Thursday, July 15, 2010
People are embarassed when they need therapy. This is stupid. Because I've yet to meet someone who couldn't use a little time every week to lay on a couch (or "davenport" as my Grandma used to call them) and complain. Regardless, because there are so many crazies runnin' around with built up bitch-fits to let out - they turn to me. Okay not really. But throughout college (and now the 3 months following my anti-climatic graduation) I've worked at a hair salon and it's becoming clear that during hard times not only do people LOVE to get their hair screwed with...they also use their time in the salon to release every dramatic saga and personal upheaval. This includes but is not limited to: husbands cheating, divorce, fertility, dandruff, job-loss, being fat, being friend-less, debt, stupid neighbors, stupid kids, malaria (yep), nostalgia, bikini waxes, back waxes, politics, and dying pets. Um, excuse me? And I can't figure out when this became okay. When did people decide, "ya know, my hair stylist looks like a nice chap...I think they'd be the perfect one to ask about my abnormal pap smear" No people. You just...gotta stop doing this. Especially to me. I have no life experience. I'm the assistant. I'm nothing. Please, attempt to treat me that way. All I can do is nod and smile and try to pretend like whatever dose of crazy you're throwing at me is perfectly common. I got nothing. In what other professions does this happen? I can't imagine going to the mall and telling the dressing room attendant at The Gap about my compartmentalized depression about being unemployed or the cyst that grew on my neck for 10 years and how my boyfriend popping it weirdly brought us closer. I WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW. Thank God no one reads this blog...or else I could potentially be a hypocrite. And with my near-perfect reputation...we just can't have that ;)
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
In case you live under a rock...I'd like to inform you that The Hills is like, totally DUNZO! Which, much to my chagrin actually makes me quite nostalgic. (feel free to pity me and the rest of my generation for having such a meaningless world around us) But I honestly have been watching these people on tv for 6 or 7 years now and afterall...we've practically grown up together. I can only hope that when I head to southern California next week that I might get a glimpse of Kristin, L.C., or if I'm really lucky...SPEIDI!
Please know I'm joking. If you didn't...my sarcasm is in complete disrepair.
But in all honesty, this little finale really does make me feel like I am getting old. From what I hear...I'm not in high school. I'm not in college. I'm not a grad student. I'm not employed. I'm just...floating. Which is an entirely too depressing conversation for a blog that my Mom told me to write. Or maybe the most depressing thing of all is that I've resorted to writing this because my Mom told me to. Well, the moral of the story is that I need to get a job before I tear my boyfriend's new dog's hair out ('cause God knows I've been trying to grow my own hair out for about 5 years and cannot sacrifice it). Why? Because I'm 22 and people have made it clear it's time for me to change the world or something. The question still remains...can the girl who let 2 half-black girls, Britney Spears, and a little Christian rock music mold her youth actually land a career?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Since my parents' house has been taken over by midgets...er, I mean...grandchildren I have been forced to give up any claim on what was previously "my room". Why you ask? My parents have a 4 bedroom house. EXCEPT - 2 rooms are now encompassed by cribs so the aforementioned little people can have their own rooms when they stay there. The last remaining extra bedroom was mine for a brief 10 years. However, my new, soft, full-size bed was recently removed and in it's place is now a really old and uncomfortable king size bed for my sister and her husband to sleep in while their children sleep in their "own" rooms. I don't know how they do it. And the kicker? My sister's family lives in California...they come maybe twice a year!!!!! And my parents have reconfigured their entire house for these babes. Ay yi yi. BLASPHEMY if you ask me. So guess who sleeps in the basement when we're all there at the same time? That would be yours truly. Merry freaking Christmas. I sound selfish but I'm 22 so the whole "baby" phenomenon isn't anything I want to try to understand yet. Considering the fact that I'm from Kentucky, everyone should be celebrating the fact that I don't already have a couple of germy money-suckers of my own. I also have a sore back from this past weekend at home so this is all too fresh on my mind.
However, this rearranging of rooms means lots of sorting through old crap from yesteryear. Although I would prefer to take a bulldozer to any remnants of my teenage years, my Mom encouraged me to keep some of the memories. Because apparently when you reach age 45 and start to feel old you really want to look back at pictures of yourself with people you haven't talked to for decades and remember how much acne, backstabbing girls, and ripped jeans really made you feel alive? Hardly. Regardless, I did come across 10 compact discs that I was pleased to discover. Will Smith Willennium WILL be resurrected and used as my new weekend sound track. And after listening to 'Nsync's hit albums I'm left wondering what happened to boy bands and why Justin Bieber doesn't want a few pleather-and-sparkle-clad hunks paling around with him on tour?
*Disclaimer: Contrary to my tone I do actually like my niece and nephew. To their credit...they're cute and pretty funny and sometimes they like me :) I'm just glad they aren't mine.