More adventures in horrorland

At the moment, I’m feeling very bored with my life. I have no idea why, since my life is always one “adventure” after another. The most recent of adventures I am going to embark on is getting evicted from my very first, on my own apartment. So that’s fun. What can I say? I’m trying to be positive about the whole thing. I was irresponsible and didn’t really have the money to afford it, so I’m out. I’m actually surprised they didn’t kick me out sooner! So I go to court tomorrow to officially get booted, but not before I give my reasons as to why I got so behind, of which I have none. At least no real good reason. What does all this mean? It means me amping up my plan to get a house. It’s funny because I’ve noticed in my life that when I have a plan for something, I never actually get to execute said plan on my own, I’m always pushed into it by outside forces. Go figure.
I recently applied for and got the assistant manager position at my salon. I’m pretty stoked about it. I wanted to be a manager but I didn’t want to leave this salon because I like the girls, well most of them anyway, and frankly I don’t like change. So I bided my time until I could charm my way in. And the manager here is great (kissing ass never hurt) so I’m really happy about it. There is a girl here though who doesn’t like me because she thinks I “narced” her out when she left early one night, when really I told her she had to call the manager and ask her if she could leave early, so I was surprised when el jefe asked me why she had left early, and I told her. I don’t need to lie for anybody, I’m a bad liar, as she well knows. I don’t even lie for my friends here at work. If you’re not here, you’re not here and it shows on our books, so yeah, if this girl thinks I’m going to lie for her ever, she’s retarded. She keeps talking about her “concerns” for me being a manager. She was in shock because blah blah blah. Work dram, never a good time.
The genius started junior high this year. I’m still not over it. The other day when I dropped him off at school there was a channel 15 news camera there asking parents questions about I don’t even know what. They skipped me. He probably thought I was Shawn’s older sister what with all my tattoos, piercings and shocking red hair. The mistake happens. A lot. He actually got carded with me one day when I was buying beer! The woman looked at us both like we were retarded for thinking we could get away with the purchase of alcohol, “I.D.’s please,” she said snootily. Shawn and I just looked at each other, I looked back at her and explained that he was only 12 and my son, so he doesn’t have identification besides his school card. She looked at me like I was lying, snootily retorted that she then needed to see my drivers license, which I promptly handed her, as she sneered. She looked at the i.d., looked at me, looked at the i.d., looked at me then handed it back with a smirk on her face. Hey, last time I checked, you work at circle k cashier lady, so don’t be a judger. Yes, I had my son young, but I still don’t look like I’m anywhere near under the age of 21 and yes, I am old enough to have a 12 year old. Oh the joys of parenthood. The princess is a different story. She gets mouthier and frostier with every passing day. Everyone says she’s just like me, so I guess I can’t really say anything other than, sorry mom! Is there a program where we can send our pre-pre-teen daughters away until the age of 18? Sign me up.
I am still, surprisingly, in a relationship. And with the same guy. Who knew I could make it past the 6 month mark. We’ll be at 9 months in a few short days. Weird how I even remember the date I decided I wanted to be “exclusive”. The reason I say ‘I’ is because he asked to be official 2 ½ weeks into dating, and I hesitated because I don’t do the whole boyfriend thing, so I distracted him from me saying no by having more sex with him. I fully expected to lay him a few times, maybe for a couple of weeks then move on. Damn his charming nature. So I say remembering the date is odd for me since I don’t even remember the date I got married. Maybe this date was just more important since it is an actual adult relationship. Who really knows. The whole thing confounds me anyway. As do most things.
So off I go to, hopefully, straighten my shit out so my adventures aren’t full of too many twists and turns, but I draw the line at balls.

Story of my so-called life...lately

I’m bored today. I’m at work, and I think I would like doing hair more if there was hair for me to do. I don’t even have anything valid to say, I’m just so bored that I decided to blahg since I haven’t done it in over a month I think. I fear I’m going through a writer’s block period. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been real lazy and don’t write as often as I should. I know ya’ll are just dying from not having my usual pearls of wisdom to read or from not being able to live a glamorous life vicariously through me. Oh wait, my life was never glamorous. My total bad.

I think that’s all I have to blab about. Um, let’s see. I got a new tattoo.

That’s exciting. At least for me, I feel the pride of having just run a marathon when I actually get the bf to tattoo me. He says it makes him nervous and he hates hurting me…even if I’m asking for it. Weird.

What else, what else. My life has been boring lately. My mind just addled with my mounting financial problems. I mean, who knew that being an adult and having to pay your own rent would be this hard when you don’t make any money? Apparently not me. I have, however, gotten off my lazy ass so to speak, and started making more hair accessories, as requested by some people that are actually willing to give me money for my crafty wares.

If I can get a credit card I’m going to put them on etsy.com for sale. Maybe I can rustle up some money to help me actually pay my rent. Weird that my landlord wants money in exchange for me living in his apartment. What’s that word for when someone lives somewhere and doesn’t pay rent? Oh yeah, squatter.

