Friday, April 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
DysLIKExia
I extremely dislike when other bloggers repost from other blogs; almost as much as I hate the word blog itself. Blog/blogger/blllooooggggg. It still amazes me that I included said word in my URL. Don't ask me why but the word rubs me the wrong way like sand paper on silk. I could probably pull a basket full of words that deserve to shredded and burned. Blog, phlegm, hiney, ornery... the list could go on and on.
She & Him
The She & Him CD was good but not great. There was a little too much She and not enough Him. There was a little too much repetition and not enough variety. The sound was good but not great. The vocals were good but not great. The CD was good but not great.
Its Growing On Me
A few months ago I a decided that I wanted a change in my life. Partly out of frustration and partly out of stress, I thought the best angle was to chop all of my hair off. Okay, so the beautician convinced me to stop at my shoulders but I still cut a good 9 inches off.
When I left the salon I felt satisfied and accomplished. I enjoyed the feeling of my ghost hair and avoided looking at myself in the mirror. However it wasn't until my brother told me that I looked like Anne Frank that I felt the real weight of what I had done
.
hair vs. hair
Despite the constant assurances from friends and friendly acquaintances, I began to doubt my new hair cut. While my friends said that it totally fit me, in my eyes I began to morph into a subhuman form that was ruled by the mop of hair I wore on my head. I tried different techniques to grow it out, pulling on the ends, extra conditioner, but alas my hair did not want to gain inches over night.
Moral:
As I am slowly growing it back out I am liking my new "do" more and more. For the slightest moment I have considered cutting it to my chin. I go through stages where I hate it and love it but most of the time it is the former. Lesson learned.
When I left the salon I felt satisfied and accomplished. I enjoyed the feeling of my ghost hair and avoided looking at myself in the mirror. However it wasn't until my brother told me that I looked like Anne Frank that I felt the real weight of what I had done
.
hair vs. hair
Despite the constant assurances from friends and friendly acquaintances, I began to doubt my new hair cut. While my friends said that it totally fit me, in my eyes I began to morph into a subhuman form that was ruled by the mop of hair I wore on my head. I tried different techniques to grow it out, pulling on the ends, extra conditioner, but alas my hair did not want to gain inches over night.
Moral:
As I am slowly growing it back out I am liking my new "do" more and more. For the slightest moment I have considered cutting it to my chin. I go through stages where I hate it and love it but most of the time it is the former. Lesson learned.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Cabin Fever
My tendency to procrastinate has only been exaggerated by the sudden influx of snow storms. Not that I mind. Movie marathons are the gravy to my mashed potatoes, the cheese to my macaroni. If I wasn't already on a food eating rampage, I would consider them the comfort food itself. Luckily I have an above average stash of heart-felt movies, a well-stocked TV series collection and a few bulky sweaters.
The winter season is also the time where I routinely give my thanks for being of the girl/woman/female anatomy. Against most of the morals of the feminist party, we women are often afforded a pass out of laborious snow maintenance (i.e. shoveling). Whereas some are stuck outside in an endless pile of snow, I am fortunate enough to be tucked away in a slew of blankets. All of the men have decided to take it upon themselves to dig us out of our hideaways.
Don't get me wrong, I am just as capable of lending a helping hand, in fact, it would probably help speed up the process. I just don't have the heart to take that sense of accomplishment and knighthood from them. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
The winter season is also the time where I routinely give my thanks for being of the girl/woman/female anatomy. Against most of the morals of the feminist party, we women are often afforded a pass out of laborious snow maintenance (i.e. shoveling). Whereas some are stuck outside in an endless pile of snow, I am fortunate enough to be tucked away in a slew of blankets. All of the men have decided to take it upon themselves to dig us out of our hideaways.
Don't get me wrong, I am just as capable of lending a helping hand, in fact, it would probably help speed up the process. I just don't have the heart to take that sense of accomplishment and knighthood from them. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
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