Short and Sweet, or perhaps Long...

I have a few moments before I dive back into work, so I thought I would drop by and say hi. But since I don't really have anything great to talk about (unless you want to hear all about my puppy drama, and there is a ton of that right now), let's talk about my hair!

My hair is officially past the point where I will have to decide if I am going to keep it short for awhile or grow it out again. The part of me that works out and wants it off my neck when I sweat, wants to grow it out. The part of me that wants something a little different wants to keep it short for awhile. So I really don't know what to do. It's current length is driving me absolutely insane. To short to do what I want it to do, and to long to be cute. So lets take a poll!

Cut my hair or grow it out?

Then just for fun, keep it natural or go red again?

I NEED your opinions PLEASE!

Has It Been 3 Weeks Yet?

Since my current state of busy does not seem to be easing up, I don't seem to have much time for blogging. Which I am not happy about. I feel I should have proper blogging time at least once a week. But tell that to my customers who are bombarding me with quote requests and making me actually work hard (how dare they?). So instead of completely abandoning my loyal readers (if I have any left after my extended time away), I have decided to randomly post some old blogs that I posted on my MySpace way back during my fist year with this company. Enjoy!


The Real Breakup Letter (November 14, 2006)

Dear Kenny,

I regret to inform you that you will no longer be able to see and/or talk to me. The decision is based on your actions at our first and final meeting. I will agree with you on the point that I am quite the catch. However, I do not date pretentious, arrogant donkeys who think they are God's gift to women. I refuse to place myself in the position of being your slave or lesser being. I will not follow you around like a lost puppy. Nor will I allow your hands to "rest" on any part of my body. I do not care how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. I do, however, care how you treat others, myself included.

Additionally, I would like to finish my wine before YOU decide that WE are done eating. While I do not care if you open the door for me, I do not appreciate you allowing it to close in my face. Just as I do not appreciate you turning around and walking away, expecting me to follow. As stated before, I am not your lost puppy.

In the future, if a woman removes your hand from her thigh, it is not an invitation to place your hand higher on her thigh. She is politely asking you to keep your greedy little hands to yourself. Furthermore, when sending emails to people, it is important to capitalize and punctuate your words. For instance, ill is not the same as I'll. I'll means I will where as ill is how I feel when I think about you and your grubby little hands. Please do not attempt to contact me any further, as your replies will fall upon deaf ears.

Thanks,
Kayla

Less to Love

I have mixed feelings about the show More to Love. In the previews they talked about how the average woman is a size 14, and this was a show about real people. Not one single contestant is a 14, they are closer to a 26. In fact, the main guy, Luke is more then 300 pounds, but that's not the point, because most of them are quite beautiful. But all we hear from these girls is, no one will love me because I'm fat. That is so irritating. One girl went so far as to say, "I've never gone out on a date before. I've been asked, but I was afraid they were asking me as a joke." Every other word out of their mouth is poor me. SO ANNOYING. Every time I watch it, I find myself yelling at them. "You're weight has NOTHING to do with you not getting dates. How you feel about yourself has everything to do with it!" It's just so frustrating. This is supposed to be a dating show, not a poor fat me show.

On the other hand it is so completely hilarious because Luke could tell them that their eyes were like a deep bowl of blue pudding, and the girls would melt at his feet. I'm pretty sure the last time some guy said something lame like that to me, I either laughed at him if I liked him or gave him one of those "did you seriously just say that" looks, usually right before telling him he is lame, if I didn't like him. Oh, I bet those Kansas City boys are glad I'm gone. I was SO MEAN to most of them.

And yes, I am going to completely ignore the fact that I haven't written you in 3 whole weeks, and you should too. Unless of course you want to yell at me in the comments. I do love comments.

The Shaggy Dog

A few weeks ago there was a poor dog who had been hit by a car lying on the side of the road. I was so upset the first day I saw him, that I almost cried. There were no homes around so I knew he had to have traveled far. I hoped his family would get word of his demise so they weren't still wondering and searching for a lost cause.

