Are You and Your Retarded Bouffant Fucking Kidding Me?

As result of staying up too late, I happened to catch an infomercial on what is likely the most idiotic accessory ever. Now, I didn't say anything when you tried to sell me the purse that comes with snap-on magnetic covers so I can have "7 different styles in one!" (actually I was mildly intrigued), the most realistic looking vagina sex toy in the world (well, that probably wasn't aimed at me, anyway) and lord knows I love a good lesson in learning how to make guacamole with the Magic Bullet, but Bumpits?

I'm probably going to say this more than once, but if you look like this:


then you look like a fucking idiot. I don't care that every twit working in the salon has her hair just like this and you paid $40 to get it (or just $19.99 with $7.95 shipping and handing), you look ridiculous. Remember the 80's hair? Remember how we made of fun of our parents? You are doing the same thing for this generation. It is going to be your fault that my grandchildren are going to laugh at me and ask be if I looked that stupid (you and those Croc people).

I'm genuinely curious to know what sort of girls think this deformed, hair covered tumor look is appealing. Not only that, but in the event that someone actually finds this get-up attractive, will it not ruin the mood when he finds bits of plastic not unlike Legos lodged into your nest?

This one goes out to Sarah Palin and Kate Gosselin. Put a book on your head for awhile.

Smiple, Smiple, Smiple! - Take That, Spell Check!

Bare with me (or bear, whichever you prefer), this is my first entry I've ever made without having a topic in mind beforehand. I'm just going to meander my way through this. Feel free to come along.

A couple things spring to mind. 1) Who puts a stupid blizzard in Minnesota right before finals week? and 2) Haven't they figured out Christmas lights YET? Hmm, I seem to be feeling very passionate about that at the moment; let's go with that.

You would think that with all the technology we've come up with (I'm not going to list any examples, because honestly I'm not all that up to date with my technology, although I do recall seeing a commercial for a car that could parallel park itself awhile back) that they...'they' being the Official Christmas Light ... Committee (yeah!) would figure out how the dickens to get Christmas lights to actually work for more than one holiday. Every year, I take out tangles of lights and plug them in, only to find that half of the white ones, two danglies on the dangly ones, and the ugly green ones are the only ones that work. Then I set up the ugly green ones, smile with satisfaction, and them promptly kill the Christmas spirit in my house by accidentally slamming the cord in the sliding glass door. Do they have high tech Christmas lights that still work after one of the little bulbs breaks? Because it's sounds really freaking simple to me, yet I'm never seen it. (curious...I've just accidentally types 'smiple' and spell check hasn't said a peep about it.) Anyway- the end of the story is that the Christmas Spirit is dead in my house.

I really don't feel like talking about the blizzard anymore. Except maybe, to say that the Weather Channel is here in Fargo. I found it slightly amusing that our regular reporter is literally wearing a ski mask, goggles, and a furry Elmer Fudd-like hat, urging all Minnesotans and North Dakotans (I'm not quite sure what they'd like to be called...maybe North Dakotians?) to "repeat, STAY INSIDE" one minute and then telling us exactly where the Weather Channel folks are reporting live so we can come and meet our favorite reporters the next, then showing images of a few idiots trekking through the blizzard to come meet the WC crew. (see, I cal them that because I'm not impressed by them. Too cool for school, this one)

Ack. This diversion sucked. Back to my report on Degas and my brainstorming on my self-portrait which I don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't want to DO!

Moral of the Story- Don't Put Makeup on Monkeys

Everyone has a horrible haircut story. I'm happy to say that this story isn't so much about how bad the haircut was as much as how bad the haircutTER was. The hair- not so bad. Don't worry about the hair. I know you're all worrying.

So this college student decided to let another college student cut her hair and trekked from the photography department over to the cosmetology department. A coworker recommended someone who was just a week or so away from graduation so I assumed (wrongly, as you might has guessed) that all would be well.

Let me preface this next thrilling part of the story by mentioning an assignment I had earlier in the semester. A small group of us had to go around the college taking photojournalism shots and ended up in the cosmetology department figuring as they seemed to be the most narcissistic group in school (plus the dairy guys were kind of mean) we'd get plenty of shots. Enter R. (name withheld to protect identity): probably the scariest looking human being I've ever seen in real life. Mind you, not naturally scary; the scariest looking human being who made themselves look that way on purpose. I wouldn't want to know the details of her morning routine, but I imagine it goes something like this:

• Grind old fashioned shaving brush into Wet N' Wild dark maroonish blush

• Grind said blush onto cheeks intensely until face is about to bleed

• Crookedly draw lip liner onto lips with an unflattering brownish color ¼” outside of natural lip line- attempt to fill in.

• Draw same color onto forehead to make eyebrows appear where they seem to have fallen off beforehand.

• Last but not least- apply liquid eyeliner is the most cartoonish fashion so far past eyes that it makes friends with fake eyebrows.

