I Don't Want to be SMELLY no more!

Maliavale's recent post about deodorant got me thinking...

Do you think it's possible to build up a tolerance to deodorant/anti-perspirant? You know how, if you take too much Tylenol or Advil over a period of time, you will become more tolerant of the drug, thereby rendering it ineffective... right? Can that happen with deodorant? 'Cause I think I'm there. Either that, or my old-age-hormonal-changes are making me a sweaty, stinky chick.

I've been through the kind that rhymes with "Shove"-- although their 'real women' commercials are great, I'm not so sure that real women can actually depend on that stuff. I've been through the "Confidential" brand, too. Hate their commercials, and their product loses its effectiveness in about 30 minutes. So I went a little higher up on the deodorant food chain and tried that one about Temperature. It's supposed to be "body responsive." Yeah, right.

And Maliavale is right... depending upon the type of fabric I'm going to wear, I choose a different deodorant. Synthetic blends are just bad news! Nothing works with that stuff.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm not doing it right. Maybe I'm putting on too MUCH, and it's making things worse. Or maybe... I'm just stinky. I don't like that option. I'm going to try one more brand* (highly recommended) before I go all Matthew McConnaughey-I'm-stinky-but-I-don't-give-a-damn.


*I know I could go have my pits Botoxed, but that is just not an option. I'll go all stinky before I inject poison anywhere in my body.

My Coffee Date with -R- and her hubby, -H-

Click the picture to view a larger strip.

I had a very nice time talking with -R- and her hubby, -H-! They had some great stories, and they even suffered through the pictures of my kids (hey, I'm a mom, remember!). This was my first-ever-bloggy-friend-meeting, and I'm so glad I could spend it with these two fabulous people!

Hopefully, there will be a "next time," and I might even convince the Farm Boy to join us. Maybe we'll just plan our own midwest Bloggy conference and party it up. Who knows.

Post-Thanksgiving Observations...

1. Eating in moderation at your Thanksgiving dinner only does you good if you eat in moderation for the remainder of the week. If, per chance, you eat buttered popcorn at the movies on Thanksgiving evening, and more popcorn again Friday... and then make poor food choices Saturday and Sunday... you are going to feel like you stuffed yourself worse than a Turducken. Bad news.

2. I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow. We should get two weeks of for Thanksgiving.

3. -R- and her husband H are very cool people! :-) Since no cameras were allowed at our coffee Friday morning, I shall have to work up a comic-strip rendering later this week.

4. I am so not in the mood for Christmas music yet. Don't get me wrong... I LOVE Christmas! I'm just not ready for FOUR local radio stations to dedicate their entire programming to 24-7 Christmas tunes already. Sheesh. It's still November!

5. I have continued my tradition of staying the heck out of the stores on Black Friday. Those 5am-er shoppers are nutso. Besides, when I have a day off, there's no way in HELL I'm getting out of bed before 8am.

6. Our extended family has a tradition of going to a movie on Thanksgiving night. We've seen some really good movies each time, so it's something I actually look forward to seeing. This year, we watched The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause. I was NOT looking forward to this movie. Fifteen minutes into the movie, I fell asleep (thankfully). I woke up for the last 10 minutes. I think it was worth my eight bucks for the naptime... the movie? Not so much.

7. Unlike many other sports, no one in hockey seems the least bit concerned with blood stains on the ice. In every other sport, some dude with rubber gloves is all over it with the bleach and the biohazard-emergency-attitude. In hockey, the bleeder just skates off the ice, and they play on. It does make for some very interesting art-like patterns on the ice, though.

That's about it, I think. I'll probably be on a liquid diet for the next two days to hopefully undo some of the damage I inflicted on my system. And it's back to the grindstone until my next holiday vacation. Gah.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This is Goofy Gobbles. He wants to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving! (actually, I just want to show off my mad MS Paint skillz, but shh! don't tell!)

