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Can we just jump to January please? - 2014-11-14
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7:44 p.m. - 2013-01-15
Pointy Headed

What was old is new again.

My stupid hormones made an encore appearance this weekend. Oy. I hadn't missed those suckers at all. Got zapped with the whole Devil's menu- nightmares, weepiness, flashes of billowing anger, unbearable sadness, my clothes irked me, food tasted like dust. After a four month hiatus where everything was smooooove being tossed back onto the estrogen hell ride was just awful. However I'm myself again. Also I recognized my moodiness for what it was right away so there was no spinning into the bad place. Instead I just holed up here in my office and did my crying/worrying/moping/snarling in solitude, comforted by the knowledge it was chemistry not truth and that I'd be okey-doke again sooner than soon. Guess my nasty vindictive girlie bits weren't about to let me slide into my 50th birthday without their version of a send-off. "Ya, you dumb twat. Think you're free of us? Bwahahaha! 50 means dick. We've been messing with your life for 39 years, you think we're going to simply dry up and go away? Not a chance, you overly ovaried fool. Here's an early birthday present. Enjoy!" I had the last laugh though. Recognizing what the deal was so early in the festivities allowed me to keep my perspective, reassure my menfolk all I needed was some space and time, and to hunker down to wait it out with nothing more than a box of tissues and a pile of comfort dvds. (Okay, there was chocolate and really salty popcorn too.)

Another blast from the past. I got my hair cut off and have it styled in a messy, pointy, feathery around the edges 2013 edition of my usual hairdo. Mick is relieved. I had short hair when we met and the LA with the brown pageboy unsettled him. I'll admit the long bob wasn't terribly flattering and it was kind of nerdy, but I felt I needed to try it out. If for no other reason than to settle it with myself whether I wore my hair short and pointy because it's the best style for me or whether I was stuck in a rut. Sure it had gone shorter and longer and was a dozen different colors over the last 15 years but it was the same basic 'do. Big difference between signature hair and being a dope with no imagination, you know? But I guess my pointy hair is like my favorite outfit of a black turtleneck, a blazer and boots- it works for me and doesn't need changing. Especially not just for the sake of change.

I'm still working on how to get pics off my phone and into my computer to upload here. I have managed to upload a couple of pics to FB thanks to Steph showing me how. (Mwah!) So I'm guessing most of you have seen my new/old head already. The glacier-slow pace of my learning new technologies continues. Rate I'm going I'll get the hang of this new phone of mine and all its cool internet stuff just around the time it becomes hopelessly outdated and everyone has wi-fi implants or something. I was told the Verizon store holds tutorials but there are few places I loathe more than the Verizon store. Oh, the kids who work there are usually polite enough, it's there's this ground-in stink of anxiety tinged with desperation in the Verizon stores. It makes my stomach clench. The worker kids are desperate to roll customers lest the bosses ding them for not reaching quota, the customers are anxious- fear of phones (old people like me), fear of not getting the newest/coolest (youngins), fear of not being able to pay their bill (pretty much everybody) and the frustration of waiting, waiting, waiting for your turn. Ugh. I'd rather make 16 trips to the DMV before making a single trip to the Verizon store.

Trips to the store are on my mind anyhow. I'm trying to bring our food budget into line. We're going to be rotating into a heavier billing cycle in a few months and this traipsing off to the grocery every couple of days is denting our bottom line. Because we never seem to just buy the milk and the few other necessities we'd gone in for. Nope. There's always goodies tossed in and "Ooo, these steaks look good!" and why of course I need yet another kind of fancy vinegar or cooking wine or wildly pricy salt. (Btw, pink Himalayan salt is FABULOUS!) Throw in a whimsy dvd and a this and a few thats and the budget goes KER-BLOOEY! So. I've been doing my best to get completely stocked up on those things which can be stockpiled. Canned and dry goods. Filling the big freezer downstairs with meats and breads. I'm aiming to get to a place where we do a big Sam's Club run once a month and at most a trip to Shoprite every two weeks. Less often once farmer's market season gets underway. Cutting back on the number of trips will go very far in cutting down on the impulse purchases. And unless it's an emergency Mick does NOT get to go alone. Don't misunderstand, I can send him with a list and he'll come back with everything on it in the proper amounts and flavors. So unlike the ex who if sent to get a loaf of bread would come home with toothpaste, a new socket wrench set, a couple of porn mags, a huge box of cookies that nobody liked, and NO bread, Mick is wonderful when it comes to paying attention and being able to actually read and comprehend a list, it's just he luuuurves to spoil us. He's wonderful/terrible that way. Send Mick to the store on his own and he turns into Santa Claus.

My guy was a most excellent Santa this year for Christmas too. I got so busy over the holiday I didn't do any public squee over the loot. Big chunky hoop earrings. Two charms for my Pandora (a lucky cat and a silver bell with a pearl clapper). A big bottle of Opium. Wizard of Oz bobble-heads. Chocolate covered cherries. The kind of luxe girlie-girl gifts my little starved heart adores. Formerly starved heart, that is. The coolest thing to me is if I were a totally different style of woman and wanted an arc welder or a canoe Mick would provide those just as readily. He would know what I wanted and why I wanted it. Who I am and what I am like is important to Mick. Hence the WoZ bobble-heads. He knows my thing with that movie. If my favorite movie was 'Die Hard' no doubt Mick would track down a John McClane action figure and a doorbell that went "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker!" when you pressed the button.


Back to being my new/old self and absurdly happy as has become the norm, ~LA

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