Of course, I start thinking about this girl (who honestly would SCARE small children) while I'm sitting there, toying with my bra-strap length hair, chuckling (yes, I chuckle) at the thought of my co-worker recommending this girl. Just as I decide if it turns out to be Scary Spice, I'm going to leave- guess who walks up, smacks her gum at me, raises those unholy crayon eyebrows and calls my name. (yes, I know you've guessed by now, you're all smart like that, but keep reading...I'm putting off a paper to write this...AND I've turned off Scrubs)

By the way, Scary Spice is also Grumpy Spice and the Nonpersonality Spice (Spell Check tells me I've been being very creative with my words throughout this story but I told it that it's not the boss of me). At this point, I'm still under the impression that this girl's name is Jessica and I'm wondering which foot I'm going to kick my coworker with. While clown girl (I have an array of names for her...I'm sure her friends do too. And people who see her in the street) is washing my hair and grunting at me in her non-personalityish way, I mistakenly look up at her, first in horror, then in amazement that a) she does this on purpose, and b) nobody stops her, and finally I look at her in amusement. Yes, I start laughing. And I'm usually not such a mean person, sincerely. You can be the most naturally fucked up looking person in the world and I'll be nice- but if you guys had seen this girl you would HAVE to agree that she at LEAST deserves a “wtf?!” face. At the very least.

Anyway- so throughout the hair wash/cut, I'm trying to stifle my laughter and I do so by making conversation. Turns out Scary Spice is half deaf and incredibly stupid. To every single thing I said, it was, “Huh?” [repeat] “Oh...uh huh....what?” [repeat while shrugging shoulders in a 'what's the point?' manner] “OH YAH!” She kept “OH-YAH!ing things she had no clue about and no reason in the world to say OH YAH! to.

This seems almost like a side note, but I have to mention she didn't seem to know what she was doing with my hair. I went in with my hair naturally curly/wavy without any product, told her my hair was naturally that way and she still asked halfway through “So do you perm your hair?” Another thing I have to mention is that I loved my hair. It was long, dark, layered, and wavy/curly. I loved it. It was just damaged a few inches on the end and I thought I would do something different for the first time in years instead of just a trim. I asked for a longer angled bob with layers. She gave me a nonbob that wasn't at all noticeably angled and when the instructor checked her work and said “Oh, no layers?” she says, “Crap. I forgot...do you want layers?” when the salon had just closed. And no, she wasn't nervous, new, or inexperienced- she's graduating!

Oh well. At least I was occupied by planning out this blog entry in my head- otherwise I would have started crying when the stupid tiny pretty little blonde cosmetology student next to me let took the hot rollers out of her hair and ran her fingers through the hair cascading down her back and I realized this idiotic deaf clown had just chopped off my hair. (that's the line I planned while I was sitting there!) But then I would have stopped crying because I saw her put her over teased hair into a ridiculous looking 6” bouffant. Maybe it's not just the clown; maybe it's all of them.

P.S. I saw the clown in Wal-Mart yesterday and my 5-year-old (who has never seen her) pointed at her in confusion and said, “Mommy?...look.”

By the way- I don't have a monkey. I didn't borrow one and put makeup on it. I don't think that's a very nice thing to do.

Sorry, Pilgrimmies

As we all know by now, Christmas season begins November 1^{st, cool!! I can write tiny!}, Thanksgiving will be obsolete by 2020, and Black Friday will soon be on the calender if not already. Instead of resisting and bitching about how upset pilgrims would be if they only knew what the world was coming to, I decided to go with the flow and get in the Christmas spirit. I actually got really excited for Christmas, forgetting about Thanksgiving and now that a major holiday just passed, I keep fucking forgetting that Christmas hasn't happened yet! It totally screwed me up. I felt like we just had a big holiday hurrah and I get confused seeing Christmas stuff on tv. No more planning for one holiday when there's still one in the way.

But slowly, I've been getting back on track, getting a few presents, fretting about money (it's just not Christmas if you don't sigh/growl at the cashier “Ugh, Christmastime, huh?!”). I've even noticed that the Old Navy holiday commercials aren't bothering me nearly as much as they should. This Friday I even get to wear a Santa hat and work in Santa's Workshop taking photos of screaming kids on his lap. Look at me being all jolly. Truthfully, I'm actually more excited for tax season than Christmas, though. Sad, huh? I'll even settle for Financial Aid disbursement at school.

Your Fucking Walrus Can't Play the Trumpet

All week, Inside Edition has been building up anticipation and showing previews of this miraculous trumpet playing walrus from Turkey. Who wouldn't be excited? Sea creatures playing horn instruments?! Whoo! Well, when I say all week, I mean Tuesday and maybe Monday. When I say anticipation, I kind of mean annoyance at the idea of Inside Edition trying to trick me into believing a SEA CREATURE could play a trumpet. Regardless, I sat through a half hour of Britney Spear's birthday bash teasers and news about some idiot sports guy who shot his own leg in a bar and got arrested.

