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And I don’t care who you are, that is just not a good look for anyone.

Issue Date: Thursday, Aug. 30, 2007


I just typed that like a minute and a half ago and then it just sat there looking at me like some judgmental rabbit or something. “So.” It’s just so... leading. And Expectant. Better than an expectorant, but my grammar is shameful. Moving along.

The big news. Well, it may not be big to you, but to me? Yes. Very. And to Mister whose hopes and lollipop dreams ride on this very thing. A Very big deal.

I got my hair cut. And darkened. And layered. And then cut some more. It merely grazes my shoulders y’all. GRAZES. I am very caps locky today. But yet, I CAN’T STOP. My hair is piece-y. And shiny. And here is a picture of the back. (Picture can only be seen over at the new site, but I am apologizing in advance for the yet as unfixed character fuckedupidness.) (Click here.)

It’s not all that short but why is it that men always want women’s hair to be long and flowing... like it is a direct tie to our sexuality? I always saw myself as having long silver-grey hair as an older woman. Wearing chignons and updo’s and pulling the hair together at the nape of my neck with a mother of pearl clasp, but the other night at dinner I saw a woman with my hair type. Her hair was long and fine, silver-grey. She had it pulled back and it looked... well, it looked like one of those filmy clear shower curtains. And I don’t care who you are, that is just not a good look for anyone.

So I cut it. Feel free to tell me how pretty it is in the comments below. Or on the new site. I don’t even know if those work or not. It’s a work in progress. Anyone wanna kick in a little overtime. Rock on.

(No Segue Zone.) Also.... (Parentheses.)

Okay, I’m not really a talker of the whole work thing because I live in constant fear of being dooced. Or do I talk about work everyday and just not realize it? I don’t think that I go into too much of what I do (you can totally contradict me here) and all that it entails but I know I have mentioned my awesome boss. My awesome boss is responsible for the Ode to Hoopty thing, he is responsible for the purchase of Chelsea, and he and I have been traveling (and shopping) together for four years this coming December.

A few weeks ago the department did a massive reorganization thing. Yeah, I know, you have all been through at least one or two of these. But here is the thing. We see the people we work with more than our families, more than our spouses... we see them a lot. Right? So when I was actually blessed with an awesome boss... one who is witty and nice, a clothes horse, great conversationalist, knows about products (this totally sounds like I am describing Mister... am not, bear with me), can make you laugh, is a Godly man with a voice like an angel (the voice is where he and Mister differ, well that and Mister has a good foot on him height wise and about 100 pounds on him weight wise and is married to me... RAMBLING! Sorry.) and bossman; though Godly; doesn’t cringe every time I open my mouth even though he doesn’t drink, smoke, chew, dance, curse or go with girls who do (again... NOT MISTER) I really appreciated that he was a great boss, especially when I came from having Satan’s Hoary Ass as my Executive Director at old job.

I don’t know where there was supposed to be a paragraph break in that monster of a run on sentence but bear with me.

So we all went into the board room on the 13th of August and the director passed out papers for us to have as reference for later when she was going to discuss the whole re-org thing. I didn’t look at my stack of neatly stapled and three-hole hole-punched papers as I was there to listen and understand.

First thing. New person assigned into our group. Person who has never really had to answer to anyone; for 30 years – AT THE SAME JOB; and the first thing that this person did was show up late to the meeting and diss the director as she was taking her seat. Y’all? I know this is going to sound like I took a massive hit of acid and the effects were just kicking in (did not) but the space in the room was immediately covered in black and green. The negative energy in there was so palpable you could have scooped it up and thrown it at the wall (it would have stuck, then flop/skidded down the wall like those octopus sticky things you get out of gumball machines (Lord, she’s at it again.)).


Second thing. After the room quieted from the ugliness the director lady started telling everyone what their new objectives would be and who they would report to. I didn’t notice what the director was saying and what was on the sheet of paper in front of me until bossman looked over at me and gave me the, “Sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up.” look that I would no longer be under his employ. I was going to be reporting to someone else. And that is when I almost vomited. On the board room table. In the middle of a meeting.

Not that my new boss isn’t as awesome. She is totally cool and has a great sense of humor and is completely hands off... Love that. But. Tell me I can not travel with bossman to my conferences and that is sort of like a doctor coming up to me and saying, “Hey, Susan? You know how you brush your hair, your teeth, wipe your lady bits, type, write longhand, smoke, put on mascara, give a hand job and whisk a mean omlette with that right arm? Yeah, well, sorry to have to break this to you but we’re gonna have to cut that sucker clean off.” Shocking and very disappointing at the same time. Right?

Whoops, gotta go..
More tomorrow.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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