Extra Crispy on that Order

I spend a lot of time lamenting on my current days as an unfulfilled woman, so when this came across my radar, I heard my inner voice loud and clear tell me to hang up that issue for a while. We bank out of town, and I am sent packing to the bank at least once a week to make deposits. I usually take a couple of hundred bucks and run to Wal-mart while I am there, and I also time it so that I can eat lunch at the KFC too. Hey, I like fried things, sue me. I am always alone, which is kind of sad, but I have learned to use it as a tool for researching the ways of strangers. Most of you know how I don't currently have a job, didn't finish college, usually feel a little left out of the world, and am always wishing for the huge success it looks like most of my peers attained over the years. I realize that that would require great determination on my part, and I guess I don't subscribe to that way of thinking, so here I am spending my free time watching Rock of Love Bus, and people watching at the KFC over lunch. They are always very friendly, and I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt over me going without a job for so long when they are obviously working at that place just to survive. This week I was eating my little fried delight a little later in the day, and the place was super quiet. This allows me to listen to the conversation going on in the kitchen area. These girls were going over who made the brown gravy, and who was watching the fryer, when a woman with a raspy voice came in. She struck up a short conversation with the order taker girl about local matters, and then asked if so and so was working there. She said the girl in question was in the back, and that she was welcome to chat. Here comes this pitiful soul from the back, with a greasy looking pony tail, too skinny, and bad teeth bouncing up to the counter. They hugged across the counter, and exchanged pleasantries. Raspy girl asked her if they had just moved, and the girl explained that they had, across from him, and down the street from her, in the white house on the corner. Raspy girl was really excited about this, and said she needed to come over and visit sometime. Greasy pony tail girl thought that sounded super, and told her to look for her car. Raspy was elated, "You got a car?" she said. In the purest and most genuine happy voice Greasy pony tail said "yep, we GOT A CAR!" Raspy was just beside herself in awe of this sad creature. She said, how great that was, and said she would come by. Greasy, who was busying around the counter while she was talking came back with the most profound thing I have heard all week. She smiled, and said, "and you know what? We got a phone this week too!" I don't have a lot by some people's standards, but, this was playing in my mind as I walked out to my Tahoe, with a few hundred bucks in my purse, after just going to Wal-mart to buy dog and cat food, and lotion, and some other frivolous items, while getting a text on my cell phone from a friend who also has all these wonderful things. It even gets old to me to hear myself whine about what I don't have in my life, and just like her, I want more, but what really struck me is that I have more without doing anything for it than she will ever have working 8 hr shifts at the KFC. I love my parents and my husband for taking care of me, and I know they think I am a ding dong most of the time. I truly appreciate what I have, and wish I felt like I was in a position to move forward with the bettering of me. I might not be ready yet, and I might not have a lot of extras for my lack of motivation, but I can tell you people one thing for sure. I am NOT going to fry chicken for a living. Better keep looking for something else.