Work has been so-so at best. Working on commission is apparently not a good idea when you’re a single mom. I have good clients, but with the whole world financial crisis hub bub they come fewer and far between, unfortunately for me. In July I will be styling a girls’ hair for a calendar shoot she’s doing, so that’s cool. Maybe I can talk some other girls to pay me to do their hair. After all, I love styling 50’s style pin up hair. I can’t wait for my hair to grow out so I can style it like I used to with the 50’s curl in my bangs, which I got made fun of mercilessly by most people because it wasn’t the “cool” thing to do like it is now and I often got told I should put a surfer cause it looked like a wave and at some times a bird in my “nest”. I thought it looked pretty and that’s all that matters. Ok, I’m done with my 5 second girl hair moment.


I guess that’s going to be it for now. I have nothing really interesting left to say and I always feel like my blahgs should be witty and clever but I don’t feel very witty or clever today. So before I bore all ya’ll to tears, I’ll end it here. Although, I’m bored to tears and since misery loves company…Nah, I’m done. I get to leave this twilight zone never ending day soon to go to a baby shower and mama needs to put some food in her belly first. So off to Cheba hut…I hope.

Adventures in Hairland...a rant

I don't understand why people insist on bringing in their kids, or their whole family for that matter, into the salon when they get their hair cut. The kids are always the brattiest, most annoying kids and the families usually want to sit around the person getting the cut so then we, the stylists, have to walk around them, or they bump into you mid-cut because they want to take up all the space around them. It's like the clients are scared to come in alone. We don't bite. Unless specifically requested. And even then its more on a case by case basis. So find a babysitter or send your family members to the Dollar Tree next door, take 15-30 minutes out of your time to come in alone. I promise you won't disappear and turn up in a dumpster somewhere.

The worse is when a woman comes in for a color, perm or anything that takes at least an hour and they bring in the bratty kids or crying baby. If you can't find a babysitter, wait to come in when you can. I have kids and I do not subject the public to their brattiness, not that they're bratty, they're actually very well behaved, unlike most kids, but that's a completely different rant in its own. Oh yeah, and the people that do this are usually low tippers, so not only did I have to cut/color your hair with your demon spawn crying and standing in my way, you only gave me $1-$3 for my services of having to deal with your complete lack of parenting and disciplining skills. Thanks. Please do not come again.

Another thing I don't like is cutting kids hair. The majority of kids cry or scream or fidget or won't let you direct their heads where you need them. These are always the kids that have picky parents. You know, the ones that want a 0 fade on their squirmy 2 year old. It's hard enough to do that on an adult. But the picky parents want what they want but refuse to take the kid to a kid friendly salon where they get to sit in cars and watch cartoons. No they bring them into a full service salon and comb the kids hair while I'm trying to finish the cut. Not to mention spoke about the last stylist who cut the kids hair and what an awesome job they did. Well, if Crystal did such a great job then why don't you request her next time instead of ruining my night. Also maybe next time let me know that Crystal used clippers on the cut last time, and maybe make note on what clipper guard Crystal used that way I'm not playing the guessing game. Next time just take Crystals card so I don't have to talk to your annoying face. Can you guess I've had my night ruined by just such a picky mom?

Life

You know you're spending too much time with your boyfriend when you're watching a movie, spot a camel toe and freeze frame to show him. This also shows that I also spend way too much time with boys since my weekly movie night is spent with the boyfriend and the brother. I often make comments about being a a fifteen year old boy trapped in a girls body. I said that to a male client the other day and he responded, "Wow, you must be really horny." Weird. Then he gave me a ten dollar tip. On a side note, the boyfriend is coming with me tomorrow to meet my dad for the first time. Him, not me. I've already met my dad. I'm a little nervous though. All the issues I have with commitment, meeting my dad is serious. At least in the relationship department. It'll be all good, I know they'll love each other. Que sera, sera.

Whores, queers and more

I often pride myself on my confidence and how secure I am with myself. But sometimes there are women that I believe are put here on Earth just to make us feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Currently for me that girl is the boyfriends chick he dated before we started dating. I don't know what it is about her but I just hate her and I've never even met the girl. It's just everything about her that bothers me...not to mention the fact that she seems like that girl that doesn't give a shit if he has a girlfriend or not. Oh and the fact that she texted him a topless picture of herself a few days before my birthday. I think I just put my finger on why I hate her so much. Girls like that should just be shipped off to a deserted island with all the other cast off whores. Now THAT would make the world a better place.

As the kiddos get older, I've noticed some of the conversations I have with them are more and more like the convos I have with my friends. The other day the princess and I were watching tv and she kept sayin, "That is SO gay." "OMG (yes she actually says that) that person is so gay." "That song is so gay." "Why do you think everything's gay?" I asked her. "Well I just think it's gay, a.k.a. stupid," she replies as if I don't know. "Well not everything has to be gay. Maybe you're gay." "No mom, I'm not gay because then I would have to like girls. And, like, I like girls, but not like that." Oh, ok, I wasn't sure about what that whole gay thing meant. Oddly enough the next day I was talking to the genius and asked him if he liked girls yet. The ex is convinced that he was checking out our friends' 12 year old daughter. So naturally a mother gets curious, and a mother like me is nosy and asks about it. "No mom, I DON'T like girls yet."
"Oh, well do you like boys maybe?"
"Ew mom! I'm not GAY!"
"Well it's not that big of a deal if you are, I just want to know."
"I'm not gay, I just don't like girls yet. But I will when I'm older."
He told me!

