It started as simply as not feeling comfortable in Oil Field, New Mexico. I didn’t trust my locks to someone whose sister couldn’t serve me a cheeseburger without making me want to cry.
Before last week, the last time I got my hair cut was before moving to BFE, NM, 19 months ago.
Somewhere along the way, I got an idea in my head.
There are 2 organizations (that I am aware of) where I could donate my hair. Locks of Love, the well-known organization that creates wigs for needy children that have suffered hair loss due to a medical condition and Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths program which has partnered up with the American Cancer Society to provide wigs to women with cancer.
The big difference between the two organizations is the length requirements for donated hair. Locks of Love requires 10 inches while Pantene’s requirements are 8 inches.
I am donating my 11” ponytail to Locks of Love.
It may have started with a bit of anger and hatred towards the circumstances of my living situation, but has turned into a wonderful gift to a (presumably) cute little kid.
Now if I could just get used to that stranger in the mirror.
Thank you to all for the kind words in response to my last post. They really put a smile on my face when it was hard to stop crying, much less smile. I have wondered exactly how much to tell as it is not my tragedy. It is a tragedy belonging to a family I love very dearly. To a friend I call a sister, to her mother, who I call Mom.
The best I can come up with are just some things I really want to say.
Don’t take life for granted. It can end in moments.
The little things count. Make an impression on someone by simply being friendly, considerate, just there. No matter what.
Get your finances in order.Don’t be caught unexpectedly in an emergency. Have some cash stashed. Have a way to pay for expenses that you never ever ever thought you would have to pay.
Work in a job where they care enough to let you leave at a moment’s notice and for as long as necessary for a friend.
Get a will. Also get a living will. Making your family make those decisions… ….Just don’t make them think about it…. Discuss the undiscussable.
Spend more time with people and not so much time online, cleaning, sleeping, and working.
No matter what you say, you can’t say the right thing to make someone who has lost their dad or their husband feel better. There are a lot of wrong things you can say. Don’t say those.
No matter how many emails you read about capitalizing on today, about living life to its fullest, to appreciating every last bit of life, no matter how many, you won’t do it. Laundry, headaches, bad days will get in the way.
And then, It will happen.
The day that those emails allude to. The Thing You Would Rather Not Think About.
So listen to those cheesy emails that your Great-Aunt from Poughkeepsie sends you. Read them, take them to heart.
Because when It happens, you shouldn’t regret the day that never came.
Fianna will be gone for a little while because It happened to a dear friend of hers. Hug your closest loved one, remember those dear to you, cherish today and tomorrow and 2 weeks from last Wednesday.
Because you won’t have it again. No matter how much laundry has piled up, no matter how many times he left the toilet seat up, no matter what. When it is over, you won’t have another chance.
I have been driving a rental this week after my new (to me) car had to have some work done on it.
First of all, let me just advise the first time callers, as well as remind the long time listeners that my last car was a dearly beloved 10 year old Toyota Corolla with nearly 200K miles on it.I bought it from a rental car company. No hassle, no frills. No floor mats.
On Monday, when I called to let the dealership know that I needed service, they bent over backwards to make sure I was ok, not freaking out and overall, just mildly annoyed. (We had suspected a slight problem when we bought the car, so we figured this was coming.)
A tow truck was called (although one wasn’t really necessary). The tow truck driver, for reals, was there in 20 minutes.
I get to the dealership, where I am offered coffee, water, and chilled virgin ovaries. I was placed in a rental car in 5 minutes and sent on my merry way.
The rental car, the 2008 model of my car, is a space-age rocket ship.
It senses my mere presence, detects what moon it is and has 8.2 million horses. It has advised that I will name my first child, a girl, Sarah Marie. My cat Yoda, she is a hermaphrodite. The real shooter WAS on the grassy knoll while Oswald was merely a pawn, AND on top of all that, it has leather seats!
I received a call later that day from the service manager who advised that it was the caliper, (which I totally knew) and that the caliper, rotors and pads for the rear brakes would all be replaced. He apologized for the inconvenience and threw in an oil change which was nearly due. I, against my original best judgment (and loudly voiced opinions which usually end up being completely wrong), had bought the extended warranty, but rotors and pads aren’t a part of the warranty. I asked the manager if there would be any cost for these repairs and he quickly responded, “Oh, no, ma’am”.I said that I just needed to check, because I didn’t want to be surprised and have to argue with them later. He quickly said, “oh, ma’am, I will never give you a reason to complain”.
So…. The next day around 4:30, I hadn’t heard from the dealership. Knowing the time it would take, in rush hour, to drive to the dealership, I called to check on the repairs. I spoke with unknown positioned, Dana. After giving her just my name, she says “I am sorry” approximately 27 times for not calling sooner. Folks, I am in a rental spaceship that tells me how many miles it is to Mars and what freeway to take. I am doing just fine, Dana. I was just calling because I was curious if I have to return the rocket or if I could drive to Jupiter this fine evening!She explains that it will be another day, says “I’m sorry” 21 more times and asks if there is anything she can do for me. Um….tell the rental to stop telekinetically communicating with the neighborhood cats, I guess. Although them fanning me on my walk to the car – Sweet.
Today, I receive a voicemail from the sweetest kid in the world, advising me that my car is ready and to please call and advise when I will be picking it up so they can award me with Ms. Most Beautiful Car Owner of the World. Me, little ole Fianna!
I am a bit frightened to pick up the car tomorrow. I am wondering if there will be 17 studly men waiting to walk me to it, a pony sitting in the backseat and 10 Wii’s in the trunk.
