Change on the horizon

I have been silently (and sometimes NOT so silently) aching for a change in my hairstyle for the past few months. Its too red, it's too long, too frizzy, too complicated and I could bitch about it for HOURS, but I wont because through all my months of belly aching, I have learned that most of my bemoanings fall on deaf ears. I guess the current follicle crisis I am tortuously enduring is no more important than the state of my mothers jasmine plants.

So of course......what better to do than bitch about it to the Internets?

Here is my hair on a good day:

Mind you, this is prior to stepping out into the thick of Florida humidity that attacks every strand with such enthusiasm that by the time I make it the six steps to my car my 'do has lost every semblance of body that it once possessed.

Also, this photo does not accurately portray the amount of red that is in my hair color. The bathroom lighting is much too kind to me. However, the sun is not so nice and makes it appear as though I am wearing a brilliant helmet of fire which does not compliment my skin so well.

As for the remedies to these problems, I am at somewhat of a loss..........

I know I want to color my hair lighter, perhaps even back to my original color (!) Something my scalp has not seen since I was 14 (!). I want to destroy the red that has rooted itself to my head, I want to extract it, tie it up and throw it into the trunk of my car and beat it silly with a shovel while I wear ridiculous lingerie; much like this.

I also want to loose some of the length. I do appreciate the longer strands, especially at times when I am subjecting myself to the heat outside and the nape of my neck is longing for a breeze. Those days I appreciate the length and our mutual partnership. However, most times it hangs limp and unstyled, frazzled and forlorn. It is time we make our peace with each other and cut.

So speaking of cuts, I would like something like this:

However, I would go slightly longer so that the bottom layer would be long enough to pull up into a pony tail. Alas, I have been advised that perhaps the texture of my hair would not be best suited for this cut. So, I continue the hunt for an acceptable hair cut.

UPDATE: I did it! I chopped it all off and the results:

Hallelujah

Our a/c crapped out on us about two weeks ago. Of course I was the first to notice it's absence. Apparently I do not posses the same internal cooling system that the rest of my family has. My mother, father, brother and I could be cast into the Sahara on a mid-day hour in July wearing parkas and I promise you, they would set up lawn chairs and bask in the sun.

Maybe it was my 8 month stay in Washington that forever spoiled my internal cooling system. I remember the first few days I spent in my new apartment up there. It was late October, cool and refreshing outside, yet as I glanced at the unit on the wall that regulated the temperature I noticed only the red.

"Uh. Honey?"
"Yes?"
"Where are the cooler temperatures?"
"What, you mean like the a/c?"
"Uh. Yes. I mean like the a/c, you know that nifty thing that regulates my health and happiness?"
"They don't have a/c up here. Not even in their cars. Isn't that crazy?!"

Crazy? Yes, but it was true, not even in their cars. And as we both sat that day and marveled at the Northerner's stupidity and wondered how the hell we were going to survive without melting into a puddle of gooey pale flesh at the feet of the Navy, we began to devise a way to acclimate ourselves to this temperature change.

Acclimation, however, was not needed. Acclimation, much like the a/c system in our '95 Honda Civic was not necessary because it was indeed cool enough to survive in the beautiful WA weather without the aid of a cooling device.

Of course my opinion on this all changed in my 9th month of pregnancy. In July. In a record summer for high temperature (!), in which I spent the entire last trimester in a sports bra and underwear (which visiting friends and neighbors really enjoyed).

However, we learned to adjust to life in a cooler climate. When time came to move back to Florida, I enthusiastically dug out of the depths of my dresser the long forgotten tube tops, cami's and daisy dukes of the past. I was returning to my homeland! The land of glorified wind machines and I intended to frolic in this land of cool.

What I was not prepared for, was the move back into my parents hellish domain in which the temperature and electric bill Nazi runs amuck (not to be confused with the hot water Nazi, who has also been known to make an appearance). Here was not the refreshing icee-cold abode of my youth! What happened to blankets? And wearing socks in the house? Banished. All of 'em.

And now what little reprieve from the glorious FL sun is given by the a/c Nazi (only when my father threatens to strip down to his flesh suit) has been taken away!

So yesterday I came home to two (!) repair trucks in my driveway. I was so happy to see the workers I ran up and humped their legs.

Of course the first thing that must be done when getting home from work is visiting the urination station.
I don't normally lock the door because my son has a panic attack when there is a barrier between the two of us that he cannot move. But, there were strange men in the house and even though I had already humped their leg I didn't want them walking in on me mid-wipe. So, I locked. BIG mistake.