The second time I saw him lying there I almost cried. Again I was reminded of my own dogs and how much I love them. He reminded me most of Charlie, because of his size and his probable sweet demeanor. I pictured this shaggy black dog happily trotting down the road with a big dopey grin, only to have his life taken from him too soon. I hoped they would have him removed from the road by the next day so that I could selfishly drive to work without tearing up.

The third time I saw him, I grew angry. Why had no one picked up his body yet? Why was he still lying there? He should be given a proper farewell, not just left to rot in the street. For over a week he laid there and I grew angrier and angrier every time I saw him. Most days, I tried not to look, it broke my heart every time I did. In the middle of the second week I looked at him, and I looked at him closely as I drove by. My poor shaggy dog lying on the side of the road was only a piece of tire. I had gotten so worked up about the remains of a blow out. A piece of rubber gained my sympathy, I shed tears for a chunk of tread. On that day, I laughed. A few days later the "dog" was removed from the road.

Post Wedding Hair Chop

I've always wondered why every bride decides to chop off her hair after the wedding. My cousin, I understand, because she grew out her hair specifically for her bridal hair do. My sister on the other hand, had beautiful long hair, that she merely cut off without a moments hesitation. I never understood this concept, until now.

On the philosophical level, it represents a change and a transformation. The old hair represents the single version of me, which I no longer am. So we remove it, like a snake shedding it's skin. We get rid of our last name, and we get rid of our hair. And changing our hair is the easiest thing we can change externally to match the change we feel internally. Feeling smarter yet? Yes? Good. Cause that's just a pile of BS.

The real reason we chop our hair? Because we just spent the last year growing it out, not being able to make any style changes just so we could have the perfect wedding hair, and we are SICK of it! My hair had gotten so long that I couldn't even style it. It was a contest of which ponytail would win that day. Because if I left it down, it would get all messed up by my chair at work and grow giant pain inducing tangles. Not to mention the horrible static in those winter months. Don't bother sitting in a leather chair unless you want to look like you just stepped out of the Magic House with your hand still touching the giant metal ball. If I could, I would have my hair short in the winter, long in the spring and fall and bald in the summer, cause dang this thick, dark colored, heat absorbing hair is hot. Anyway, back to the point I was trying to make. Hair that long and that heavy was driving me absolutely INSANE, I consider everyone who has to look at me fortunate that I didn't shave my head that night. I think the only thing that saved my hair that night was the fact that I had other things on my mind. I hadn't gone to the bathroom since I woke up somewhere around 6 o'clock in the morning. That's 18 hours of holding it. Well, I wasn't really holding it that long, I didn't have to go until the reception was over, so maybe only 2 hours of holding it. But the point is, we just get so sick of not being able to change our hair (whether or not we would have is beside the point) and growing it out past our comfort level that we drastically change it. So without further ado...

Last Week

Has it really been two weeks since my last post? My how you all must hate me, that is if you are still reading. Last week was a whorl-wind of activities that kept me away from my thoughts. The most exciting being the donation of my blood and the consequently almost passing out afterwards. This is my fourth time giving blood and my first time having issues with it. I did write a little before I went in... I had great blogging ideas this morning as I was trying to stay awake on my 20 min drive to work. Now that I'm sitting at my desk with the time to do the actual blogging... the ideas are gone. And so is the first cup of coffee. It's almost 10, two hours till lunch. Plenty of time for a second cup. However, I'm giving blood this afternoon, and I need to be hydrated so I can have nice big puffy veins. But I need caffeine so I can stay awake. Caffeine dehydrates you. What is a girl to do? On the plus side, if I fall asleep while giving blood, or shortly there after, then everyone will just think I passed out. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone will believe that story if I fall asleep before my donation appointment. Again, I'm left with the question of what to do. Have a better chance of staying awake or a better chance of only getting poked with a needle once.

