Archive | June, 2008

See ya, suckahs!

28 Jun

I’m heading out for Chuck country.  Hair of awesomeness and freakish eyebrows and all!  I’ll be back here at By the lbs around July 8th, so until then, gentle readers, I bid you adieu!  Adieu!  To you and you and you!

Happy Birthday America!  You rock!!!

Oh, and one more thing…

 

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I’m swamped

28 Jun

 

Dude, it’s the pre-trip laundry.  So.  much.  laundry.

Dude, Friday Funnies!

27 Jun

 

I love this, and not just because it so aptly describes the many subtle nuances of the word “dude” (which happens to be a personal favorite of mine), but also because it brings up the point of how different a word’s meaning can be based solely on the way it is said.

One of the biggest problems with blogging is that it is often hard to know what a person is really saying just from her words.  We’re missing the intonations, the facial expressions, the body language.  Sure we try to make ourselves understood with visual cues like italics or bold type or “quotes” or even the occasional (and sometimes obnoxious) em 🙂 ticon, but even then we can still be misunderstood at times.

All of which leads me to wonder how many wars might have been prevented by a properly interpreted “dude”?

Dude.

It’s all in the eyes

25 Jun

Out of nowhere.

DynaGirl:  Mom, why do grownups wink at kids?  What’s up with the winking?

Me:  I don’t know.

DynaGirl:  Do you wink at kids?

Me:  No, but sometimes I smile.  Does the winking bother you?

DynaGirl:  No, it’s just I think it’s weird.

I’ve never really thought about it before.  What is up with the winking?  Are you a winker?

 


 

At the risk of sounding like a complete vainiac (you know with the whole hair of awesomeness thing), I had a horrifying revelation tonight.  I think my eyebrows are too far apart.  And I don’t mean like naturally.  I think I’ve gone a little pluck-happy and now I have these freakishly small/short/stubby eyebrows.  I saw a picture of myself and something seemed kind of off, and then it hit me:  what in the name of all that is good and properly tweezed is up with my eyebrows?!

And I think I remember where it all went wrong.  I was doing my usual maintenance when I accidentally plucked in a no pluck zone, but then there was this hole, see, so I had to kind of even things out.  And then of course there was the whole issue with the lopsidedness, and so I had to breach the no pluck zone on the other side, too.  I figured they would grow back quickly, I mean for crying out loud, every time I turn around I’m facing the eminent threat of unibrow.  OK, maybe unibrow is a little dramatic, but I have strong hair regrowth genes or something and there is almost a daily need of plucking at least something at least one time like at least once a day.  (I know what you’re thinking, therein lies the problem—she can’t stop with the plucking.  But that’s not it, really.)

So I’m thinking that some time between the woopsie-daisy-that’ll-grow-back and the actual growing back I kind of forgot about the whole letting that grow back thing, and I’ve been plucking my poor little eyebrow hairs thinking I was holding the line when really I needed to advance on the line because the line had retreated into the no pluck zone.  Are you following me?  And now I have freakishly widely spaced eyebrows!  And I just noticed, which means I’ve been walking around like this for heaven knows how long and I leave for the big Chuckster family reunion this weekend which is not nearly enough time to accomplish a complete and full regrowth, so I can either pretend like I fully intended to look this way and look like a total freak or I can start the regrowth process anyway and just look like a total freak with these eyebrows that have some serious density issues. 

I honestly don’t spend a lot of time obsessing over my appearance.  But this eyebrow thing is really starting to freak me out.  Everywhere I look, every tv personality or movie character, every random model in a newspaper or magazine are just a pair of eyebrows!  Eyebrows that are mocking me with their perfect normality of length and fullness!  I’m afraid to go to bed tonight—can you imagine the eyebrow related nightmares?

Don’t even bother bringing up the eyebrow pencil.  I know they exist, but I’m just not ready to go there.  And you can forget about pictures, too.  Don’t even ask.

Gee, my hair looks terrific!