Brae: twists handle MOM! DID YOU LOCK DOORS?!
Me: "Wait one second babe, I'm just going potty"
Brae: "Uh, okay. I have a question for you"
Me: "What is it baby?"
Brae: " WHEN YOU FINISH POOPING, WILL YOU GET ME A DRINK?!"

Hi repair man. Yes, he's special and I crap a lot. Thank you for your work.

*Twirls Ribbon Dancer*

Is it so wrong that I dance around in my spanx to this song?

Easter in numbers

6: The hour at which I awoke on a WEEKEND HOLIDAY for church
7: The hour at which I decided I was not a big fan of watching the sunrise on the side of US Highway 41 swatting mosquito's and huffing muffler fumes

3: The number of biscuits I had in my very delicious biscuits and gravy Crackle Barrel breakfast
3: The number of times Brae had me take him to the bathroom while I was trying to enjoy my very delicious biscuits and gravy Crackle Barrel breakfast

1: The number of times my nudist uncle invited me to jet ski with him
18: The number of appendages that were crossed when I told him that sounded like fun



5: The number of books that were in Braeden's Easter basket
1: Pez candy dispenser that was a MUCH bigger hit than the books

30,000: The number of jelly beans in Brae's basket
29,999: The number of jelly beans I snuck back into the communal jelly bean dish before he noticed

1: Hour spent socializing at my Aunt's house before lunch was served
30: Individual strands of Spaghetti noodles that made their last peace on my plate.



42: The number of eggs that were hidden for Brae and his cousin Saige.
30: The number of eggs Brae mowed down his one-year old cousin to retrieve before she could

7: The number of family pictures we took in a tree
18: The number of curses that spewed from my mouth later on that evening when I noticed how white I was. Apparently I am part albino, who knew?

3: The hour at which I passed out on the car ride home
4: The hour at which Brae's father attempted to pick him up and take him to his family's house



20: The number of times Brae verbally flicked off his father and sobbed his affection for mommy and distaste in ever leaving her side
4.5: The hour at which Brae's fathers car pulled away from the drive way without Brae

15: The number of times we practiced casting a fishing pole in our family pool
1: Puppy that tried to make away with the weight on the line

0: Leftovers for dinner

Good one Verizon

Dear Verizon schmucks,

Oh boy, you must think you are hilarious pulling a prank like that. You really got me. To think, switching all of the digital cable boxes to read an hour ahead so that I would jump out of bed thinking its 6:30 am and late for work again. When really, you little sly devil, its 5:30 am and I'm racing around like a rabid wolverine trying to get ready for work whilefeeding, clothing and grooming a screaming toddler.

You must have been laughing your ass off when somewhere between the terribly unhealthy pound cake I was feeding my three-year-old for breakfast and the bra I was strapping on backwards, I caught a glimpse of the wall clock.

You probably delighted in the depressed way I slinked into the arm chair watching CARS for the 20th time this week while sipping my coffee through slanted eyelids and praying that it was all just a bad dream and I did NOT just give up an hour of my most sacred sleep time.

I know, it was funny. For you.

I would like to tell you that as a punishment, I will be ignoring you for the next couple of days. I would like to tell you that I would have NO PROBLEM chucking you and your other deceitful cable box friends out of my speeding car window. I would like to tell you these things.

But I won't. So laugh it up, assclowns. You're day will come.

Groggy,
Casey

UTI, you bastard

Off to dunk my head in cranberry juice and piss some more blood.

You're welcome for that stunning visual. Here, replace it with this one:

It's your birthday

So we celebrated my mom's cousin's birthday over the weekend. We're one of those annoying families in which everyone is referred to as "a cousin" when in all reality, their branches on the family tree sway several feet above ours. But you do what works, and for us, referring to a third cousin twice removed and folded is too great a mouthful. Now that you know that, my mother's 'cousin' really IS her cousin and we call her our 'aunt'. It's tricky isn't it? Because you see, she ISN'T really my aunt and I just told you that we refer to everyone as cousins. She, we refer to as an aunt, because she is older than my brother and I and obviously fits the profile of an aunt.
Whatever...... hush. It works.

So we went to THIS BIRTHDAY PARTY FOR A WOMAN IN OUR FAMILY. And there was cake and family and trees. The end.

Oh, but there was something fun in the trees. Something orange and as my "cousin" Eric pointed out, looks magnificently like a ball. A ball that was stuck in the highest branches of this tree and, "wouldn't it be cool if we could get that ball down?!" So my "cousin's" start chucking a football skyward in effort to knock the orange ball from it's aerial perch.

This goes on for a while.................

Until suddenly, whoops. Orange ball does not come down. However, it now has a partner in tree sitting because suspended up there with orange ball is now our football. Seems someone sucks at throwing 10 feet above their head.