I'm thankful for:

1. My family- the Farm Boy, our children, and extended families

2. A roof over my head, clothes to keep me warm, and food to keep me from being hungry

3. My Bloggy friends

4. the fact that the majority of the things I rant about on this blog are truly "trivial," and that when stepping back, I know that I live a very good life

Okay, enough with the mushy stuff. I'm going to watch a little bit of the parade, and then we'll go spend time with the extended family and stuff ourselves silly. By the end of the day, I'll probably look like Goofy Gobbles.

Happy Thanksgiving! (and happy Wednesday to all of you outside the US)

Hey, You All...

There are many things I love about living nearly smack dab in the middle of this country… probably enough to fill an entire post. But there are some things that I definitely wish were different.

One of those wishes is completely ridiculous, but it’s still MY wish. I wish I had an accent. I’m not sure exactly WHICH accent I’d want, but anything would be better than my plain, flat, midwest-not-really-there accent.

Some companies like this flat non-accent so much, they base their telemarketing divisions here. I live in what very well may be the telemarketing capital of the world because of this fact. Big deal. So what? People can understand me… and, sometimes, that’s not necessarily to my advantage. *ahem*

The other disadvantage to my absence of accent is I’m very susceptible to other people’s accents. If you’re from the southern US, and you speak to me for a period of more than 5 seconds, I will immediately and most subconsciously adopt your accent. I’m not making fun of you… I promise! I can’t help it… it just happens.

I spent two weeks in Great Britain once… about a week in England and another week in Scotland. Oh, that was a FUN TRIP!!! Nearly every day, I had a new accent! The Queen’s English Proper, Cockney, Liverpoolian, Scottish brogue… I tell you, I was in heaven! (I know these aren't the actual terms for these accents. They're my terms. And this is my blog. Live with it.)

Traveling to the east and west coasts of the US is always interesting for me. I rarely pick up on a thick Brooklyn accent, although I find it absolutely fascinating. New England vowels form very easily for me, though, as do the surfer-speak and valley-speak of certain parts of the west coast.

Oh, and all you Aussies… LOVE IT. I can’t fake the way you speak, but I’m sure if I spent much time there, I would pick it up immediately. The Farm Boy agreed that our next cruise will be heading that way, so I’m most optimistic!

The odd part about where I live is that, if you drive 50 minutes south of my home, you’ll hear the southern accent start to pick up a little. My ex-husband, who was from the southern part of our state, couldn’t say “chicken” in less than three syllables. Travel about 50 minutes north, and folks get a little more Scandinavian with every vowel, don’t you know… you betcha!

So that’s it. I’m a boring articulator. But know that, if we ever meet in person, you’ll understand every word I say… and I might unknowingly steal your accent.

4 Pairs of Shears, Two Types of Clippers, Two Razors, and a LOT of Red Flags...

The Farm Boy has needed a hair cut for months. Not weeks... months. I finally convinced him today that he couldn't put it off any longer. It wasn't too terribly long-- he didn't look like he had skater hair or anything, but it was long for him. He doesn't go to the same stylist I do; he'd rather walk into a mall, see who has an opening, and take his chances. Usually, it works out okay.

Today... not so much. To be honest, the cut is actually good. It's really short, and it looks nice. But the experience is the one thing I knew I'd be posting about, and oddly enough, so did he.

We walked into the salon, asked for whoever was available, and were told it would be about 15 minutes. No problem. We walked around the mall a little bit, took a quick side trip into Vickie's Confidential Information, and arrived back at the salon in just under 15 minutes. We sat down. In the meantime, the Farm Boy told me that it was imperative I come with him and sit nearby, because he hates the kind of small talk that most hair stylists have with new or unfamiliar clients. No problem... I like to do that anyway, because then I can tell the stylist what I want for him. ;-)

About 5 minutes later, the stylist comes over to us and tells us it's going to be just a few minutes longer. She's a little weird and mysterious about it... I can't explain exactly why. She doesn't look strange, other than I'm pretty sure that shade of red lipstick takes turpentine to remove. But no big deal, right? Or is this a red flag?