I've recently decided I need to become more ambitious in my business dealings. If not to be successful, to actually be able to pay my full rent on time. I like making my own hair accessories and I've recently gone to the extent of finding the weirdest things to put in my hair, one of which is feathers, a teeny cowboy hat and a mini humming bird, to name a few. A friend of mine suggested I sell some of my hair baubles on etsy.com and I figured it'd be a good idea to sell some of my other random art type things I like to make. We'll see how that turns out. On the hair cutting front however, I'm getting motivated more and more everyday. While I don't plan on this being my absolute career for the rest of my life, I would like to make the most of it for at least the next 10-15 years of my life. Recently one of the managers was demoted. So what does that mean for me? If I get my shit together, a.k.a. as the princess would say, come in on time, stay all day, don't pass up clients, etc., etc. I can hopefully advance in this company. A chance for advancement is a little more motivating than coming in and sitting here for 8 hours and only getting about 4 haircuts. Management? Now that's the way to go. I'm getting too old to fuck around anymore and it's time to get this party started. And by party, I mean my career.

I guess we'll see what happens with everything. I just need to do and stop with the procrastination. This little girl is growing up...finally. Reluctantly.

Things

Things I am a fan of in 2009:

1. Buying tv series' on dvd.

2. Never thought I'd say this, but my boyfriend. He's pretty cool, or whatever.

3. My baby nephew. Again, I never thought I'd say this, but I actually like this baby.

4. Sleeping. This is just a carry over from 2008, but I actually get it now. And I never want to live without it again!

5. Listening to 80's hair band and 90's grunge music...and my kids knowing the songs from the first chords.

Things I am not a fan of in 2009:

1. Waiting in line at Wal*Mart to cash my check since I'm now ghetto and don't have a bank account, only to have them tell me they can't cash it for reason #2. Reason #2 is not an explanation and I have to call a stupid phone number to find out why they won't just give me the damn money!

2. Not having any money.

3. Working nights.

4. Not having gone on a vacation...yet.

4. Being an adult. I've turned 30 this year, and while I don't feel old, what with my maturity level of a 15 year old boy, I'm starting to feel all responsible and shit. I don't know how I feel about that.

5. My baby boy growing up and soon venturing into the 7th grade. THE SEVENTH GRADE! How did that even happen? Tonight he's spending the night and the grungy skater, popular kids' house and last weekend he went on an out of town trip with another kid. His first trip without his father or I. ::sigh:: ::tear:: I don't know how I feel about that either.

There are so many things right now, those are just my top 5. And mostly just the ones I actually can think of right now. Marijuana affects the memory.

Good bye to you

When I turned 20, my friend Jenna and I decided to throw a slumber party. Complete with hard liquor, weed and a stripper. I insisted that it not really be a party for me, per se because I didn’t want to get a lap dance. Strippers make me a little uncomfortable. I would welcome presents, however, because who am I to turn down a gift. She called the stripper hut to order a hot guy to take his clothes off for us. We had a choice between a Mexican with green eyes or a blond hair, blue eyed Aryan. I wanted the Mexican because even though I’m more into white guys my very first major crush was a friend of my cousins who looked like a Chicano Elvis with green eyes. They’re always hot. She vetoed me and chose the Aryan.When he showed up dressed like a dollar store cop, I lost it and could not stop laughing. Not to mention that he had a lazy eye. Not the hottest jalapeno in the bunch. Then came the news that, “Surprise!” it was a party in celebration of my birth. A chair got pulled up to the middle of the room where I was forced to sit, much to my chagrin. The music started. ‘Bad to the bone’ was his song of choice and he started to gyrate and wiggle his hips in front of me while whisper-mouth-singing along with the tape (yes, I said tape). It took all I had to not laugh in this guys face. I was NOT into it. Finally my ‘birthday surprise’ came to an end so I anxiously passed my reign over to the rest of the girls. The whole thing was awkward. I’m convinced it was mostly due to the fact that the guy was somewhat retarded. You know, like a high functioning retard. But I digress. Dial-a-stripper asked if there was somewhere he could change so we pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. When he came out, my jaw dropped and I started laughing so hard. He had traded the cheesy cop costume with a pair of stone washed overalls with a ‘wife beater’ underneath, one of the overall straps hanging loosely down his front and untied black combat boots with the pant legs tucked in them. Just turn around and walk away the little voice in my head told me, so turn around and walk away I did. I made my way to the back patio where most of the other girls were smoking and plopped down with relief. The second I cracked open my beer the back door opened and out sauntered hookerello in his Fresh Prince of Bel Air outfit. He takes the seat between my friend and I, takes a swig of one of our beers and says, “You girls don’t mind if I have a beer do you?”
“Well it looks like you already have so I guess it doesn’t really matter what we say,” I stated.
We continued on with our riveting conversation on who knows what as we passed the bong around. As the bong was coming my way lazy-eye grabs it from my friend and rips it. He then turns to her, leans in and tries to shotgun his hit to her. For the few of you who don’t know what “shotgunning” is, let me explain: it’s when someone takes a hit of weed, or what have you, out of another persons mouth, respectively. She immediately shrinks away from him as he’s trying to pry her lips open with his. He laughs, “Hey, somebody shotgun me!” The girls just look around at each other with a look of contempt as he cashes out another bowl. He turns to me and leans in for the kill. I backed up, threw my hand up in his face and said, “Get the fuck away from me right now!” I’m generally a shy and reserved person behind the loud mouth. I don’t like confrontation, but when pushed too far…That was a whole decade ago. In between then and now my twenties have been colorful to say the least. My 21st birthday was spent during an entire weekend in which I was completely shit housed and high…like super high since I smoked out of a 4 foot bong. Needles to say that weekend is vague, at best. Between the ages of 20 and 21 are vague, at best. It’s when the ex broke up with me for the first time and I discovered that there are other boys in the world that I could have sex with. Something that never occurred to me until my best friends pretty much opened my eyes when they were so surprised that I had only slept with one guy who I ended up marrying. Thus opening up a huge can of worms that I may have finally closed the lid on. Half way through my 21st year however, I’d started to sleep with the ex again since his mom died and what better way to comfort him than with my vagina. I’d learned that the power of the vagina is vast. So after the baby came I was back with the ex from about 2001-2005ish. That was nothing but boring married life. Then came the divorce (read: separation of the dvd’s). After that it was pretty much me in a candy store full of boys and I had a major sweet tooth. Just a blur of debauchery.

