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2:06 p.m. - 2011-03-13
Frivolous Beastie

"With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love."

Eh, don't mind me, I'm having a tussle with existential guilt. Seems gross when there's so much scary hurt and damage out there to be doing so well personally. A spit in the universe's eye. "Um, that mess in New Zealand, Haiti, and Japan really sucks, but wait until you hear about my great new haircut!"

I do have sense enough to understand that not one person will be safer from radiation poisoning if I don't talk about my hair. Even on a closer to home, much more intimate level none of my friends' woes will magically go away if I refrain from mentioning what a great time Mick and I had Friday night. And it's certainly not like I think any of my dear ones would begrudge me some happiness, even if their own stuff is deep and smelly right now. I know when the shoe's on the other foot and my life's in the crapper it's a wonderful thing to me when I hear about my friends' good stuff. Provides the necessary balance.

Another reverse life lesson I learned from my horrible mother. She was so small inside, so colossally self-involved she would weep and rail with outraged envy if anyone in her life dared be happy when she was miserable. This included us, the daughters. And conversely I remember being about 12 and Mom was all blissed out over some new guy when one of her oldest friends called. Marie had just been diagnosed with cancer. Mom couldn't get off the phone fast enough. She then spent several long minutes bitching about how tacky it was that Marie should tell her this when she (Marie) knew how happy she (Mom) was! Must have done it on purpose just to kill Mom's buzz. Yeah, Mom, that tacky Marie got CANCER just to ruin your day.

Sheesh. This is what I grew up with. Any wonder I flounder around sometimes trying to figure out how not to be a complete asshole?

So to work backward. Yesterday Mick and I met the folks for lunch at our favorite diner. The food is always great, but the service is up for grabs. Luckily we got one of the funny, efficient waitresses. There's a couple grouches on staff and man, they're so nasty I always wonder why on Earth they stay at a job they obviously loathe. Especially since their crummy attitude has got to undercut their tips. (It sure does with us.) The folks are doing well. FIL's dementia is slowing down, or perhaps we're just used to it. He fades in and out of the conversation and yesterday didn't kick up too much of a fuss when we made him leave the diner's copy of the newspaper behind. FIL wanted to take it with him. MIL's her usual busy cheerful self. Gads, she renewed our gym memberships so back to PF I go. For sure I could stand to get off my fat arse and do something about how fluffy I've gotten, it's just hard to get past the initial inertia and GO already. MIL feels the same way so we made a pinkie swear to figure out a good gym schedule when we get together on Thursday. They're coming over for the traditional St Paddy's boiled dinner.

After lunch Mick and I did a Rite-Aid shopping and then with time to kill decided to swing into our fave Ford dealership to kick some tires. We're trying to put together a workable budget so we can get a new car. Mick's truck is in wonderful condition and has very low mileage, but it's wholly impractical as a family vehicle and eats gas like elephants eat peanuts. Jet's electrical gremlins are getting crazier by the month, plus she's 11 years old with over 160K on the odometer, even for a VW that's a lot of miles. The Escort's still in great shape, but again it's almost 12 years old and coming up on the 100,000 mark too.

Last year when we first starting looking at cars Mick and I were both stoked by the new Ford Fiesta. But over time we've both come to realize we're not thrilled about the idea of yet another teeny car. Our econo-box days are over. Time for something a bit plusher and with some heft. When I was younger I couldn't understand what the deal was with older people and their big herky cars. I couldn't ever see myself waking up someday and saying, "You know, I really want a Buick."

Well, ha-ha on me, I don't want a Buick, nope, I want a Lincoln. Not just any Lincoln, I want THIS one. I am totally digging the idea of a hybrid luxury car. The fuel economy of the teeny-weeny Fiesta yet has that big fat middle-aged plushiness I'm craving. If there's any way we can swing this money-wise it's a done deal. They didn't have any hybrids on the lot so I tried on the regular MKZ and boy howdy this is one nice car. What really surprises me is how easy it was to make the leap into actually wanting an American-made old fart's sedan. What's next? Mom jeans and a bad perm?

Can't make any guarantees about the Mom jeans, but the perm is still a no go. Friday I got a bitchin' cool haircut. Not terribly dissimilar to what I've worn before. Super short, choppy, spiky, with side-swept bangs. THE clichéd hairdo of choice for women my age who still want to believe they've got the funk. I've never seen a woman under the age of 40 wearing this 'do. But since it's almost illegal for 40+ women to wear long hair one must make do with what one can. (I kid about the long hair. I have several age peer friends still rocking the Rapunzel tresses and they look great.) It was my own impatience and frustration with the growing out process that drove me back to the salon. I could NOT stand that unkempt mess on my noggin for one more second! To hell with the Hillary pageboy or whatever it was I thought I'd grow, I missed myself. Perhaps someday if stranded on the proverbial deserted island for 3 or 4 years I'd deal with the misery mop, but knowing me I'd be scraping my head with a sharpened coconut shell and spiking what's left with seagull poop.

Yes, I know y'all want pics and that I'm backlogged from when I got my new glasses. This time it's not so much reluctance to provide evidence of my new jowls and forehead furrows as it is technical difficulties. My laptop has the cam and it's still on the disabled list.

Wishing everyone a smooth transition to Daylight Savings Time. ~LA

8 Wanna talk about it!

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