Because I'm a people-watcher, she immediately strikes me as someone to observe. I watch her go back to her chair, and she asks the client in the chair to stand up. This girl's cut looks really good, but the stylist is fussing over little stray hairs.... looking very determined. She fluffs and fluffs, and then switches the part and cuts some more. Fluffs again, and switches the part again. Cut, cut, cut. Okay, so either she's really detail-oriented, or maybe she has a fussy customer. 15 minutes later (we've now waited 30 minutes total), she finishes with this client and is ready for the Farm Boy. She then spends another 5 minutes with the first customer going over the bill. We'll call this Red Flag #2.

So we walk back to her chair. And I notice she's a bit of a fussbudget. And maybe a little bit flighty. And maybe a little skittish. She keeps talking and flitting about without really saying anything or doing anything productive. Oh, boy... the Farm Boy is going to hate this. Red Flag #3.

She asks about his hair, how he wants it, and what she should do. That takes me literally 15 seconds to explain. (A little background information... he was once a military man, and he likes his hair short. It's really easy to explain what he wants, and every stylist we've ever had has been able to listen and do exactly what he wants with no problems whatsoever)

She takes him back to shampoo, and I stay in the chair. When they come back, she's giving him advice on Nioxin (yikes... he's going to be thrilled with that) and he's giving me THE LOOK. I find out later that she explained every detail to him as she was shampooing. "Now, Farm Boy, what I'm using is a peppermint shampoo." He tells me later that, apparently, the strong, pepperminty aroma wasn't enough to give that away.

She straps on a cute little holster bag with all her shears, razors, etc. I think that's pretty cool, because she seems a little absent-minded. Unfortunately, I'm right, because she keeps using some shears and then setting them on her counter... only to forget a minute later where she's put them. She wrestles with the mass of cords that is the result of curling irons, straighteners, hair dryerS, and three different types of clippers. Red Flags #4 and 5. She proceeds to use 4 different types of shears and two different clippers on him. Oh, and two different razors. Red Flags are flying all over the place!

Okay, I have to figure out how to summarize the description.... there's just too much to tell. She keeps stopping to scrutinize her work, then she finds some little stray miniscule hair somewhere, and out come the shears again. One time, she asks him if he'd like her to trim his eyebrows... and his eyebrows really aren't a problem. The Farm Boy is a good-looking guy, but a metrosexual he is not. He arrived at the mall in a leather jacket, Poker t-shirt, jeans, and brown shoes with WHITE socks (he doesn't always listen to my fashion advice). Anyone who looked twice at him would know this. She clips the brows anyway.

Let's just wrap it up with this: usually, a stylist takes the clippers to him, finishes up with some shaping (using a clipper guard) and a normal set of shears, and voila! Done in 10 minutes. 15 minutes if it's been a few months between cuts.

Today... my husband was in the chair for over 45 MINUTES. MY hair cuts WITH STYLING don't even take 45 minutes, and I have a lot more hair! Every time I thought they were finished, she'd swing him around in the chair in some hurried fashion and then obsess over some other part of his head. And each time he was facing me, his eyes would plead for me to save him. THE LOOK. Oh, and there's THE LOOK again. I had to bite my tongue just to stop from laughing my ass off.

The minute we left the salon, I lost it. I couldn't help from laughing. He just said, "Oh. My. God. That was EXACTLY what I wanted to avoid. What a psycho!" He kept going on and on about it, and I laughed all the way out to the car.

In her defense, I'm sure she's in that 'artiste' mode, and she really is pretty good, albeitSLOOOOOOWWW, at what she does. I've seen painters fuss over a piece they just can't get right. I've done the same thing with some of my cooking experiments when I can't exactly get the right flavor. I've even seen some stylists do this with MY hair. However, I think you need to read your customers and know who needs the fussing and who doesn't. Four other guys came into the same salon today to a different stylist... and were in and out in the time it took this one woman to cut the Farm Boy's hair. And as uncomfortable as it was for him, it was extremely entertaining for me. I wish I would have had my camera with me. ;-) So, Farm Boy... lesson learned? Find a barber, and make appointments. Walk-Ins may be welcome, but you pay the price. haha

I can't really do this post justice... this woman was something to be experienced. She defies written description and explanation. I'm not even sure I should post it, because it doesn't read as "funny" as it actually was.