White Trash Knows The Law, and Other Neighborhood Observations

When we first moved into our house, we were so excited to just be buying something instead of paying rent and having someone hold power over every little decision. I wanted to paint every room, and I have. I wanted to change things to suit me, and I am still getting there. I wanted a yard that I could plant things in, that I knew I was not going to have to leave for someone else later, and this too has taken place. My eccentric style has led me astray more than once in my decorating, and my yard technique leaves a lot to be desired, but it's mine, and I try. There weren't a lot of choices in the for sale bracket when we were looking to buy, and at the time, we weren't in the market for anything fancy, but we found this 40's built home, with quirky cabinetry and shelves that just screamed for someone to continue the love. WE bought it without much time to spare, we had been staying with my in laws for a couple of weeks until the paperwork went through, and I was on the verge of hurting someone, myself not excluded. We took possession of the house on the same day my son started kindergarten, and the same day I started a new job at the local florist. Fortunately for us, the owners were kind enough to let us bring our things the week prior so we would not have to drag it out between school and work. We were moving from a small house in the country about an hour away, so it was a chore to get all our stuff from there to here in as few loads as possible. My family always stepped up to the plate for these events, and they were all here helping on the day of the move. My mom and step dad, my real dad, my brother, us, and maybe a couple of others were working like cranberry merchants at Christmas time to get it all done in one or two days, and we did just that. The first thing I noticed while we were moving our stuff in was that I had not really taken notice of the neighbors. Who were they, and what were they like. I know now that this should be a first priority when purchasing a home, but then I was just to dumb and happy. The sky almost always produced some sort of weather when we were trying to move, and this last time was no exception. It was cloudy and threatening the entire time, and we were pressured further to cover the wood furniture and so on. We were tired, exhausted, and moving to a rhythm. So much so that if we stopped for a moment, the pain set in, and it seemed suddenly impossible to get it all done. We were unloading the 2nd or third load, which we had loaded into the trailer the first half of the day, when I happened to look up and notice that our new neighbors across the street were perched in lawn chairs at the end of their drive way, watching us kill ourselves and having a very chipper time doing it. I immediately thought we would have problems with these people, and we have. My down the street neighbor was an older widow woman, and she brought us cinnamon rolls on the first night's stay, so we wouldn't have to make anything in the morning. She is now about to leave this earth, and I have not been down to see her in a very long time, but am not sure why. My next door neighbors are Hispanic, and think their re-fried beans don't stink. We kind of got along with them in the beginning, but things have since gone sour. When I think of what we were up against that first few days, I know it would scare me to death now, but then, we just had to get it done, and we did. I intend to tell you about a few neighborhood incidents that I think you might enjoy, starting first with the across the street PWT. It was no time before we realized our tremendous error in location. They had a momma, a daddy, a teen aged daughter, a teen aged son, a small child son, and a small child daughter, and a teen boy that was the mama's sister's kid that she didn't want anymore. Their house was small, and always loud. There was always a scuffle in the yard, between the boys, the mom and dad, the boys and dad, the mom and daughter, or any other combination you could think of. It seemed like once a week we would be watching TV and those familiar blue and reds would disrupt our viewing. We would race over and slide our window open on our glass door, and try to listen, but as we now know, the acoustics in this neighborhood suck, and you can't hear even loud talking clearly. God forbid you be out watering your own grass, getting your mail, getting out of your car, or smoking on the porch (I use to smoke), because they would zero right in on you and ask you point blank what the hell you thought you were looking at. You would, of course, look around thinking they were surely speaking harshly to someone near or behind you, but soon we realized that it was always to us. I am not the quiet type, but I will avoid confrontation as much as possible too, so I would usually say something like "I am just watering my grass, I don't care what you are doing", or something of that nature. This was never good enough, and you could almost see them posturing for a rumble due to your unbridled nosiness. On one occasion while my parents were visiting, and I was watching