I Chopped Off a Foot…Twelve Inches of Hair

Image from Pantene's Website

I keep waiting to feel sad, but it’s just not happening.  My friends who’ve already done this warned me that I’d be sad.  I’ll cry, they cautioned, it will take awhile to get used to the change.  The latter part is true for sure, but not in a negative way.  I’m chronically squeezing out too much shampoo and then too much conditioner.  As someone raised as a Lutheran Scot in the Midwest, I definitely feel guilty about that waste, but not sad.

A week and a one-half ago, I cut off twelve inches of hair which I donated to the Pantene Beautiful Lengths Program.  This program’s mission is to provide wigs to women who lose their hair due to cancer treatments.  (I considered donating to Locks of Love, which makes wigs for children.  However, most LoL recipients suffer from alopecia and cancer is a more personal cause for me and my family.  I looked into both organizations and both are solid causes.)  The last time my hair was this short, I still had baby teeth and Mr. Reagan was clamoring for Mr. Gorbachev to “tear down that wall.”  It’s clearly been awhile.  I did maintain enough length that my hair is roughly at my shoulders and I can pull it back into a perky (short) little ponytail.  Still, it feels kind of crazy.  I reach back to touch it all the time, to make sure it’s there, but it’s also not all there.

Five Good Things

1.) My produce market randomly had a fantastic selection of prime produce yesterday.  Mango, blueberries, peaches, asparagus, and CORN ON THE COB all will be devoured by me this week – in addition to the usual spinach, apples, and grapefruits.  I am pumped. 

2.) The antithesis of produce and my guilty pleasure, Stouffer’s mac ‘n cheese, is on sale at Walgreens this week.  I clipped a coupon for that too.  For some reason (my Scottish background?) I feel LESS bad about eating (delicious) crap when I buy it on sale.

3.) More on this later, but I had a major haircut and do not feel frustrated with the change.  I feel like I have a lot less hair.

4.) Fraggle Rock is on On Demand.  Heck yeah, I’ll dance my cares away.

5.) My new book club starts soon.

Eleven in ’11 – Sports and “Sports”

It’s important to have goals in life.  I think having goals – and working towards them – can be more important than the details of what the actual goals are.  Last April, I decided I needed a goal.  I also needed more fun in my life.  I married the two and created a FUN GOAL for myself, which I christened “Brewery Tourery, Ten in ’10″ as it involved going on ten tours of beer breweries before 2010 ended.  It was tight, but I made it.  Several of my friends went on brewery tours as well; some even joined me more than once.  I’ve been asked by a few people what my goal is going to be for this year.  I’m still a fan of increasing the fun in my life, so 2011′s quest needs to be supportive of that. 

In 2011, I am going to watch eleven sports/competitions of some physical/athletic nature and then either play or try some aspect of the skill or sport – possibly adapted for practicality or increased fun.  For example, I could go to the roller derby and then roller skating (ala my seventh birthday party) or to a basketball game and then hit a court at the local park with some friends.  Each sport only counts once, but I am counting any level – i.e. for baseball I could go to a Little League game or an MLB game.

First event is next week!  (Starting in April was a poor choice, particularly when I experienced lapses in time and/or motivation.)

Five Good Things

This is late as it’s been a busy week – at work, with volunteering, and with my fun life.

1.) I leave for vacation in 36 hours – hooray!

2.) While I am still not a dating champ, I went on an accidate over the weekend.  Unlike my last accidate, this one involved a really good dinner, delicious wine, and a special beer.   While I didn’t mean to go out with the fellow and don’t intend to go out with him again, this is progress.  (He doesn’t know I have a blog and I am not going to detail why, so that makes me feel like it is okay to say this and that.)

3.) I have rediscovered my love for long spandex – applicable only for working out, thanks. 

4.) I am in charge of organizing a number of things (and people) for different and distinct purposes.  They are pretty much all very cooperative.

5.) T-minus four days to delicious food: Mexican, cheese, ice cream, mulled wine, cake, cookies, donuts, bacon, juice, candy, beer, mmm…

My Head Shows My Age

I “did” my hair a little differently than usual today, which meant some normally hidden hairs made their way to the top layer.  My normally response to non-conformist hairs is to pull them out.  Today, however, they received a reprieve as I was tired and their numbers were strong.  Instead, I am going to try to remarket them to myself.  Here are some ideas:

1.) Sparkly hairs – sort of like hair glitter for the over-30 crowd.   (Except I had my first sparkly hair in eighth grade.)

2.) SHINY hairs – who doesn’t like shiny things?  Shiny like money or jewelry.

3.) Open-minded hairs – let the top of my head be a symbol of racial equality.

4.) Way to get a bus seat hairs - the sign says to stand for the elderly.