A "Looks Like I'm Batchin' It Tonight" Friday Why Files

WHY #1: Why did I lie down last night at 8pm only to awaken at 3:30am? Wow. That was some heavy sleepin'! Farm Boy is out of town, so I guess that's okay.

WHY #2: Why don’t people listen to me when I tell them things? Honestly… if I had a nickel for every time someone has said, “I wish I had listened to you in the first place”… I’d probably have a bajillion, kajillion nickels. (and since those are made up numbers, I have no clue how to convert them to US dollars). When are people going to realize that I KNOW stuff?!?!? Gah. Incidentally, I don’t know everything, but I do know quite a lot of stuff. Seriously. Believe me, because later on, you’ll wish that you had. ;-)

WHY #3: Why would I want a “pan, a comb, and perhaps a cat?” I’m allergic to cats, but that one I can understand. The other two, though? Huh? What if I want a brush instead? And the pan? Does that mean I’m expected to cook? Puh. Leeze.

WHY #4: I know it’s a tradition, not anything new, and I’m not really asking WHY they make it... what I want to know is WHY do people actually DRINK this stuff?

The dessert sodas… sure. Great. But Turkey and Gravy soda? Pea soup soda? Excuse me. I may go retch now.

WHY #5: Why can’t we sue parents for being interminably stupid? And why do I have a sinking feeling that they’ll probably win in court anyway?

Parents sue Starbucks over child's burns (IndyStar.com)

Hmmm… it was hot chocolate. HOT chocolate. Not LUKEWARM chocolate. Nor was it TEPID chocolate.

Personally, when I go through a drive-thru and order a hot drink, I put it in the cup holder until it’s no longer nuclear. Never, and I repeat NEVER, would I pass along a hot cup of anything to a child. Period.

We must stop rewarding the morons with big settlements won in frivolous lawsuits. However, if you think about it, most often they are decided by a jury of their peers. Their peers are probably morons, too.

Don’t you wish Common Sense came in a pill? Ah, but I digress…


This concludes today’s Friday Why Files. Happy Friday!

It's a Vicious Cycle, I tell ya...

Scenario:

1. Get sick. Sleep constantly. Lose all energy and desire to be active.
2. Get misdiagnosed as depressed.
3. For one month, take antidepressants that make you so jazzed that your heart beats out of control, you can't swallow, and you can't stop shaking your legs.
4. Get prescription changed... now, all you do is sleep, sleep, sleep... even more than before diagnosis.
5. Stay on those antidepressants for 6 months.
6. Complain to doctor that you're getting worse, not better.
7. Go through multiple blood tests, sleep studies, blah, blah, blah to find out what is wrong with you. No answer. It's now been almost two years since first symptoms, and you sleep more than tree sloths. Oh, and you've gained nearly 10 lbs.
8. Switch doctors.
9. Finally get diagnosed correctly.
10. New doctor prescribes steroid treatment.
11. Gain 10 more lbs.
12. Finally have surgery, et voila! You're cured.
13. However, you're 20 lbs overweight, and your body hates you.
14. Try working out again.
15. Your back screams obscenities at you and refuses to function properly.
16. Doctor prescribes physical therapy,
17. Attend regular PT sessions for about 6 months and notice that some of the weight is even coming off.
18. PT Works! Hallelujah!
19. Start working out slowly again.
20. Increase working out steadily.
21. Your back starts its old habits again... and its swearing would make sailors blush.
22. Back goes out.
23. Spend the whole day in bed.
24. Back REALLY hurts now, and you're tired all over again.
25. Hope to hell you only have to go back to step 16.

The One Where She Jumps on Her Giant Soapbox...

Hi. I made it through November 11th (for this year anyway). I didn't disappear into some super-phantasmagorical realm or something to that effect. How do I feel about it? It wasn't really that big of a deal, now that I have the benefit of hindsight.