Now here I am staring 30 straight in the face.At which point I will end this blahg here since I seem to have a case of the Mondays and am not really in the mood for reminiscing anymore. Though I will say this, the last few years of my 20’s really sucked, but I did end them with a bang and started them off right. I just hope I stay on this track of awesome and 30’s really are the best times of my life as so many people have often told me. I guess all I can really do is impatiently wait and find out.

Ode to Monday

Ever have one of those days where you just aren’t in a good mood? I’m having one of those days today. Some might call it a “case of the Mondays”. Some might also want to get punched in the face.

One thing about me is I’m generally in a chipper mood, always smiling and nice with just a slight (read: heavy) undertone of sardonicism. But every once in a while, I’m just in a mood when I don’t want to smile, I don’t want to incessantly chatter as I often do. I just want to be…left alone. However, my often sunny attitude does not allow me a bad mood day. There’s only a couple of times a month where I feel the need to be in a bad mood and not hide it behind a big smile, but on those days someone who already annoys me finds a way to make it worse by telling me to smile or asking me what’s wrong. Can’t I just be in a bad mood? Normally I’ll shrug it off and say I’m tired or have a headache just so I can avoid the infuriation, but today was not that day. When my manager told me to smile, I simply replied with a catty “Why?” I just didn’t feel like fucking around. Later she came and asked me what’s wrong.
“Nothing. I’m just in a bad mood.”
”Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”
Now that kind of shit pissed me off more. If I’m mad at you, you’ll know it. So don’t ask me if I’m mad at you. Boo.

This day is almost over though, so that makes it better. A little closer to the birthday extravaganza. I’m off all next weekend, so maybe I’ll be over this infliction of the Mondays next week. Though who really knows how this moody bitch will feel. One can never tell, not even me.

On a side note, my dad received 2 awards this month. One of them being a lifetime achievement award. I am so proud of him. He's a great writer, poet and playwright. You should check him out (Joe Olvera) for some good reading.

My so-called life...thus far

I'm currently at work rescuing my hair from yet another bad hair day. Doesn't seem like something I would normally worry about, but being in a new relationship does that to you...or so I've heard. I haven't been in one for about three and a half years. I don't really call the last guy I "dated" for 4 months a relationship since he didn't want to be my boyfriend but got all girly pissy at me when I slept with another guy. Pshaw, go figure. But I digress. My hair has not been cooperating with me lately and I'm real tempted to just shave it off. Not Britney Spears G.I. Jane shave it off, just normal like I did 2 years ago shave it. This is why my hair is always short. Lately I also feel like I have to look my best ALL. THE. TIME. I'm not one of those girls who wakes up before the boyfriend and freshens up her make-up and puts on the sexy lingerie, in fact, I often don't wear make-up around him. I have good skin for a reason. But he wears nice suits 90% of the time so I can't go looking all scraggly with my hair and clothes. The problem with my clothes is that I don't have enough nice ones to keep up with him.

blah blah blah

At this moment I'm having a girly-on-my-period kind of mood. Have I ever mentioned that I hate being a girl about 98% of the time? My 15 year old boy mentality doesn't help that.