my sister in law's children, the mother figure (I am using the term loosely, the teen daughter was pregnant by now) became enraged when my husband got on the one of the older boys for peeping with binoculars into my old widow woman's house. The mom just wasn't going to have this crap, and because she was an expert in the law, she was going to stay on her property, yell at us, expose her boobs, and call the cops on us for...we never got that far. My husband said that would just be fine, for her to call the police and he would wait outside for them. They went in, but this was the start of a very ugly turf war on our block. The White trash DeArmonds against the Super Less Classy White Trash So and Sos. (can't really say names here can I) The teen daughter eventually married a bald albino looking kid from Kansas, moved and had her child, the 4 other children remained in the home. My son was forbidden to go to their house, as I had an idea what kind of people we were dealing with, and I am pretty sure momma was the sister of a paroled child molester. We kept a sharp eye on them, and had several run ins with them over the years. Things got even weirder around there. Mama's sister moved in with her mixed race son, and for a moment even the older daughter and her kid and albino hubby came home to stay a while. None of these people worked except for the dad, and we never ever saw groceries being carried in. I am pretty sure this house was a cramped three bedroom at the most, and could never figure out where all these people slept, although the young boy did tell me once that he slept in a chair. The two older boys were in alternative school for repeat offenders, and we just never could feel comfortable in our own yard, or leaving town. The daughter and the albino eventually left, sister left leaving her mixed race child, the older of the two boys kind of disappeared (he was the son of her sister, who I hear was a hooker) and all that was left was the Mom, Dad, little boy, colored boy, little girl, and teen son. This kid was no good, you could tell. He had all American good looks, as white trash often does, but he was almost certainly going to use his talents for evil and you could not trust him. He acted like a gangster, which is funny because we live in a very rural part of America, and a real gang member would have eaten him for breakfast. A few years ago, my husband and a friend were organizing a bull cutting which requires an immense amount of beer. They had purchased a lot of it, and my husband had one cooler full on our back porch icing down for the next day's events. The next morning when he got up and around, the beer was missing. This was not the first time beer had vanished from our property, but it was important this time, and it really pissed him off. He marched across the street and in the alley of our Super Less Classy White Trash across the street neighbors, was a trail of beer cans leading to their dumpster. My husband threw open the door, and there was his cooler. It could not have been more than 5 o'clock in the morning, but he drug that cooler right across their property line, and up to their front door, and proceeded to beat the coon dog hell out of the screen door. Here came a bleary eyed mom, and he did chew here ass out right then and there, with her making lawsuit threats and screaming the whole time. He was really mad. About six months later we were out of town, and had left our door unlocked for our in laws to come and go in the interest of our son. When we got home on Sunday night, we were so tired. We all bathed and got ready for bed, and were just about ready to hop in the sack when our door ball rang. It was our Hispanic neighbor. She told us that earlier that day she had witnessed our house being robbed by the teen son from across the street, and that the cops had come and arrested him. We freaked, kind of, and began to search around for misplaced things or missing items. I remembered instantly that I had some cash set aside for our son's show hog purchase that fall, and ran to the drawer to check on it. It was gone. Well, feeling weird, we kind of crept down to the cop shop to see what the hell had gone on, and they had thankfully retrieved our money, and he was going to jail. He had robbed quite a few more residents around town, and this was the last straw. We were really glad. He had quit school, impregnated a girl form the orphanage, never had a job, unless you count that 4 days at the Dairy Queen part time, and was not doing anything that we could tell but walking around town bored most of the time. The girl that had his baby tried to kill herself in their house one day, and I don't blame her. The mom never comes out in the day light, and kind of reminds me of a much scarier Boo Radly character. Daddy just works, and eats his Allsups grub, and tries to be nice, but the rest of these people are nuts, including the now teen younger daughter and son. It isn't hard to tell where they are headed. The colored boy seems nice enough, but I don't think he is the brightest bulb, so who knows about him. The other neighbor we have trouble with is the Hispanic family next