So my "cousin" Eric heads up the tree to retrieve the football. Because that football is worth something, ya know? Not unlike the coveted orange ball.

Half way up the tree it apparently dawned on him that he was no longer a young stud suited for shimming up the branches of an old tree.

Being the bold adventurist that I am, I volunteered for the task. Being the sly mother prepared to ridicule me for my efforts, my mom grabbed the camera and documented my treacherous climb.


Look, I'm starting to go upwards.


This was a rather difficult part of the journey. You can't really tell how high I am here, but I promise you, I'm high. It was at this point that my Granny started yelling at me to come back because it isn't worth it. Oh, but it was. So I continue.


Almost fell here. Yup, it would have hurt.


But I didn't fall, I used my amazing balance to keep me aloft. That my friends is the roof to the pavilion. I TOLD you I was really high.


.....and made it. And here is where I jumped up and down for a good 15 minutes to shake the football loose from it's bed atop the branched. Here is also where it was revealed that the coveted orange ball....was a balloon. A BALLOON I SAY. Ugh.












You didn't know I was raising a baby model, did ya?

For you Dodger

Really, if there were any question as to my loyalty and unwavering commitment to Etsy, this purchase should diffuse any speculation and spotlight my dedication to purchasing homemade items.

A dog collar for the pooping pooch. And look, it has a charm! I don't know what it is because it's kind of cut off in this photo, but I'm sure its something.....erm, charming.

And wont Dodger look like such a little doll in it? He will, I know he will!

I was tempted to purchase another collar that had lots of vibrant summer colors but refrained because of the massive amounts of pink and yellow in it. As if a dog would be offended by the feminine color of neck apparel I chose for him. It was a completely irrational thought, but as you can see, one that became deep rooted in my head. Even though this collar wasn't my first choice, I was excited to see that it was floral and yet integrated enough blue and greens that my male dog wouldn't feel compelled to tuck, because how would I explain THAT to my son.

Plus, I've already doomed my son to an adolescence spent in 'cute' clothing, a peaking interest in foot wear and an affinity for clear lip gloss. Less I turn to my dog on to pink, one metro-male is enough for now.

Aqualung

A wonderful walk, or a Wonderwalk!

Last Saturday morning we awoke bright and early to participate in a walk that was sponsored by a local church to raise money for mothers and children (I must admit that I am still unclear as to what I was collecting donations for). I volunteered to walk only because my Granny was the one to approach me about it and I just can't say NO to Granny. I would do anything for my Granny. Really. I would give her my left nut if she wanted it. Of course, I don't have a left nut to give her, but I don't see why she would want it anyway, when I can just raise money for her church by walking.

Now, I have to admit, a large amount of my decision was based on the free food they were providing. I'm a sucker for free food. Offer me a free granola bar and my heart is yours. Also, the walk was taking place through an area of Tampa that is aesthetically pleasing. Sidewalk by the bay, beautiful houses lining the streets, beautiful men out for their morning run without their shirts on.

It was quite a pleasant experience.

I had to place my distaste for early rising aside as we left the house that morning and drove into Tampa. We rallied inside the church for a free breakfast. Hello doughnuts, I love thee. And then proceeded into the sanctuary for a light service. My mother neglected to inform me of the light service and when I scrunched up my nose and declared my dissatisfaction for this she assured me that there would be no sermon preached, only singing. However, I wasn't able to enjoy most of the singing because from the moment our rears touched the pew, Brae was already chopping at the bit to get out of there. He started talking loudly after about 5 minutes and being the responsible mother that I am, I promptly whisked him away and carried him outside for a rousing game of church hide-and-go-seek. And I missed most of the singing. Darn.

The church was beautiful. This makes perfect sense as the houses and overall scenery down there is beautiful. Here is a picture of part of the outside.



I couldn't help but thinking this would be a lovely church to be married in. And then the part of my brain that has been dealing with all this divorce work slapped me right across the face and told me to bite my tongue.

After the singing was over we began the walk. Brae didn't make it far, he was tired
and cold.



Look at his little pale face. The color was not draining from his face because of a blistery cold wind or anything weather related. He is ALWAYS this color. I promise you. I gave birth to a ghost. A very vocal ghost.

During our walk, I was able to stumble upon THE HOUSE OF MY DREAMS!
No seriously, if I designed a house, I would be tempted to copy this house exactly.



Look at the adorable stripped window thingies! Look at the wee little shrubbery! I just love it. I just want it.



You can see how close to the water we were. Actually, it was a little unfortunate we were so close to the water because it was slightly chilly and the breeze off of the bay was really freaking cold.