Speaking of 15 year old boys. I will be turning 30 in exactly 4 days. It's weird. However, I like to think I'm pretty much the same as I was 15 years ago. Gone are the micro minis and band shirts I'd wear with a garter belt holding up my stockings with cherry red 18 hole Doc Martens on my feet. I no longer carry a plastic lunch box as my purse filled with Marlboro Mediums, dark burgundy lipstick and little girl, brightly colored plastic hair clips shaped like bows and butterflies. Not to mention the chain I wore around my neck. I've replaced the minis with pencil skirts, the docs with wedge heels, the lunch box with big purses and the dark lipstick with chapstick. I classed it up a little in my "matured" age.

I don't really feel old, per se, since I have the mentality and maturity of a 15 year old boy, it's the having a pre-teen child that makes me feel old. Even though I'll still be real young when he graduates high school and still young when the princess graduates (read: under 40, barely) I find it daunting. I've often been asked if I'm going to have another kid. To which I usually reply with a vigorous head shake and a look on my face like someone just told me I was going to be locked up in a 10x10 room with no chapstick, water, weed or tv (read: my 4 basic food groups) for a month. The boyfriend even said something about "our baby" the other night, to which I replied, "We have a baby?". "Someday," he said. Someday as in probably not gonna happen? Then yes, someday. As much as I love the guy, I'm still pretty reserved since I've had a few people let me down (read: fuck me over) in the past, so baby talk is probably a little premature, not to mention moot.

Who knows what the future is going to bring though. I try not to look too forward for fear I might stumble (read: disappointment). Es mi vida loca.

More weirdness

Its Friday night and I’m sitting home with the princess. Her brother, who’s fast approaching puberty, is staying the night at his cousins’ place like he does every weekend. The princess is playing with her new Polly Pockets she got for Christmas, explaining the game she’s playing with them. You know, the whole there’s one girl who’s unfashionable and not cute and then a girl who is cute and fashionable whom everyone calls the “Fashion Queen” game. Typical game for most 7 year old girls. I wasn’t like that. I was the tomboy in a frilly dress and mary janes or jellys climbing trees, playing marbles and fixing the neighborhood kids’ bikes. The princess is a girl through and through who plays with Barbies and my make-up.

So as we’re sitting in the living room I start thinking and ask her how she imagines herself when she gets older. “I don’t know,” she replies. When I was her age I can distinctly remember wanting to be pretty much how I am now, except I really wanted to be a model/actor and I wanted to have a vintage 1966 Dyna Glide Harley Davidson

. All my cousins thought I was weird. I don’t even know where I got all this from. Most of my family members were/are “cholos” and my parents are hippies. I did play the “chola” part when I was about 10-12, wearing men’s work pants with my Nike Cortezs’

, black eyeliner and bangs in a pomp. Yeah, I was cool. I even hung out with gang members around my best friend’s neighborhood and had my very own “chola name”. I can’t, however, remember it for the life of me. It had something to do with smiling or laughing or something. I still listened to the “alternative” radio station that played Jane’s Addiction and the Cure, but still knew all the words to all Salt n Pepa’s, Boyz 2 Men and Bel Biv Devoe’s songs.

The princess, however, likes to listen to Hannah Montana, wants to be a cheerleader and a veterinarian when she grows up. I mean, how else is she supposed to rebel against a mom like me. It’s crazy to watch them grow up before my very eyes into this weird little personality that you have very little control over. You never know what’s going to happen.

On a side note, I have a new boyfriend who’s a tattoo artist and I just have to queer out about it for a second and brag about it. If my 18 year old self could see me now, she’d think I’m the coolest.

A few things

1. Ok, so I had a few things I was going to talk about and I don't remember at all what that was. The whole point to me writing this 1st "thing" is to try and jog my memory as to what those topics were that prompted me to finally blog again. Ugh, I hate when this happens. It makes me a little more anxious at the thought of getting real old and senile. I guess I don't have much to worry about since that's, hopefully, 50 years away.

2. I've recently started learning how to do a hot shave with a straight razor, just like the barbers do. I've always wanted to learn, even though I constantly cut myself. At least I'm not ever a danger to my clients, just to myself. But I digress. So the barber at the tattoo shop I get my work done at is making comments blatantly hitting on my in a passive aggressive way as he's showing me how to do the shave. I just giggle and make sarcastic comments, as I often do, as a defense mechanism since I don't know how to take compliments. About 15 minutes after I leave the shop I get a text message about how he thinks I'm "a really hot piece of ass". I laugh to myself, because a. he's not my type (and I do not go out of my box anymore since the temporary lobotomy) and b. he's married. Which, besides the fact that mostly only married or girlfriended boys like me, this proves my theory that boys can sense when a girl's had sex recently. I've recently gone through a massive dry spell in which I couldn't pay a dude to hit on me. The second after I get laid, I've got a couple of boys wanting to "get to know me". Hey, I'm not complaining, just merely stating that I think there is some truth to the whole we-emit-pheromones-to-alert-the-opposite-sex-to-mating-possibilities theory. Though it could just be that the boys are just thinking, "She has a glow to her, like she just had sex. Hmm, I bet she's slutty. I'm going to try to bang her too." I believe the latter.