door. They never do a thing wrong, and that includes the two children that belong to the older couple's daughter who lives with them to. When we first arrived, we had one dog, and we tried our best to keep her contained in our aging back fence. In no time at all they showed up with a dog, but made no effort to contain her in no kind of fence. Her name was Dottie. My first spring in this house, I bought a few meager plants for my beds, and no sooner had I planted them, than Dottie had dug them up and chewed the roots off of them. She would sleep under our bushes, and chew on the decaying wood of our fence while attempting contact with our dog. She ate the cat food we put out for a cat we acquired, chewed up trash, and just tortured us to no end. We would always try to comment loudly to the dog when the owners were outside, and say things like "Dottie, GET, Shoo, don't chew up my flowers". They just looked around like they knew nothing. One hot summer day, I spotted Dottie under our bushes, and when I bent down to shoo her out, I could smell the sure scent that only Parvo leaves on a dog's breath. She was having a hard time living or dying, and I did not want her to die under my bushes. I finally had to be direct with my neighbor and plainly tell her that her dog was perishing under my box-woods, and she needed to remove her and have her put down or get her treatment right away. They did come and drag that poor dog out of those comforting bushes, and laid her on the ground , in the sun, under a plastic tarp on the side of their house in full view of every neighborhood child. I said nothing as the day dragged on and you could see that tarp move up and down from time to time. She was going to die anyway, but it seemed to me like even Super Less Classy White Trash would not treat their beloved pets this way. Dottie was finally laid to rest in the dumpster, which makes me crinkle my brow when I look around our yard today and see all the places where everything including birds, bunnies, dogs, cats and fish are buried around our house. Then a couple of years ago, my kid was using a shortcut through their unfenced yard to the dumpster when some bits of trash escaped the bag he was dragging. They jumped all over him like brown on rice, and threatened my 9 or 10 year old with legal action and the whole nine yards. He came in crying, and I, even though I will avoid confrontation, did march right into their living room and let them have it. Big momma informed me that he was trespassing, and blah blah blah, and the law, blah blah blah, and this and that, and I told her her little bratty family had better stay the hell off my property and I intended to call her on every little thing from that point on. Oh no, they never had trash in their yard, oh no, they never let their kids mess up other people's property, oh no, their kids didn't lie, blah blah blah. To this day I hate them, it really is all their fault too. She parks right directly under my son's basketball goal so he is at risk of hitting her car if he plays, and they regularly leave their trash in plastic bags on their back porch for dogs and cats to spread around. They collect cans, and when the wind really gets up, it rolls those Shasta cans all over my drive and the area by my garage. Do you think they ever mosey over and get even one of those cans? I am telling you people, this is a serious matter. If you are going to buy a home, check to see who the neighbors are first. You will not regret it, and I would even ask people I kind of knew in the area if they knew anything bad about any of them. All we can do is hope they will move away, and no one worse will take their places. For the time being, things are kind of quiet on our block, and we are enjoying a little peace, but one thing is for sure, it won't last, and they won't hesitate to use a little legal jargon on ya. What's funny is that my much adored step brother is a lawyer, and I am not worried in the least about their threats. What I worry about most on my block is having something stolen, or someone painting a house Aqua Fresh blue, which in all honesty we have already endured. Unless it's Victorian, and can qualify as a painted lady, we need to be a little more neutral than that, don't you think readers? Have a good one, and judge based on pretty high standards.

No Job For Me

Ok, so here lately I have been really, really concerned about my future. The job market may not be in the same shape it is in Detroit, but there aren't a lot of self esteem supporting jobs in Spearman, Tx right now either. I have been out of a job for about 10 months now, and I have to say that the first few months werent' too bad. I kept thinking 'I have time, don't worry about it'. Well, I did apply for a few jobs around here. I was nervous at first, but have done it several times now, and am no longer worried when I go in to apply. I already know they, not only aren't taking a serious look at me, but they aren't remembering me much after the fact either. Most of the time they don't even call you to let you know you failed the test of employability. I think it's rude to leave someone wondering, especially in