Well, my blood guy was more of a snail then a Dracula. I had been there for a half an hour before the needle was even in my arm. And I'm pretty sure he zoned out while applying the iodine, he just kept rubbing it on. Perhaps his tortoise like movements and the knowledge of a full folder of quote requests encouraged me to squeeze the ball a little to quickly. As soon as he pulled the needle out, I felt sick. I started looking for the best place to relieve my uneasy stomach. I was debating between the back door or the trash bag hanging from the table when I realized I wasn't going to vomit after all. I was going to watch the world go blurry and dark and be that girl. The snail lowered me down and put cold wash cloths on my forehead and throat. And yes, I did almost start gagging as if I were wearing a turtle neck. I was focused more on not choking then I was on not fainting. Long story short, it sucked.

Now on to the weekend and Tami's Birthday Bash aka Harry Potter Weekend. When Tami first called me with the idea of having a Harry Potter themed party, she admitted she was a big nerd but since it was a mile stone year, she was entitled. I agreed she was a big nerd and that it sounded like great fun. Little did I know, I was going to end up dressing up like Mrs. Wesley. That's right, red hair and all. Except they didn't have any 7 day hair dye. So I'm now a red head for 28 days, give or take. Exciting, I know. And yes, we had a blast with Tami, Ben and Tucker.

Weekend Update

I hope everyone had a wonderful Independence Day. I apparently have not yet recovered from the weekend, it is proving to be incredibly difficult to place my fingers on the correct keys as I attempt to type. As it turns out, if I type with my eyes closed I have much better results. Just a little proof that I should be sleeping instead. Once again, I did not get to bed before midnight all weekend, including last night. But honestly, I'm not complaining, I'm just giving you an idea of how much coffee I need to drink before I resort to using tooth picks to prop my eyes open. Given the chance to do it all over again, I'd probably still be this tired. Playing with fire vs. sleep. It really is a tough one, but since I can legally blow things up only once a year, the firecrackers will always win.

The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays. It's nice and warm, so you don't have to have everyone cramped inside. And you can either sit back and enjoy an impressive show in the sky, or you can be one of the ones lighting the fuse, drawing oohs and ahhs from the crowd. Either way, your bound to have a good time. Personally I prefer to be the one lighting the sky. But I imagine there will be a year or two that I will not be able to play, and I will just have to sit and watch. I'm okay with that. I enjoy watching the show as well.

This holiday always reminds me of my childhood. We used to have a block party where all our neighborhood friends would come up to the circle dragging their coolers and fireworks. If I remember correctly, my sister and I were each given $20 to spend, it was probably more like $10, but it FELT like $20. We mostly spent it all on snakes, sparklers, and snaps with and occasional smoke bomb for good measure. Eventually I was allowed to shoot off bottle rockets, I loved them the most, I felt like I was all grown up. The first time I did a round of black cats, it exploded a little to close to me and had my ear ringing for a few hours. I didn't care for that at all. It was years before I felt the desire to shoot those off again. Well, the block party is finally back. It may be a different crowd and a different block, but the fun is still the same. And the cooler was a big hit of course.

I don't waste my money on all those little firecrackers anymore, I only grab the Roman Candles and Jumping Jacks from the cheap table. Now I waste my money on the really cool pretty ones that I love oh so much. From the big morters that make the most awesome noise when they leave the tube to the jumbo packs that shoot hundreds of sparkly jems. Mason is already planning on making a switch board type thing, that will set off a bunch of fireworks in a row just by pressing a button. Denny and I however, are not sold on this idea, we think that will take away at least 80% of the fun. One thing we all agree on is a day trip down to Cuba next year to visit Steve at our favorite tent. After price shopping 7 tents this year, we are confident that Cuba Steve has the best deals on the big stuff and he actually knows his product. We'll be seeing you Mr. Firework Tent Guy.