I think I might be onto something.  Interestingly, the chemicals from hair coloring did not inspire any of these ideas.  I am just not ready to go there.

Rumors Around the Bottle Warmer…

At work, we sometimes hang around the traditional water cooler, but more often we cluster around the bottle warmer. The word around the warming milk (and the train tracks…and the board books…and the half-eaten crayons…) is that EVERYONE HAS A BELLY BUTTON. Breaking news, I know.

Since the discovery of navels is new and novel, there is some concern that they might not be a permanent. Ergo, the munchkins have appointed themselves Keeper of the Belly Buttons, performing frequent spot checks to insure that no navel absconds. In practical terms, this means that at any place and at any time, a little person might lift my shirt and poke for my belly button. In addition to finding my belly button, there’s also a fair amount of belly (no button) that I hide under my shirt.

Dissatisfying Food

I have TEH RAGE right now, so decided to do some stress eating.  The following foods are not satisfying for rage-induced stress eating: bananas, yogurt, root beer floats, cheese curds, Wheat Thin crackers.

I need some beef jerky and one of those chocolate oranges that you “whack and unwrap” – GRRRRR!!!!

Television Viewing

I don’t enjoy not being good at things and I am not good at watching television.  It seems like an odd thing to fail at, but I’m actually good at failing at it.

I invested some free time in practicing watching TV, and as a result am less bad at it.  I mostly watch sports, news, “news,” cartoons, and cooking shows – i.e.  commitment-free TV.   The commitment to a program is where I struggle most.   (I do have a DVR, but it is still a time issue and is also not the same.   Spoilers make me angry too, which does not help.)  In terms of programming that requires a commitment, I’m making progress with ”The Next Food Network Star.”  I definitely have my favorites and sort of wish it was the sort of show that allowed viewers to call in, except for the part where that would change the show.

We’ll see how it goes.   I figure if I don’t make it to the end, eventual commercials (or the internet) will inform me as to whom wins OR I can joyfully live in ignorance where my favorite wins and a bunch of confetti and balloons drop around her.

Happy Mothers’ Day (apostrophe location intentional)

My blog plan for today was to teach y’all about what I considered a common grammatical error: Mothers’ Day v. Mother’s Day.  I am firmly in the camp that the former has its apostrophe in the proper place.  I got myself all revved up to educate the masses and was collecting information to prove exactly how right I am and how wrong said masses are.  Unfortunately, it turns out that *I* am who one who is incorrect.  I don’t like that; I don’t like it one bit.  In addition to my general distaste at being “incorrect,” I think the convention is wrong – not just grammatically, but conceptually. 

Apparently when Anna Jarvis founded Mothers’/Mother’s Day her intention was for “each family to honor their own mother.”  I mean, that’s all well and good, but let’s step away from that isolated utopia and her early 1900s plans.  It’s a limiting and exclusive definition, particularly to a demographic (motherless folks) who often already feels excluded.  I was fortunate to have a great mom and it really blows that she is no longer physically here.  However, I am also fortunate in that there are other strong women in my life, to whom I can turn and who encourage me to grow and become a better person.  These women aren’t my mom, but they fill aspects of that role and some of the void.  Most are mothers, just not mine.  I think it’s bogus to suggest that I should neither honor nor thank them today.  I am not trying to devalue the horrors of childbirth; I am trying to value the love, kindness, and compassion inherent in mothering – particularly towards a child of choice.

Next Time I’m Not Going to Comment

Admittedly, my 21st birthday feels a lifetime ago, and in a lot of ways – it was.  I was a full-time student, lived in a different state, filled my car’s tank with gas twice per week, had a cat, worked a casual job ten hours per week, planned to enter a field completely void of children, ate a full cooked breakfast at least six times per week, wore tapered jeans when the clean-clothes pickings were slim…Gosh are none of those things accurate these days.  (Especially false is the tapered jeans thing; they all went to charity by my 22nd birthday.)

I like to think I look young for my age, and feedback tends to reflect that this is not me being delusional.  (I do hold other delusions about my physical appearance.)  I don’t think I look under 21 though, and that would probably qualify as a delusion.  Anyway, I was buying wine for a dinner the other day and the cashier asked to see my id.  It was a day on which I felt particularly old and ornery.  This brightened my day, so I replied (as only old people such as myself do) “Thanks!”  He looked back at me and decided to clarify, “Oh, you totally look over 21, but I’m required to id anyone that looks under forty.  You look under forty.  Are you over forty?”

Next time I am just going to assume I am looking particularly young and vibrant and NOT make a comment.  I really had to put a spin on this in my mind and decided that he pegged me as over 21 due to the fact that I don’t dress like a hussy and wasn’t buying white zin.*

*I did not dress like a hussy or buy white zin when I was 21; I was raised better than that.