these times, but they don't really seem to care much about what I think. So, anyway, it didn't take long to realize that the skills I possess were not in high demand around here, and I was going to have to develop a new set. I call my mother on a regular basis telling her my ideas, and concerns about work, training, school, money, experience, confidence and so many other issues, I am surprised she still answers the phone when I call. So it goes, I consider a new path daily, and here are some of the things I have had serious conversations with my mom about. (this really reminds me of one of those letters about the snow, and how beautiful it is, and then by the end of the season the letters have changed to near suicidal tendencies over one single flake falling) When I first found out I was going to be out of a job, I was somewhat relieved. The days had become menotinous at best, and my time at work was filled with dread about what problem might arise that I would have to solve, and I usually had no staff, no boss, or even many walk in customers to talk to. It was very lonely, and depressing to the point that I literally sighed when I walked out of the door for the final time. With all this sighing and relief I neglected to consider what I might do for a paycheck from that point on, but by that time the stone was struck. I considered buying the shop, revamping, and trying it on my own, but I could not find one person who was interested in working with or for me, that had even the most basic skills in the field. So, after a few weeks in limbo, I turned away from the idea, and began the slow mental decline that a person goes through when they know they are smart, and constructive, but have no outlet to plug it in to. I cleaned my house for a while. I mowed the grass regularly. I slept in later and later. I got a computer, and discovered myspace and facebook. I pet the dogs more, and saved cats from the depravity of the streets. I painted a room here and there. In other words, I languished. I wasted away. I soon began to take the notion seriously that I was going to have to find work, and get back into a non-vampirish schedule again, for the money, for my sanity, to get my husband off my back. I applied. I applied here, and nope. I applied there, and sorry. It wasn't but a few months before there wasn't anything to apply for, and I stopped, waiting for the stars to tell me where to turn. I considered nursing school, and even went to the school to check it out. They make it so damned confusing to even get into classes that it didn't take long to weed me out. I was looking for a reason to not do it, and prayed no one would be mad at me when I announced that I just didn't want to do that for a living. My family grumbled the familiar grumble of a family that knows they went wrong somewhere, but just isn't sure what to do about it. I considered going back to school for a degree in business or even GULP! teaching, but around here, which is where I will stay forever if I want to stay married, there isn't a lot of high falutin jobs to use a business degree on, and I hate small children. (well, not hate, but I would kill myself if I was trapped in a room with them for any long period of time) And time dragged on. I did some odd jobs for friends, painting, and stuff like that, and applied for a job or two. Nothing. I thought of ten gazillion business I thought would be fun, but lacked courage, confidence, and financial freedom to test them out. Here is a list of things that have run through my head in the past several months:Simple sandwich shop (kind of like subway)window painting (like art work for holidays, sales, etc.)Ebay service and pack and ship (like on 40 year old virgin)Pawn ShopCleaning Service (organized service, with teams)Screen Printing shopI thought about dog grooming schoolI thought about nursing schoolI thought about refinishing furnitureI thought about cosmetologyNow, here I am, without any more experience than I had the day I left work for the last time, and I have made no progress towards any of these things. I don't even know if I could do any of these things. I called my mother the other day in a panic to learn how to use secretarial computer programs, just in case. I never thought much about cutting hair because I have friends that do that, and it seemed like stepping on toes, and my mom says, thanks mom, she can see me cleaning someone's house before she can see me cutting their hair. I don't know what in the world to do, but I know it has got to happen pretty fast. I am starting to feel pressured to get on with something, and I know I should, pressure or not. I took a small business cleaning job the other day to earn a few extra bucks, and get me out of the house for a day a week, and today called the lady at the crisis center and volunteered my time to work in the store selling other people's stuff they no longer want to poor people. Isn't there an answer for me? Why? What is wrong with me, that I can't get a secretarial position, or move on to something else and just go for it? I am such a frightened little mouse. Lord guide me, or friends, I don't care, just somebody guide me.