Worrying over something so trivial got me really thinking over the weekend: I'm scared. I'm really, REALLY scared. There are days when I feel like people are messed up to the point where we/they can no longer be straightened out.

In the past month, I listened to a bunch of people run campaigns about getting back to "values," and then proceed to spend millions of dollars to run someone else's name through the mud.

I've listened to too many news reports about the who/what/where of Tomas Crazy and his hypnotized/mind-melded fiancee's wedding; who will sing, how much her dress will cost, blah, blah, blah.

I've silently cheered at a young woman's choice to divorce the trashy, flea-bitten parasite whom she should never have married in the first place... only to then be blackmailed by same parasite if she doesn't give him more money. And I don't even like HER.

I've seen all those steps that women like Gloria Steinem paved for young women -- to be taken seriously, to be seen as human beings and not objects-- flushed down the toilet, because it's ever so much better to be sexy and act like a bimbo.

I've read tons of blogs about people obsessed with celebrities, obsessed with themselves, obsessed with ANYTHING that makes you feel good, no matter what the human cost.

And I have to be honest... I'm really distressed (quelle surprise). I worry about my kids and what they'll have to endure. I worry that NOBODY ELSE worries about what really matters anymore.

Yeah, sure... I freaked out about a number. A little bit. When it came right down to it, it wasn't on my priority thought list. It was a funny, little freaky thing that was more entertaining than upsetting.

I'm a lot more freaked out about where we'll be in a couple of years if all our country can do is to pit red states vs blue states... or push the blame for society's ills on to the "Scapegoat of the Year" .... or God forbid... allow Jessica Simpson to make another movie.

What I wish for... what I truly want... is for people to reflect upon what really matters.

...to give a little break to that idiot who just cut you off in traffic, who maybe isn't the arsehole you think she is... maybe she's not there to make your life difficult. Maybe her life is hard, too.

...to consider donating to or working at a safe house or soup kitchen... instead of griping that you have to serve both turkey AND ham at Thanksgiving this year to appease everyone.

...to stop making everything out to be a conspiracy and find a way to work together toward a common goal.

...to smile at that punk kid who skateboards over your lawn, because you might be the only person who shows him any sign of kindness today. And because you wouldn't want to live in his house.

We don't have to come together and sing Kum Ba Ya... but we do need to figure this out. Little things could make such a difference. So, why don't we do them?

Wasn't in Portland and I Wasn't In Heaven...

I’m not a superstitious person by nature. Black cat crossing my path? Pshaw. No big deal. Spilled salt? No, I’m not going to toss it over my shoulder… I’m more concerned for the poor schlump sitting behind me who might get salt in his eye if I do. I do believe in ghosts, but I’ve never seen one (as much as I love Ghost Hunters, I personally do not want a head-to-head encounter with a ghost).

BUT… (and it’s a big but)…

I’m really freaked out about this stupid 11:11 thing. There. I’ve said/typed it. Out loud. Kind of.

In my sidebar, I’ve kept a tally of how many times I’ve seen 11:11 on a clock, on a timestamp, anywhere. Counting today, I’ve seen it 23 times in just over a month. I know, I know. If you’re thinking about it, you’re more likely to see it. I know! But honestly… I’m not clock-watching just to see it. It actually surprises me when I do see it, because I am not expecting it.

This site has some 'spiritual' contexts of what 11:11 is all about.

Oh... and guess what the date is Saturday? Gah. Superstitious? No. Paranoid? Absolutely.

I know I'm making too much of this. I'm an idiot.

Anal Retentive, Obsessive, Compulsive Freaks...

Consider this...

* Got in line behind a truck at an auto-carwash today. I haven't washed my vehicle (*cough, cough* loser cruiser *cough cough*) for well over a month. The truck directly in front of me looked like it had been washed, ummm... maybe three MINUTES before. Seriously. Shiny. Clean. And he was in line for the car wash. Did I mention how clean his truck already was???