While I was scoffing (which I do quite often) at the idea of the Turkish trumpet playing walrus, the reporter referred to the video as “the footage to prove it!”. I put the scoffing on pause, thinking there may possibly be actual footage that would prove the thing was actually playing. Wanna know what I saw? A video of a walrus grasping a trumpet and swaying back and forth while the speakers played bouncy trumpet music and the trainers clapped along in a very animated and quite gay fashion. For 6 seconds. YOUR FUCKING WALRUS CAN'T PLAY THE TRUMPET! I'm inclined to use the word imbeciles. I will. YOU IMBECILES.

You're Bothering Me Again Listerine...

Mouth sounds. Not great. Listen up, Listerine Vibrant White Rinse- don't make an entire commercial out of people swishing shit back and forth in their mouths to the tune of “chicka-chick chicka-chick chicka-chick.”

I don't freaking like it. Really bad. ERRR! And while I'm at it, Yoplait, I've developed quite an annoyance and watching people make out with their yogurt spoons. STOP IT.

Karma's Bitch

As a ferocious believer in Karma, I understand that good things happen to those who put good things into the universe and bad things happen to those who put shitty things out into the universe. Very simple, but if any of you need further assistance, feel free to use the following examples. Say you help pick up someone's groceries after they've dropped them: good karma may come back to you in the form of getting the very last copy of the newest Harry Potter book on the shelf (although I truly believe that Harry Potteresque karma is so great and only to be doled out when one has been very, very good). Another example would be having your phone drop in the toilet, only moments after you've shoved past the wheelchair bound elderly person to race to the roomy bathroom stall. Easy enough to follow, right?

Lately, it hasn't been so simple for me. While I don't have any concrete examples of good karma to speak of, like a receipt for a charitable donation or a volunteer name tag at the local hospital, I just try to be good to others in general and hope that it's enough. Since I've recently moved to a new town, I've been busy with my new job, new apartment, new classes, and new elementary school for Ayva. With all these new people, I've been doing my best to be polite, helpful and smile often, even if it's the fakey smile that makes my face hurt. So, (I know it's poor grammar to begin a sentence with 'So,', but I really think that rule should be revisited; sometimes there is just no other choice. 'Therefore,' just doesn't work in all cases.) when I found $24 on the floor by the carryout counter in Pizza Hut, I chalked it up to a karmic reward. I wrestled with whether or not to keep it for awhile, with factors like who saw me pick it up and how long I had to wait for my pizza weighing in. After deciding the two soccer moms behind me gossiping furiously about their kids' new teacher didn't see me pick up up, I told myself that as long as no one came looking for the money while I waited for my pizza, I would keep it. No one came. In fact, I even got an extra order of bread sticks, which was another situation where I had to decide if I should keep my 'reward' or give it back.

Knowing that this wasn't such a clearcut case of good karma coming back to me, I asked my 5 year old (who is very familiar with the idea of Karma after being told many times, “So what? That's Karma for you.”) if she thought it was a reward or a test. After she very thoughtfully told me that it was a test and she knew the answer (to feed it to Froggy, her piggy bank, who, incidentally, was 'starving'), I figured that the following days' events would give me the answer and until then, I would not spend the money.

It seems that Karma immediately kicked in, starting with dropping the pizza on the ground not 10 minutes out of Pizza Hut and continued throughout the weekend. Some of Saturday's events include getting lost and taking an almost hour-long detour on the way to the Mall of America, being accosted by a giant plush shark mascot who seemed to follow me throughout the mall, urging me to explore Underwater Adventures, having nothing fit in the way of dress pants, which was the sole reason for the travel to the Mall, not getting out of the mall until 10 pm when it closes at 9:30, which, of course, caused me to lose to $5 deposit on the rented stroller that had to be back at 9:15, not having time to get new shoes or go bra shopping and being stranded on the 3^rd floor in front of a closed Nordstrom's with no way to get the stroller down the stairs besides dragging it down two 'no strollers' escalators, walking halfway around the mall to get to our parking ramp, taking two elevators up only to circle the ramp for 20 minutes without the slightest clue as to how to escape from the parking ramp, getting lost once again by taking 77 South instead of North for 20 minutes, taking two more detours that added on another 45 minutes, and of course, the grand finale of being pulled over 20 minutes from home for 'driving suspiciously'.

Now is where I toss it over to you. Was I being punished for failing Karma's test and taking the $24 or was it all just a coincidence? “I don't believe in Karma” is a boring answer and makes your face look boring. I might even call you a boring loser. Or not. That could be bad Karma.

If it helps you decide, I'm also pretty sure I vacuumed up the diamond earrings my mom gave me for Mother's Day. Cheers.