The Toilet Paper Test

The other day I went to Wal-Mart, and as usual we were out of toilet paper so I decided to stock up. I usually buy the giant pack, which I still find embarrassing no matter how old I get. So I pushed my three wheeled cart (only three wheels work on any Wal-Mart cart) to the TP aisle, and started grinding my teeth over which brand to buy. I squeezed the Charmin, and counted the sheets in the Angel Soft pack, but then it dawned on me that I should just get the cheap stuff. You know, one ply, Scott. We just wipe our business end with it any way, and throw it down the toilet. None of it's cheap for the cause, but I figured this was a place I could really save us some money. We use the same amount of twirls on the roller regardless of how heavy duty the paper anyway. I am not usually so thrifty. I don't try to blow money, but I won't usually skimp on groceries. These days however, I have been jobless, half by choice, and half by pure bad luck, for 7 months, and figure penny pinching is my way of pitching in. I realize now that I should have stuck with college, got a real career, and all that. I am feeling bad about my predicament, but feeling bad or taking online courses is not going to buy fancy toilet paper, so here I am buying cheap toilet paper. I am too smart to have let myself be in this position, but here I am, nonetheless, wishing as usual I could take that coveted time machine trip. We do ok, kind of, but there are times when I want to be a Charmin Ultra girl instead of a Scott 1 ply girl. I applied for a job the other day, but in order to get an interview, I had to take an online personality profile test. I answered honestly, and failed it. Oh Lord! This is a blow to one's self esteem. I can tell you right now, the postal exam has this personality thing on it too, and it is completely retarded. I did however pass the postal exam. I have tried for five years to get a job in the post office here, which is severely understaffed, according to the superiors, but can not even seem to get my foot in the door. I'm surprised they even let me buy stamps. People seem to be whizzing about all around me, and I know I should be doing something, but what? If any of you know of a rewarding career for me in this dang town, let me know. Please. I would like to buy a ticket for that time machine trip too, if any of you know where those are being sold. I guess til then the only kind of tickets I will be buying are the kind you wipe your butt with. By the way, my husband did get on to me fairly harshly for the cheap toilet paper. He says it's like wiping with air. Too bad for him I got the biggest pack they had. Just for that, and for other complaints he has made recently, I mended one of his favorite shirts with a new sleeve button today, a hot pink one. Hope he likes it!

Red Dog Poo and Gray Car Interior

Good Valentine's to all of my myspace friends! Time for a funny? Laugh at my expense, like usual, it's ok. On Wednesday of this week, my Uncle who lives in Perryton 30 miles from my home asked me to do him a big favor and pick his dog up from the vet and bring her home because she had already spent one unnecessary night there, and he was not going to have time for her that day either. He was going to pay me an undisclosed sum of money to do this for him, and I accepted. I had never met this little dog, and was nervous about her trying to get away from me or something, so when I picked her up (along with a box of heart worm pills and some instructions) I did not let her run around before I loaded her into my gray interior auto. I put her in the back, and closed the hatch. She was very still, and laid right down on the giant empty feed sack I had used as a floor guard should she puke or something. Off we went. 30 miles, not far. We had travelled approximately 10 or 15 miles when I smelled a dog fart, no, not a fart, worse! I wheeled into a lease road ASAP, and ran to the back of my car to survey the scene. When I opened the door, she jumped out, and what I saw all over the gray carpet, and not even a little on the sack, was a whole bunch of bad stuff the color of this blog! Remember, gray carpet. I just kind of ignored the poor dog, who was convinced a whipping was coming in her future. I ran back to the console to get the Kleenex and baby wipes I keep for tiny spills or runny noses, and went back to try to do something about the mess. I flung Kleenex all over that road, and only got the top layer, or what I could actually pick up, which wasn't much. I had it on me, and had to clean up my own self before moving on. The dog was not wanting to load back up, and I am sure thought I was going to whip her good, but after trying for a while, she finally came to me, and I put her back on the UNUSED sack for the rest of the trip. I was nearly in tears the rest of the way, but dropped her off and raced to the local Alco Discount store to get some products. I was in a real hurry. I was on the clock. This color could do permanent damage, and I knew time was of the essence. The first guy in line at the check out had only a few items, but the lady checking out was not in any kind of a hurry, and actually appeared to be reading the labels on his stuff before she scanned them. He paid with a debit. Well, wouldn't you know it, the freaking