I, on the other hand, was already semi-late for an 8:00pm appointment, and I just wanted to wash the top layer of grime off my automobile. Instead, I have to wait for this guy with the sparkly, shiny clean truck to go through the wash. No, he did not choose the Basic Wash. No, he did not choose the Premium Wash. No, he did not choose the Super Deluxe Wash. He chose the Ultimate, Super-dee-DUPER Fabo-Wash that only compulsive-freaks-whose-cars-are-already-clean choose. It's a seven-freaking-minute long wash. gah.

I have a neighbor who is kind of like this guy. He washes his truck in his driveway, all summer long, every single day. He mows his lawn, during the summer (yes, the scorching midwest summer heat), every single day.

I can't figure out people like this.

*And then there is the OTHER side of compulsive. Like this lady (thanks to Sarcomical for pointing her out!). Crazy EBay lady is the only person on this planet, except for my sister, who can make me feel like there is yet hope for me in my crusade not to be a complete, utter slob. Holy Hell in a Hand Grenade... this poor woman needs help.

Sadly, I can see how some people can get like that.

Migraines Suck...

I've been home all day with a migraine from hell. It's mostly gone now, but my head still feels like it's in a vise. I woke up with this nightmare... which means it was too late to take any medicine. I tried to do so later and just hurled it all back up. Fun day.

Thank God for sick days. And also for husbands who will go to Chipotle to bring you dinner after you haven't eaten a thing all day.

Another Random Friday Why Files...

WHY #1: Why am I saddened by the Reese/Ryan split? Why do I even care? Well, I guess I don't really CARE, if I truly think about it (I'm just not into the celebrity worship thing)... but they were one couple I was rooting for.

WHY #2: Why can't there be a law that restricts any candidates from advertising on TV or radio? or for that matter, on my Internets or on my newspaper? I know why... I'm just saying that I'm really, REALLY tired of all the campaign ads in all of those media options. Tuesday can't arrive soon enough, as far as I'm concerned.

Here's the bigger issue... NONE of those ads influence me in the right way. Start slinging mud at your opponent, and you might negatively sway my vote the other way. As far as the issues are concerned, I'm going to find any shred of objective literature about a candidate, but that's it. Telling me that your opponent wants to raise my taxes makes no difference to me. I don't believe anything that any of you say anyway. BTW... this is a non-partisan blog. No party loyalties will be listed here. Period.

WHY #3: Why isn't there a food network show telling us that you can substitute marijuana for oregano? Or is this wife's claim to force her detective husband into retirement by purposefully making him fail his drug test valid? Yikes.

WHY #4: Why does anyone go to a salon for waxing? Don't answer... just read this article from a CBS station in New York: "Salon Rips Flesh Off Customer's Lips During Waxing"

Let's hope they don't provide Brazilian waxing at that salon. Ouchie.


That's all I have now, I guess. After that last one, I'm just sitting here wincing... unable to think anymore. So...

This concludes today's Friday Why Files. Happy Friday.

Gripe O' The Day...

Yes, I have a gripe, and I know how to use it.

It's Daylight Saving Time (ON and OFF). WHY, oh why are we still practicing this evil piece of no-goodery?!? I know, I know. You can all explain to me why it was first initiated and maybe even present some justifiable case studies of why we should follow its theories. However, here's what I think:

I think it messes with my internal clock like no one's business.

I think it fools me in the fall when we're off DST into thinking that that extra hour of sleep will be oh-so-welcome and grand. In the spring, it makes me cranky knowing that I'm going to lose one more hour of my precious, luxurious sleep.

I think all the farmers I have ever met have lights on their combines/tractors (I don't know the difference, so don't ask)... and they don't need that extra hour of daylight anymore.

I think it's a waste of my time to find every non-computerized clock in the house to fall back or spring ahead (it really scares the crap out of me when I glance at that ONE clock I missed, and I seem to fall into this black hole of time warpiness... not really sure of what time it REALLY is).

I think falling back this past weekend didn't make it any easier waking up in the morning, but I sure as hell am more tired at night. In the past two days, I've been asleep before 10pm. WHA? Not cool.

End of today's gripe.