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My Profile
She blinded him with whiteness - 2008-07-25
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8:15 a.m. - 2008-01-02
Happy New Year, y'all. So, 2008. Hardly seems real. I remember being a kid and thinking the year 2000 was soooo far off and soooo futuristic. Couldn't believe I'd be around to see it. What with the moon colonies and the flying cars and the food pills and all the cool Jetson stuff. No flying cars. No moon colonies, not even bubble cities under the sea! Food is the same as it ever was, only we feel guiltier about it and thanks to the gutting of the FDA it's a lot more lethal. But with the internet and these crazy do-everything-but-bathe-the-dog phones of ours I guess we have the Jetsons beat. Though I wouldn't mind a car that folded up into a briefcase. Save Mick all kinds of angst about door dings. (Yes, we're those loons who park waaaaaay out in nowheresville. Not for the exercise, you understand, the 5K hike to Target is to 'save' the car from being assaulted by careless door openers. Whee.) Anyhow, here we are mostly through the first decade of the new millennium and so far it's been a big ppbblllttt. About the only thing that changed is checks don't come with the pre-written 19__ on the date line anymore. In fact anything with a 19__ is starting to seem kind of antique-y. Otherwise the biggest conundrum of the age is what to call it. You know, like the Sixties or the Eighties. Back at the turn of the previous century the zero years were called the 'Aughts'. As in, "Well hello, young feller! I'm Horatio Barnsworthy. Cornell Class of Aught 7." That whole 'aught' thing just didn't catch on this time around. We just say the whole year out. "Gosh, back in two thousand four…" I don't see the 2010's being any better about catchy decade names either so I guess we're stuck with saying, "Two thousand (whatever)…" for a long time to come. (If we're still here, that is.) My guys are back to the grind today. Gave Wolf a haircut last night so as to be tidy and school-worthy and it came out pretty good. Good enough to make me wonder if maybe I shouldn't go to hairdresser's school. Be kind of nice to have a back-up career. The haircuts I give Mick are far superior to what he was getting previous to me becoming his barber. Then again he was getting his noggin done at Hack Jobs R Us. You gets whats you pays for. With my background growing up training for the Olympic Grooming Team I'm already quite familiar with doing dye jobs, highlights, perms, and lots of other smelly hair alchemy. I was always the one called into service to do the backs of my sisters' and mother's heads. Which, now that I think on it, was kind of weird. Five women in my immediate family and not one of us wore her natural hair color. And dig this, two of my sisters permed their hair every 3 months and the other one chemically straightened hers. Were we that pre-conditioned to be dissatisfied with our born selves? Was our standard equipment really so awful? My bleach jobs were a professional necessity, but my sisters were civilians and yet I recall them fretting and fussing over their appearance a whole lot more than I did and I was the one being paid for my looks. Who knows? Maybe when being beautiful is your job it takes the fun out of getting prettied up for daily life. I can tell you this, when not in front of a lens I was a mess. And so I am again. No nails. Bad, bad, bad hair. I've gained 25 pounds. The last time I put on make-up or a bra was Saturday when Wolf and I went to visit GBW. I'm clean, I do still shower and take of my teeth. And moisturize. I might not be the Sparkle Queen these days but I'm not feeling the need to look like a craisin either. Without moisturizer my face would shrivel up and fall right off the front of my head. What does Mick think of my recent slide into frumpdom? Not a damn thing. At least not a negative. He's enjoying putting his fingers through actual hair and has told me often and sincerely he's loving this new cushier ass of mine. Men, gotta love them. Here's women going through paroxysms of grief to find the exact right shade of eyeliner to catch a man and guys are thrilled if you just give them some longish hair to play with and a tushy to squeeze. There's a lesson here, but I haven't had enough coffee yet to figure it out.
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