card machine would not read it. She needed assistance from a super genius person about 30 feet away, and this lady was not in a hurry either. I am close to panic. She finally moseys over, and it won't work. The guy is just standing there, and they are looking at him like what should we do, and he is knowing my eyes are two people back burning holes in his stupid credit card. Suddenly, the machine came to life, and out whizzed a receipt, and off he went, 15 minutes later. Febreeze is heavy in bulk. Then the next lady right in front of me steps up to bat. She has a few things, and again the lady appears to CHECK out the stuff. When the last beep had gone off, the lady writes out a check, slowly, and hands it over. Nope. They need to see an ID, and she doesn't have it on her. OK, I am about to blow! Flippin' retard, who tries to write a check these days without an ID? She is going to have to go home to get it. In all this time, the little scummy group manager lady has not offered to help one soul on that store with their goods, and I could have used it, would have paid extra! Well, I am thinking they are going to have everyone wait for this dumb dumb to go to her house, but she finally asks Group manager lady, with 6 plastic children's hair clips in her ugly hair, to come help her clear the register. She looks like that lady on Throw Momma From the Train and Goonies. Anyway, I had been standing in line now for 30 minutes, or close to it with: 1 jug of Cheer detergent, 1 large bottle of Woolite pet stain remover, 2 cans of Febreeze air effects, 1 spray bottle of Extra strength febreeze for fabric, and one large box of Sham Wows. My hands were breaking, and my heart was breaking with the thought of the permanent orange stains I knew I could not live with. She finally cleared out the register, and said "Sorry". She read my stuff too, and I paid IN CASH, $42, and left in a hurry. I drove to my dad's house and began the gruesome task. It was awful. I scrubbed, and cussed, and used those ShamWows. They really do work. That pet stain stuff was pretty good too, under the circumstances. After about an hour or so, I was as satisfied as I was going to get. I drove home and recapped my day in my mind. You know, I never ask how much. Never. It never occurred to me to ask my uncle how much he was going to pay me. He was family, no sweat, right? No good deed ever goes unpunished. Lesson learned. Always put a large and not special blanket down for a dog fresh from the vet, and always let them run around a bit before loading them. I know dogs, and I failed this test. People, pay attention, BLANKET-RUN AROUND. Got it? thanks for reading. Til next time.

Hair: Orange or Black

Every other month or so, I get to thinking I need to do something about the crunchy, unruly gray hairs that I have been plagued with for half my life. I must say, the past few years have seen quite a few more grays emerging, which makes it even more necessary to do SOMETHING about them. I don't really mind it so bad, I mean, it doesn't hurt or anything, but the world minds, and most people don't mind telling you they spot your big ugly flaw. When I start to feel like it is making me look 40 instead of the whippersnapper 35 that I am, I zip down to the store, and begin the task of choosing the new color of the month. My goal, while rarely met, is to find a color that mimics that of my youth, but normally what happens is a look of a person trying to recapture their youth instead, which never works out. I have been black, red, and even a weird orange headed many times, and while often, it is tolerable, about 1 out of 5 times, I am left holding the box up to my head wondering what the hell happened! Right now, in an effort to not look old, I instead look like I am going to join a vampire cult. Medium brown, uh, is more like, um, darkest brown possible. I hate gray hair, mostly because of the horrible texture, but I wish the color was more acceptable. I hate my hair, my wrinkles, my stretch marks, my cellulite, my fat rolls, my old lady teeth, and all my older saggier thingies, but why do I listen to the voice of the world for all the reasons to hate myself, and shut out the world when I am looking for reasons to love myself? I am constantly on a mission to see people I know and compare their faces and bodies to mine for comfort or contemplation. Often it is more like a hurt-good because not everyone looks old yet, and many are self motivated to exercise, unlike me. I swear looking at old friends is like touching the sore end of a fingernail that has been clipped too close. You hate it, but keep messing with it anyway wincing every time you cause yourself pain. Yes, gray hair is ugly, and just keeps being there, wrinkles just get worse, and the rest of this shit is just waiting to die, but I feel like all my efforts are for everyone else, and only serve to make me feel like a circus freak half the time. I don't want to look old, but I am starting to realize that the choices of bozo the clown red, I want to suck your blood black, I want to suck something besides your blood platinum, and everything unnatural in between, are not helping us look like spring chickens. There is even something kind of "old lady" and crazy about a bad dye job. I inevitably miss a few streaks in the back too, which