHY LORD WHY?!?! I would have gotten the message if I had never tried to get those hooker pants. My cell phone was in the other pants. When I was changing in the parking garage, I slipped my cell phone into my purse without checking it. In order to console myself I stopped to get a coffee at the gas station. Nothing makes me feel better than gas station coffee. I hate that fancy coffee. I pour myself scorching hot coffee and go to add sugar and drop the sugar packets in the coffee. DANG IT!! I think of the germs that are on those packets. As I think about germs, the empty packets sink to the bottom of the cup. It is at that point I stick my finger in the coffee to retrieve the sugar packet. First of all, that is gross to put your fingers in your beverage and secondly HOLY CRAP THAT IS FRIGGIN HOT AND NOW I HAVE BURNED MY FINGER UP TO THE KNUCKLE!!!

It is really difficult to play off in a crowded convenience store that not only are you a freak who has dropped sugar packets in your coffee but you are a bigger freak for SHRIEKING when you burn yourself with that coffee. Luckily a lot of those customers had mullets.

I can blame it on the cold medicine or the long weeks I have had, but sometimes I think that maybe I am just a jackass.

Hair

It's that time again...the painfully uneventful haircut. I always want to some kind of miracle to happen to me when I go to the stylist, like on "What Not to Wear" makeover shows. Instead, I go in with short hair and I come out with short hair. I talked to the stylist about growing my hair out again and what I thought I was hoping for as the end result. He wrinkled his nose and said, "Why would you want to look like that? Everyone woman your age has that hair." I think to myself, "How old do you think I am" and "I don't look different now with this mushroom head thing going on? Given my druthers I 'd rather look like everyone else". Of course, I say nothing. He intimidates me with his tattoos and his cool hair. I shrug my shoulders and say, "whatever you think".

Well, apparently what he thinks is that I should not try to look like women my age rather I should look like a member of the Jonas Brothers. He is describing the hairstyle and I wrinkle my nose and say, "As long as it is not too masculine." "No, no, no of course not." He walks over to the book rack and pulls out his portfolio, thumbs through it and finds the exact hair cut he is thinking about. "This will look fabulous on you." I look at the picture, look at him, look back at the picture, look at my boobs, and say, "You know that is a picture of a guy?" "Yes, yes, yes, just picture him with your face." Granted he did have a feminine face. I looked at the photo, glanced up at him and reminded him that I was in fact a woman. He snaps the book shut almost taking off my fingers.

As not to upset the ARTIST, I let him have his way with me. After a half an hour in the chair and $55 dollars later, I look that same as when I came in.

Cougar

I went to see Chuck Berry last night. It was the first time in about 8 years that I went to a smokey bar with the intent on watching the band. I was not enthused about this evening but agreed to attend. It was crowded and smokey (which is difficult for a once again recovering nicotine addict, which is how I am referring to myself, looking for the whole sympathy angle) and filled with very young college students (who have no sense of personal space) and creepy old men. Considering that Chuck Berry is a creepy old man I was not terribly surprised that his following had a similar background.

Anyway, I sipped on my beer making polite conversation with J.'s colleagues when the opening band came on stage. I was a little irritated that there was an opening band but I was willing to give them a chance. It was then that I felt my age. I have never been older than a band I was watching. I have been the same age but never older and in this circumstance A LOT older. The lead singer was so cute. I have to refer to him that way or it is just creepy. Had I been his age I would have said he was something different but being at least 14 years older than he is, I have to say he is cute. I now understood why there were so many young women at this show. I would have followed this band around too. Not now, because that would be scary.

Finally, Chuck Berry took the stage. He was sparkly and old and forgot all the words to the songs, but he is 81 years old and still filling a room full of people at $30 a pop. I wish I could do that. Luckily for me I was standing next to a young man(big friggin dork) who was drinking heavily and attempting to romance a young woman (big friggin dork). Dork mating season was occurring right before my eyes and sometimes on my foot. On the other side was a creepy guy grinding on his equally creepy date. (Not sure how you grind to Chuck Berry, but I think Mary had a little lamb could have been playing and he would be doing the same thing). And finally from behind J. was the "WOO HOO" guy. I love this guy. It doesn't matter what is happening he is compelled to "WOOOOO HOOOOOOOO"! Usually it startles you because it is not at the socially appropriate time. It is as if he is overtaken and must expel this exclamation or he will explode. Then I start to wonder if it is a tic of some sort.

I gave it 45 minutes. When Chuck Berry referred to having sex, I had enough.

I'm back

I haven't been on in awhile due to the unforeseen addiction to Facebook. However, as most things with me I have now moved on. While enjoy reuniting with old friends and the such, it has become too much about them and not enough about me. I remember why I lost touch with people and have found all the people I think I am interested in re-connecting with. I am too narcissistic to focus on others for too long...

Anyways, so right now I am very whiney. I don't like today and am making everyone around me dislike having me in their day. As I stood in front of my closet today I had the urge to jelly leg and refuse to go to work. I thought about how kids do that when they don't want to get into the car seat. I could do that and refuse to get in the car. However, no one was home and I would just end up laying on the floor all day. So, I get dressed in clothes that I know are ugly. It is not that they are unflattering, they are ugly. I am wearing them anyway.

Now that I am work I wish I had chosen to lay on the floor. I am tired and crabby and just ate gross food. I knew it was going to be gross. I made a conscious decision to pay for and eat food that will most likely make me sick. Not the good kind of chili cheese fries sick, but the I probably just ate cat and human hair sick. Tonight I have to go out. I don't want to. J. got tickets to see Chuck Berry. It's a "historic" moment that happens once a month. He's old and he's a perv.

So, for those of you who asked me when I was going to start blogging again (two people), here it is, haven't you missed it?