oh hai.

Oh, hey guys.

Remember me?

I'm alive.

Aaaaand, I pretty much suck.

At blogging.

Really, though.

Considering, like, a year ago I was all super committed to this thing, and I fully planned on writing everyday about all of my interesting life-happenings.



What the hell happened to me?

When I first fired this thing up, inside my brain I was like this:

But inside, I was like:

("we" meaning "me"...see, this is how i talk to myself when i try to get motivated.)

Then, quite honestly, after my first couple posts I was like:

......

But no. Enough of that hogwash.

Guys, really.

I'm here.

And believe me, a lot has happened between November and now that warrants a post. I honestly don't even know where to begin. I have 6 months of bullshit, work drama, life drama, and weird stories to give you guys.

But I'm not sure...

I'm either going to relay my past 6 "dark" months to you, or just start off where I am now. I could just pick up where I am in life and carry on and you'd miss out on what happened to me.

Hell.

You decide.

I love you either way.

For now, peace out, lovers.

Hairy suspense.

So, this past Sunday I went and, for the first time in a very long time (I can't even remember how long its been), I had my hair professionally done. I decided to go because I was sick and tired of looking like a wet rat when I got out of the shower, then a dry rat when I walked out of the door for the day.

Enough was enough, damnit. I can do better than this shit.

So, I forked down $200.00 and got a wash, cut, and a body perm.

Yes, I spent that much. And yes, I'm ashamed. Don't rub it in.

I can imagine your first thought when I say that I got a body perm. Not a lot of people get perms anymore. And, not a lot of people even know what a "body" perm is, for that matter. Even my husband said:

"What the heck is a body perm?? Is that when they curl or, like, do something to your...ya know?"

All I could do was stare wide-eyed at him. And shake my head.

I would NEVER pay $200.00 for that.

But I digress...

When my stylist did my hair, which took 2 hours and smelt like ass, she informed me that I'm not able to wash my hair for three days after I get my hair done that day, because all the stinky ass chemicals that she puts in my hair need to settle. I'm thinking to myself: 

"okay, no worries, my hair will be curly--people wont really notice."

Well, it turns out that--and I didn't know this--you have to have your perm "blown out"--basically straightened with a hair-dryer after immediately after it gets done. She said that the heat helps it stay in, or whatever. Who the hell knows. So then I was informed that I get to wear it that way for the next 3 days. Lovely. So now I'm thinking: 

"Soooo basically, I still get to look like a rat."

And yes, I looked like a rat yesterday, and all day today. The best I could do was put my hair up in a pony-tail and pin my "bangs" back with a bobby-pin, but that totally didn't disguise the fact that I had a PAM factory working away on my scalp.

I guess I shouldn't complain so much because getting a perm was totally my choice. But--I'm a griper. Get used to it. And--I was expecting to leave the salon, after forking over that much dough, with some friggin curls. You should have seen the look my husband gave me when I walked out of there with flat hair.

 And, I'm nervous to finally wash my hair tomorrow morning, because what if when I finally see the results of  my perm it turns out that it looks like hell? I'll be shit-pissed angry, I'll tell you what.

If it looks like this:

or This:

or, God-forbid, This:



Someone's going to have a problem.

Me, mostly.

Are you wondering why I got a body perm? Well, I can tell you.

Before I got pregnant with my son, my hair was beautifully curly all on it's own, and--I don't care how much they say it isn't true and those who say it isn't true can go to hell--now that I had a child my hair can't hold a curl to save it's life. And I loved my curls. My hair was easy to deal with, especially when I felt like being lazy. I would just shower and let my hair dry.

Now, I actually have to do things to my hair to make it look good.

It's as annoying as fuck.

How feminine of me, no?

Anyway, that's why I got my perm.

Just so I can feel better, and feel justified, let me show you what I mean.

This is my hair a few years ago, before I got "up the spout", so to speak:

(pretty curls *sigh*)

Here is a recent picture of me, now that I've released my spawn into the world:

(nope, not a curl in sight.)