3. The genius just told me he was real excited about St. Nicholas Day, which he told me, is some legend where you leave a note by your shoes 20 days before Christmas with 5 things you would like and then you get them the next day. I don't know about that, but as he was putting the note by his shoes (he ain't getting any presents before x-mas), he proclaimed how excited he was...then he said he had to pee. "I always have to pee when I get excited!", he says as he runs to the bathroom. Now he's talking about legos and I have no idea what he's talking about. Kid-speak is like a completely different language I am NOT fluent in.

4. I need to go visit my dad. Oh, if only I didn't work all the time and have no money for a plane ticket. This is your cue to send me money people. Nah, just kidding...but seriously...

So nothing I had in mind to talk about came to mind when writing this and that is going to drive me crazy. Alzheimer's strikes again.

Trend alert

I've been noticing a new trend lately. It's something that I've noticed most recently pop up everywhere I look. Ready for it? I know you're excited. Fancy yard sale signs.

I don't know who started it, but why do people have to get so intense about peddling their wares. Laser printed on cardstock paper with bright, bold backgrounds to let the letters pop. Back in the day my mom would tell me to rip apart a box and write a couple of signs up for her in to hang around the neighborhood. I would get out my favorite black magic marker just write 'yard sale' in my 5th grade scrawl. Simple as Corky from Life Goes On.

How does that even become a trend?

I guess you've gotta spend money to make money.

The life and times

It's no secret that I never wanted to be a worker in the baby making business. All my plans got...postponed, for lack of a better word. It still blows my mind that I have been put in charge of two mini people to mold and shape to grow up to be a somewhat decent human being. I know, it's been a little over 11 years and I should be over it by now, as my sister likes to state. But I feel the whole situation, as I've said before, is way beyond my maturity level. So it still weirds me out.

I like to live a sort of double life. I have my pta mom life and my single almost 30 life. The latter in which I like to party, have casual sex with hot guys and sometimes get high. The pta mom life keeps me busy helping plan the school's Family Fun Festival night, making eggs & toast for breakfast and making sure they bathe regularly and brush their teeth. Most of my friends actually forget I even have kids and any boys, with the unfortunate exception of a couple, have not or never will meet them. So it always catches me by complete surprise when I catch myself checking on them multiple times in the night to make sure they're still breathing, staring lovingly down at them as they sleep peacefully, pushing hair behind their little ears and pulling the covers up to their chins. I think, "how amazing to have created that life." Then the sun rises and I'm stirred out of sleep by Shawn telling Naia that she's a big, fat gorilla head as she chucks the nearest object at him while calling him a *beep*, which is their way of cussing at each other. At which point I pull the covers over my head and wish I was on the beach in San Diego drinking a margarita with my friends and some hot dudes. Reality's a bitch.

Oh yeah, and...

The whole reason for me ranting about the little teenage drama queen was to mention that first off, how one client can just fuck my whole day, another client can make it all better. My client after was an Irish redhead with the accent of a southern black woman. She was hilarious. More importantly, someone else made me feel better. From time to time, I'll get comments on my blogger blog and they're always real nice. Saturday after work I got one from Kate telling me how once she read my blog she marked it as a favorite and that's just the bee's knees. I've gotten other similar comments, most of which are anonymous so I have no way of letting them know how I appreciate their words of kindness and the boost to my ego. Thanks to you all, you make my day after dealing with retards at work and I heart you guys. *The cheesy part is over.*

A few things

Just a little word about what's been going on in my salon, in my head and just all around me. Not necessarily in that order.

1. So Saturday, I'm having a good day. Non-stop clients, big tips, I was on my comedy game, when it happened. She walked in. Every stylist knows what I'm talking about. That girl. She was about 14 going to her first homecoming dance. And a cheerleader. I normally love styling hair, shit I practically do it every other weekend for Kendra. So anyway, she tells me what she wants done. Curled hair, half up with a pouf but not too formal. I can already tell she's going to be a pain because as I'm curling her hair, she keeps trying to look at herself in the mirror. You shouldn't move your head too much when someone has a 400 degree ceramic rod inches from your face. I'm getting more and more annoyed as her face gets more and more worried. I pride myself on my styling abilities, but there's always that one person that just fucks your world. Her two little friends that were with her were done, I'm trying to finish through her head turning and fidgeting when I just get to the point where I just don't give a shit anymore. Finally I'm done. I take one look at her in the mirror and her little brace face is scrunched up like she's about to cry. "You don't like it?" I say to her and all she can do is shake her head no. One of the moms hears me and comes over to tell her she's crazy since her hair looks great (duh), while she's still trying not to cry. I ask her what it is that she doesn't like about her hair and she doesn't answer me. At the point I'm just irritated. I'm pretty sure I'm pms'ing, my blood sugar was low and I was too tired to deal with a spoiled little brat who was being coddled by her friends. I contemplate charging her less since she wasn't satisfied, but decided against it since I knew she wouldn't tip me and for my pain and suffering. She leaves, I sit my ass down to eat something, anything, when I get another haircut. I just don't really want to do it. I ask to pass on it, but the stylist who it went to complained about it, so I said fuck it and agreed to take it. As I was cleaning my station getting ready, I could feel the tears coming on. I'm just pissed. I go to the bathroom to pull myself together. I hate crying, though I do it often, especially in front of people. Like I said, it just takes one person to fuck my whole world.