After a mile or so Granny spun around and declared that she was heading back. She took the stroller and pushed back to the church to enjoy the warm building and free lunch.

But not us. Oh no. We came to walk. And walk we did. I'm unclear as to how far we made it, 10 bazillion miles seems about right, before mom had to pee. I tried to convince her that if she popped a squat in the middle of the sidewalk people would just assume she was homeless and it would be fine. But she didn't like this idea. So we headed back to our free lunch of BBQ chicken, cole slaw, hush puppies and baked beans. Only in the south would this lunch be served after a walk-a-thon.

After eating our southern (way too heavy) free lunch, Brae spied the playground. No playground can be un-touched by my child. He is like a dog marking his territory on every swing set available. So I watched as he frolicked outside for a while. I wasn't alone though, I had company.



This little guy and I had a very nice chat about the benefits of walking for a good cause (regardless of whether you know what that cause is) and the reward of a nice hearty lunch. When Brae and I left the playground I was tempted to snag him and give him a good home along side me. However, I refrained. I was at a church after all, and I think stealing is a pretty big 'no-no' in God's eyes and if there is one house I wouldn't pilfer from, it would be His.

Beck

Note to self

Dear self,
Hey, what's up? Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you're looking a little rough around the edges lately and I know you're sick. But a sore throat is really no excuse to miss a night of brushing your teeth. Or showering. You need to perk up sparky, you only have 4 more days of work, you can do it! I know you can.
With much love.
Me.


Dear Me,
Thank you for letting me know. I mean, I HAD NO IDEA that all this time I was walking around looking like a homeless man took a dump on me. But I have an excuse. I'll have you know that I spent ALL NIGHT Saturday up with a sick toddler. His head hurt. He wanted to watch T.V. And then it was, "Get me some Turkey, because I'M STARVING....." at 2 am. Did you have to scavenge for some pre-dawn deli-meat? Did you?
Respectfully,
Self.


Dear Self,
I know- a sick kid. It's a pass for pajama pants in public. It's a pass for half-assed ponytails and the previous night's smeared eye make-up. It is not, HOWEVER, reason enough to neglect the proper changing of one's underpants. I don't care that you didn't sweat in them! Pull it together man, you're making us look bad.
Annoyed,
Me.

Dear Me,
I changed them! Look, I got up this morning still feeling ill and got dressed for work. Not just dressed for work, but DRESSED FOR WORK! To the nines! To the tens! I look awesome this morning. And Brae, well, he's on his antibiotics so soon he'll be back to his charming self and then we can really work on pulling it together. Just wait.
Apprehensively yours,
You.

Kristiana Parn

I totally bought this. Tell me how cute you think I am.....I mean IT. How cute it is.

That Damn Dog

Steps to getting a divorce
and accompanying emotions that lead to rash decisions
by Casey

1. File for a divorce

2. Look around and realize that while you are in the process of "dissolving" your twisted relationship bound in the tightest marital contract ever, all of your friends are happily getting engaged, emitting pregnancy pheromones and planning their future in a bubble of matriarchal bliss.

3. Decide the best course of action is to reward yourself and your son for having to go through this emotional turmoil with A NEW CAR! Oh wait, too expensive? A NEW PURSE! No? Doesn't benefit the kid, huh? Um, a new wardrobe for both of us? No, wait, I know. Lets reward ourselves with something that takes pinkie-sized shits all over our living room! I LOVE cleaning poop! Obviously then, this is an EXCELLENT IDEA!

See, the key to assuaging guilty and frustrated emotions over your impending divorce is to labor over a pint-sized shit factory and add yet another column to the ever expanding responsibility chart. I'm brilliant!



Oh, but he's cute. Well, erase what I just said then.

The Kooks

Speak human mommy

"Alright, you want to count in Spanish or English?"

"Spanish!"

"Uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, seis, siete, oucho, nueve, dias!"

"Yay! Now do it in human mommy."

Knocked Up

Yet another one of my fearless friends has ignored my consistent warnings of the perils of procreation and as a result is now expecting her first child. And to celebrate this event, a party was thrown. Yay! Parties!

I will say that I've now reached the age where I'm afraid I will be cajoled into attending events such as these at least tri-yearly. That is- everybody and their mother is having a baby. And not that I don't enjoy such events, because as aforementioned, any event that supplements socialization with good food is somewhere worth going. And I, you know, love these people. Mostly. However, I do not delight in baby showers with the same amount of (drunken) zest that I do weddings.

So for a few hours I relinquished my son to the care of my mother so I could fawn over other children and eat my weight in bean dip. I enjoyed both. Thank you.

Look, a baby to nibble on!