See? So, that's why I paid the money to get my curls back. My hair is also a lot longer than it was years ago, as you might be able to tell from the difference between those two pictures too. So, maybe tomorrow morning I'll end up with glorious flowing locks of brunette hair. Who knows. Time will tell.

Fuck, I'm nervous. 

Well, aren't you glad that this entire post is about my hair?

Maybe that is a little girly after all.

Well, perhaps it would help you to know that I'm sitting here typing this tonight chugging seltzer water, which makes me burp every other minute. Quite impressively, I might add. Oh, and remember, I've got greasy hair that hasn't been washed in 2 days.  

Better?

holy geez.

Okay that's it.

What the frick.

My life is SO stressful. Can a girl catch a break? I seriously need to find some sort of stress relief that actually works, besides the tiny little microscopic pill I take every morning for "mild anxiety."  (They tried to prescribe me more, but because I have epilepsy, they couldn't--it totally made my body tweak out, but that, my friends, a story I'm sure you'll love for a different day).

What types of stress relief work for you guys?

I need some ideas.

I'm about to lose my mind.

Queen of my...apartment building?

So, guess what.....?

We have new neighbors.

again.

Seriously, the apartments below me and above me are rented out like twice a year. Someone moves in, then someone moves out, and on and on. You never get to know any of the neighbors because none of them stick around long enough. I always end up referring to them as "the guy/girl with the hair", or "the guy/girl with the teeth"....because believe me, in this part of town, it's either the hair or the teeth (if the person has any) that needs the most help. An example of both:

I see these things every day.

your pity is most welcome. 

My husband and I have been in this apartment building the longest out of anyone. That's why, each time someone moves in, the Land Lord makes it clear to each new tenant that we are here. It's actually kind of nice to know that the Land Lord cares about us. Actually, come to think of it, out of all the Land Lords we've had, he's probably the best. Okay, I'm shutting up about the goddamn Land Lord.

So, the only thing that's bothering me about the new neighbors--the ones above me--is that they have moved in with too many children to count. They're all quite loud, even if they try not to be. It sounds like a marathon is being run up there. That, piled with:

 "wah, wah, wah!"

"honey, he's just a child"

"shut up! I'm the father in this house!"

there should be more flowers around here.

I can't help but roll my eyes at those upstairs folks. They're a one-of-a-kind family. Plus, every.single.one. of them looks like each other. I'm serious, they all look the same. It's freaky. Like for reals.

Thennnnn, there's the family that's moving in downstairs as I speak--err, type or whatever. They have a 5 year old son that is not afraid of anything....including riding a bike while chewing gum with his shoelaces untied without a helmet. He's always running, climbing, asking questions, running, jumping, asking more questions, interrupting himself to ask a different question, then forgetting about everything and running away. So random....so, so random. His mother says to me yesterday,

"Oh yes, he has A.D.D. but he hasn't been taking his pills lately."

Great. fucking great.

This morning that child was knocking on our door asking my husband if my 2 year old could come outside with him and play, ride bikes, etc.

Why sure, sweetie, my 2 year old would looooove to come out and skate-board with you.

*sigh*

Oh, and another thing. The grandmother is also living downstairs, and this morning while we were getting in the car on our way to the store she comes up to me and says,

 "your little child can sure run, can't he? he's such a good runner! better hope he doesn't trip

and fall up there! but boy, can he sure run! he's such a quick little mover!"

um.

Okay, I'm not sure how I feel about you now....now that you're basically implying that my 2 year old is loud, when all he really does up here is toddle around and watch Elmo while he plays with his train-set. Yes, he runs through the house sometimes, but how can you even hear him with that grand-son of yours bouncing off the furniture down below?

 So yes, all of this is going to be interesting. All I can say is that as we've had a long-running problem with past tenants being noisy past 9:00PM, which is the "courtesy" hour. You know, when children typically should quiet down, loud music should be lowered, etc, etc.

If this isn't the case with this new circus that has arrived in town, I swear I'll be like,

 "you're in my building now, so shut the fuck up after

 9:00 pm, bitches, or I'll get all Mother-like on you're ass".

Be afraid.

Cheers!