2. I happened to catch a show about women who collect life like baby dolls. This struck me as quite odd when I remembered a woman I'd met when I was about 18 and worked at a little thrift store in Mesa. She would come in carrying a doll, which upon first inspection looked like a real baby. She would buy an outfit or two for her (her name was Emily, by the way. the baby, not the woman), toys and actually drove with the "baby" in a baby carseat. Crazy or sad? It's hard to tell.

3. I totally forgot what my third point was. It's what happens when I'm writing and watching tv at the same time. Like my sister says, it was probably una mentira.

I should probably go to sleep now, I'm seriously sleep deprived and not so beautiful lately as a result. Man, closing in on your 30's and not enough sleep is real bad for the skin. And the mentality.

All about me

Being a procrastinator has stunted my search for fame. Why would I want to be famous, you ask? Not necessarily for the sake of recognition, although I get a secret high from being recognized on the street (doesn't happen often), but for the money. I'm not going to lie. I would so be that homeless guy on the street with the sign that says, "I'm not gunna lie, I'm going to buy marijuana with your money." So I won't lie now, i just want to be famous so I can actually pay my rent. That'd be pretty sweet.

Not that I do anything to try to be famous (let's see how many times I use the word 'famous'), I just hope that I'll just magically become famous. Like Tila Tequila, but you know, not skeazy or ugly. In my opinion she looks like a retarded asian midget. She literally just got big fake boobs and started making out with chicks in bikinis...then overnight she's famous and gets her own mtv show because a million retards friended her on the space. Wait, did I say retards? I meant wonderful, smart, sexy people (hey, if they like her, maybe they'll like me).

But since I don't wear bikinis, say I'm bi or have fake boobs, I'm going to have to try and make my own way. By make my own way, I mean try my hand at a reality show. I'm not on it yet, but I hope to be. It's a new show for hairstylists. I figure that even if I don't get far in the competion, I'm sure to win the hearts of home audience viewers with my charming personality, dry sardonicism and all around awesomeness. I mean, that's how I make money now.

Since I'm trying to get on the show, the first step is to send in a bio of myself. I seem to be having trouble writing the bio. They want "over-over the top personalities", and while I wouldn't say I'm totally over the top, I am loud, slightly unfiltered and sarcastic to a fault. How do I put that in writing so that the producers, or what have you, don't have a sudden case of the sleepies while reading my bio. Or worse yet, how do I keep them from not tossing it in the trash after reading the first sentence and deciding I'm boring?

This is just too much pressure. Among other things, I'm a big, fat pussy. I know I don't look it, but I am pretty bashful and not very forward. Though I am a real good bull-shitter. Which is how I hope to get through any of this, if I make it. We'll see, I guess if this is my meal ticket, it'll happen. My fingers are crossed.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Hair extension information.
Here is a quick look at the different methods of applying hair extensions:
Hair extensions can be attached to your head in many different ways, including gluing, tubing, sewing, and clipping on. Different methods have different advantages. The method you choose will depend on many factors: your hair, your lifestyle, your budget, and your needs, for starters. If you are looking for a long-lasting, natural-looking hair extensions, though, consider one of the fusion methods.

I myself prefer the cold fusion method as it's the least damaging to your hair and look more natural.

Fusion is generally the preferred method as fused hair extensions can last up to three to four months with proper care. With fusion hair extensions, the extensions will be indistinguishable from your natural hair.

Fusion hair extensions can be applied in different ways: hot or cold fusion.

Hot fusion– (lasts 3-4 months) Hot fusion or bonding uses hot glue to attach extensions to your hair. This is the more traditional method. While it does have many happy followers, others say that the glue causes the extensions to feel stiff and unnatural. This method won't harm natural hair but doesn't have a lot of adhesive for holding power needed for extended wear. You generally loose about 3-4 strands throughout the period they are in. $125-150 full head.

Cold fusion- (last 3-4 months) this method uses no heat, it is good for all hair types. Uses a metal tube with a silicon lining and they are clamped over the real hair to attach extension hair. $125-150 full head.


Weaves – (lasts 2 weeks) Tiny braids hold hair extensions against the scalp, like cornrows, except these braids are hidden. $75 full head.

Bonding – (lasts shampoo to shampoo) The extensions used for this method have a latex plug meant to be glued to your own hair for short terms use. Because this method is fast it's also inexpensive. However, to remove extensions, oil and heat must be used to dissolve the bonding agent, which messy and time consuming. If not removed with care the latex can pull your own hair out. $30 full head.

Braids, Cornrows, Twists, Locks - Integrates extensions in a visible way in that the braided attachment is seen but blends into the hairstyle. $ upon consultation

PRICES DO NOT INCLUDE HAIR. YOU WOULD NEED TO GOTO SUNNYS OR ANOTHER HAIR STORE FOR HAIR.

e-mail me for information regarding an appointment or any other information: greteljane37@hotmail.com

Wake up call

One of the best ways to wake up, in my opinion, is morning sex. One of the worst? Hearing your 11 year old boy scream like a little girl because there's a cockroach in the bathroom.