looks especially nice when you go quite a bit darker than last time. Not exactly highlights when it is on one side and only in the back. Most of the people I know who insist on coloring, or in some cases, removing color, go too far, and think they are really looking chic. It does not look natural ladies, and, like I said, the more unnatural, the more desperate and straw graspish we look. I think there comes a point where hiding or disguising things starts to age us more than the dread thing we are hiding or disguising does. You can just see Daffy duck standing in front of a large door, arms and legs splayed, saying "There isn't anything old or unattractive in here!". When I see someone who has obviously bleached or overly dyed their hair, I immediately think of hookers and the kind of nut jobs on Rock of Love, or people who were pretty when they were younger, but have aged, and can't live with it. You can not hide it when you are 35 instead of 25, or 60 instead of 40, so we should look the best we can for our age without going overboard. I am wanting the natural look to be in style whatever your age. Remember perms? Who do you know that those worked out for every time?? that's right, a bad fad, just like bleaching and dying. It is hard to let go of the things we "think" look good on us. Habit I suppose. It's a good thing we didn't get so hung up on tight rolling the bottoms of our jeans, right? I don't know why I keep doing it, dying, not tight rolling, I never think it looks good on anyone else either. You know, sometimes my gray hair is screaming to be noticed, sometimes my stretch marks peek out from under my shirt, my wrinkles get more pronounced in this damned dry weather, and saggy things? don't even get me started. Please love me the way I am. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to love myself without other people noticing my flaws too. Can't we just pretend we don't see these things? Besides, I was hotter than hell, too, when I was 19 and 20, ask my husband, I bet he remembers, and would probably remember the old me as fondly as I do.

Car Doors and the Assholes That Use Them Against Me

The other day my TV went out. That sucks because I have had it since high school, and I really thought I was something special when I received it for my 17th birthday. Anyway, I had to replace it right away, as we just don't do well without entertainment in the form of moving pictures. I loaded up my 12 year old, all our combined Christmas money, and headed off for Amarillo to pick out a new tube (I realize now that they are not tubes any more). We did not do much besides shop for our new TV A. Because I had not made a deposit the week prior, therefore we had no money to spend via debit, and B. I just hate the crowds of cities, and hate after Christmas bargain hunters even worse. I would not have been there on a bet if my poor precious Zenith had not gone limp the night before. I was prepared to shop for a good price though, and we went to several stores. At the fifth place we looked we found one, and bought it. When I go shopping these days, I never like to leave big ticket items in plain view in the car and go shopping in other stores. In a Tahoe, there is no other option, so when my son wanted to go to one little store before leaving town, I parked as close to the door as possible, ignoring my own rule about parking five hundred miles away and alone to avoid parking lot accidents. When we got out of the car, my son commented on the funny little blue Ford Focus parked on our right. They are funny little cars. We went in and shopped for just a few minutes, and returned to the car. We were in a bit of a hurry to get home so we pulled into a drive through to get something to drink, and off we went. When we got back to town, we stopped by our own little store so I could get a little connector thing for the new TV. When I came out, I saw it. There on the right front fender of my pretty white car was a dent where my paint had been removed and had been replaced with Ford Focus blue! I was sick about this. What the hell? This person was parked far enough from me that my son had no trouble at all getting out of our car without hitting theirs. I guess they must be mighty powerful because they used a hell of a lot of force when they opened their ugly blue midget door into my white baby. The point of the story is that it pisses me off that people are so careless and hateful that they didn't even stop to think about damaging my property when they slung their door open, and because it was a piece of shit, they probably didn't care what it did to their car, if anything. I am going to park next to only new cars or far from others from now on. People in new cars are more careful than others, in general. Be careful when you get out of your cars, and make your kids be cautious too. The parking lots are small, and it isn't fair for people to have to leave a mile between them and the doors in the winter. I hate Ford Focuses! I hate blue too! I hate rude oblivious people, and I really hate the big blue ding in my car, that will cost me a $250 deductible to fix! I am going to memorize the license plates of people I park next to from now on, but I intend to be more careful. I just wish everyone else would too! Happy New Year! Know your limits.