25 Jun

I think I’ve been converted to the dark side.  The dark side of personal grooming in which one actually cares enough about one’s appearance to actually put forth some kind of effort.  Particularly in the hair department.  I’m a wash and wear girl.  Well, a wash and blowdry and wear because if I don’t blowdry it’s just…There are no words.  I will admit to spending about 3 minutes with a curling iron also, but only if I’m leaving the house and then only if I’m going somewhere where I think there’s the slightest chance I might run into someone I know and only if the someone I know would be someone I would care about not looking scary in front of.  I’m not sure who that someone would be, but I ready myself to the appropriate degree just in case.

Anyway, I had my hair done today—nothing major, my usual weave and a good trim with some extra little fringing action around the face.  But today instead of the usual blowdry, my sister (my oldest sister who does my hair and is the awesomest of all hair doesers) used a flat iron.  I had heard tale of these flat irons, but immediately dismissed it as something that other people do.  It seemed like an extra step of hair grooming that I was just not up for because it would be like an extra step and therefore take additional effort.  Effort.  Effort is not my middle name.  Neither is extra step.  Or hair grooming really.  But she did the extra step and holy hot dog on a stick!  My hair is like a whole other entity.  Or rather it’s no longer a whole other entity.  (Choose which ever one sounds more impressive to you.)

I don’t know how it does what it does.  But the funky wave that’s not really wavy enough to be considered a purposeful hair style choice, but too wavy to be considered attractive without some serious taming, is gone.  All the little fly away frizzies and poky wirey stray hairsies—gone.  My sister said something about a ceramic something something and an ionic something or other and a lot of other hair mumbo jumbo that I can’t even repeat because I didn’t understand.  All I can say is that I love my hair and I have commissioned my sister to procure for me one of these mysterious and magical wonders of the world that are the flat irons.  And then I will be one of the others.  But an other with fabulous hair!

Duck, duck, Goose!

24 Jun

A conversation I had with Goose while I was getting ready for the day.

Goose:  Did you used to believe in the TV makeup stuff?

Me:  What do you mean?

Goose:  You know, when they tell you it’s really good and you believe them and then buy it?

 

So I’ve thought of at least three things I could take from this conversation:

1.  I’m teaching my child to be skeptical of wild advertising claims.  Good.

2.  I’m raising my child to be a total cynic who mistrusts everything she hears.  Not so good.

3.  I shouldn’t bother putting on makeup anymore since even my 6 year old daughter can see that it’s not helping and is worried about her mother living in some kind of delusional state.  Hrrrmmmm.

Sock the Monkey to life

23 Jun

I should tell you, dear reader, that before I started this whole blogging business, I had no particular affinity for the sock monkey.  Naturally I recognized that they were their own special kind of awesome, but I never really gave them a second thought.  Until that fateful day when I announced the results of my first blog contest.  I had to admit that I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the prize would be, so I searched the internets for ideas of what might be an appropriate prize and stumbled upon the sock monkey.  Then I showed you all this and this and this and this and since then my life has never been the same.

My sock monkey post visits account for nearly 10% of my total page views, and “sock monkey” and all manner of variations thereof is by far my most popular search hit.  Obviously, with larger forces of the universe at work here, I’ve felt I’ve had no other choice than to embrace the sock monkey.  And embrace it I have.

Last week Julie sent me this link and I knew I had met my sock monkey destiny.  I made this little guy all mine:

 

Isn’t he the most precious thing you have ever seen?  (And very reasonably priced, too—bonus!)  And I have to tell you that Lisa from Mostly Monkeys is her own special kind of awesome.  She almost immediately contacted me after placing my order, thanked me and kept me updated on when my monkey should arrive, etc.  I received my monkey within 2 or 3 days, and he arrived with this enclosure:

Now if that’s not quality customer service, I don’t know what is.

So now, of course, I’m all in raptures over my new found sock monkey soul mate.  There’s just one thing preventing my complete joy—my sock monkey has no name.  And a sock monkey with no name is like a (something something) without a (something else that’s really important).  Can you help me?  Will you help me?  Will you help us?  There may or may not be something in it for you, if that helps.