The only reason why I miss having a husband? Because he killed the roaches. I know, it sounds really girly for me to say this, but its true. I'm not a fan of the roaches, as is most of the populous, but i hate killing them even more. i think its the whole crunching thing. And the grossness factor.

So after being jarred awake by the girly scream and looking up to see the genius naked cupping his teeny peeny, I try to get him to kill the roach. "No I can't, I'm naked!", he yells to me. So with my blurred vision due to slept in contacts, i get up, slip on the geniuses 3 sizes bigger than mine shoes (did I mention he's 11?), and run over to squish it. Now its my turn to scream like a little girl. The roach won't die. And it was probably the size of my hand. No exaggeration, I have small hands. So I twisted and squished as hard as I could until I was sure it was dead. Now the harder part, for me anyway, to pick it up and toss it. I prevailed and got it in the trash then made the genius take the trash out for fear it would put itself back together and come crawling out for revenge. Eeesh, I did more this morning before 7 a.m. then most people do in a day. At least it felt that way. Call me a drama queen, I don't care, when it comes to roaches, I don't fuck around. Ick.

So as much as I love living alone, I don't like being alone when I almost impale myself trying to take a shower. Alright, I guess impale is a little strong a word, but I was close to impalement of some body part. Let me explain. Sunday, after a long arduous day at work trying to recover from a gnarly hangover and seeing a movie I didn't want to see with a boy I didn't want to see it with, I got home and wanted nothing more than to shower and go to bed. So I shower. But I got as far as stepping up to stand under the stream of water when my left foot slipped out from under me. I went flying into the shower door. Lucky for me, the door didn't break, merely fell off the track, and I didn't knock myself unconscious on the sink. I did, however, slam my right shoulder into the door rather hard. Well, really hard. It was an imperfect end to an imperfect day.

My shoulder's okay now. Though I could do with a really good massage, I'm not a total cripple anymore. I guess I bragged too much about how I hadn't hurt myself in a couple of weeks, because before the shower debacle, I fell in front of a client on Friday afternoon when I decided to actually wear heels. Guess I should have knocked on wood.

The weirdness

In about an hour, I am attending my first meeting as "parent liaison" for the princess' class. I've never done anything like this before without my crutch, aka the sister. She's usually the one that got me into volunteering and what not, but this time it was the smiley face of the princess that convinced me. I'm under the impression she wants me to be like a "normal mom". What she doesn't get is that I'm not a "normal" mom, under "normal" circumstances. What she also doesn't get is that 99% of the mean mommies at her school don't like me. I'm younger than most of them, have visible tattoos and piercings, and don't wear elastic waisted pants with practical shoes. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating on the less than stylish wardrobes of most of the moms...I'm just sayin'. ::sigh:: Here I go on yet another boring adventure.

Out and about in Horrorland

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything. I attribute it to my writer’s block…aka complete and total laziness. A lot of shit has been going on in my life lately, not much of it good, but not all of it bad.

I’m no longer at The Chop Shop barber and salon, it closed down due to a lack of business, which makes me sad. I am, however, gainfully employed now at Arizona Hair Company in Tempe and I love it. It’s actually busy, so I go home exhausted but excited about the days money made. Although some days there’s more money made than others. It sure does beat working two jobs though. Here’s where I do my shameless plug…If you need your hair done and want it done good, come see me at Arizona Hair Co., 1747 E. Broadway Rd., Tempe, AZ. 85281, 480.968.1954…I do color, cuts, waxing and styling…end plug.

In addition to my new job, I’ve just been hanging out with my new nephew, who’s the cutest little thing ever, and dealing with the conflicting emotions of hearing of my dad’s newest malady. After years of having had one leg amputated due to diabetes infused gangrene, his other leg has now had to come off. I found out about it through an e-mail my little sister sent me about two weeks ago where my head was thrown into a frenzy. I didn’t know what to think and I could hardly dial the phone without shaking, so I had a break down and made the ex drive me to my sisters’ place so we could call him together and I knew I’d have to be a little more composed being that the kids were there. Seeing my sister helped me a little and we spoke to our dad, but it was still sad. I canceled my trip to San Diego and hung out with some new friends. Now I’m making a photo album for him, I am not often considered the best daughter as I’m bad at keeping in touch as well as planning a road trip to my hometown El Paso for Thanksgiving. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been down that way, so it will be nice to see my family.

Other than that things have been somewhat typical. I’m trying to lose weight (nothing really new), trying to deal with my looming 30’s and just basically trying to stay afloat. Notice the key word here, “trying”. In all honesty though, I can’t wait until this year is over. It has seemed like one flaming bag of dog shit since February and I’m sick of the stench.

I’m pretty sure that’s about it for now. A co-worker/new friend is on my ass to be a better blogger since we have a joint “hair blog” now, so we’ll see how she does to quash my laziness, I mean, writers block.

So, until the next tragedy, may my cynicism entertain you,

Malice
reporting live from Horrorland