Lesson to be learned: Buy the absolute cheapest, used car a luxury car dealer has on the lot. You will be treated better than Prince Charles in a gay bar. Wait, I am not sure what that means.
I don't know if anyone pays attention to my not-so-frequent additions to the right side section of this blog titled, "In Case of Boredom..." I not-so-frequently add links from around the bloggy world of various things that have caught my eye/attention. Many of these have to do with personal finance of some sort.
I don't write about money, but I work quite hard at saving, scrimping, and frugality of all sorts.
I do this for several reasons: I find it fun to figure out ways to save money, I like collecting cash, I want to buy a house soon, and I want to retire early so I can tan on my patio nekkid on a Tuesday morning when, if the pool boy just happens to walk up on me, he won't scream out of fear.
I catch a good amount of ribbing from a few friends of mine and from Not Craig for my habits, what they consider my cheapness. They don't get my thrift store habit, they don't know why I don't want to stop and get Starbucks daily, or go out to eat several times a week.
Trent over at The Simple Dollar, (hands down, my favorite PF blogger), has written an excellent article that I want to tape to Not Craig's and my silly friend's foreheads. Instead, I will post it here. I would rather not waste the paper.
My big question is, I do not like the standard templates provided by Wordpress. I would like to use the many random skins available online, but it appears that I must pay for the premium CSS components. In fact, just in order to change the colors on their standard templates, it appears that I must pay. It seems nuts. Tell me it is not true.
For those Wordpress fans, please let me know your favorite things on Wordpress v. Blogger.
Right now, my comfort level is with Blogger, but I am a fickle sort.
1.Do not ever ever ever let a dentist from West Texas work on you. Ever.
2.If you are stupid enough to let a dentist from West Texas work on you, ensure you are deft enough to catch your crown when it dislodges for the 4th time since placement without swallowing it.
3.Don’t go to Wal-Mart. Ever. Ever. If you are stupid enough to go to Wal-Mart, you are going to see things that will forever be stuck in your mind. A smell that will forever be remembered, an experience you are probably going to cry over when your crown falls out Again and #4 happens.
4.If you know there is a problem with a certain car part before you buy a car, don’t cry when it happens for reals after you signed the paperwork.
5.I need big girl panties.
6.Best Buy and probably all sorts of other evil empirical giant stores create false shortages of the Wii’s. Talk to the stupid sales guy who will tell you all the secrets.
7.I have a big problem with false shortages. My Wii hunt is on hold because I am mad.
8.Reading a book, while drinking a Shiner at 3 in the afternoon is the only way to feel better after 2, 3, 4 occur in quick succession.
9.Smoothies help. Smoothies with vodka instead of milk help even more.
10.I hate bad teeth, doctors, dentists, Wal-Mart, traffic, not being sold something because Nintendo tells an evil empirical giant store to not sell it so its popularity will increase, bad brakes, etc., etc. and so on and so forth.
Tell me what you learned this weekend. Or what you hate. Or what I should hate.
1.Grandmother Shower : How To Avoid – Work through it. Have your boss work you to death and you will not have to attend, but you can certainly walk in, apologize how you are doing what you got out of bed to do that day, namely work, and that you cannot attend, although you can most certainly help yourself to the foodstuffs. A majority of the attendees felt the way I and the rest of the blogiverse feels. Showers suck. Convoluted excuses for showers suck even worse.
3.Please write some stuff. It is Friday. I am suffering from acute Friday-itis and could really use some readings.
4.There really isn’t a #4.
5.I am thinking of buying some Starbucks later today. My cheap frugalitis needs some spenditis.
6.I have no plans for the weekend. This makes me glad and sad in the same minute.
7.Lucky No. 7.
8.Does anyone out there own Lucky Brand jeans? I hear they are phenomenal on the hind quarters, but due to aforementioned frugalities, Cannot. Try. On. Because. May. Like.
9.Today is payday. Weeeeee. I sure wish I could find a Wii.
10.I was going to ask for Kaytabug to mail me her Wii, but then the phrase kinda grossed me out and reminded me of my fave spam – Update Your Pe- nis. I mean really? Is there some software to upgrade to Pen/is 2.0? Is it an easy download? What if it crashes mid-load?
There are many awesome things about being a chick. Being able to pee sitting down. Using hormones as an excuse for biting someone’s head off. Bath and Body Works. Thongs. Fruity Drinks drank without worry as to the “gayness”. Not having to kill spiders. Being able to feel boobs anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.
There is one thing though that makes all the above-listed items shrink away. Something that makes me wish I was a man. Something that if I can’t become a man, really requires me to work super hard in order to find that hidden reserve of estrogen somewhere deep in my soul.
Showers. What a horrible, horrible torture that only women are forced to endure. A horrible torture employed by women, upon other women.
The idiotic games, the shrieks of laughter from 20 chicks at the display of a chip and dip set/onesie/lamp/diaper rash cream/other stupid gift. The forced sitting with people you either don’t know or hoped not to have to see again. I hate the whole process. Especially baby showers where alcohol isn’t even available.
I have attended many showers, wedding and as the wedded started spawning, baby showers. Out of all the showers though, I have never had something seem so contrived as what I will endure tomorrow.
A Grandmother Shower.
I called a reliable source who confirmed this is out of the norm. My mother, a grandmother herself, called it “ridiculous” and “stupid”. Maybe she was just jealous, but when she called the thrower and/or the throwee greedy and self-absorbed, well, who am I to argue.
Lord help me. Think of me tomorrow as I will be forced to smile, shriek in unison and eat finger sandwiches, all while attempting to not stab myself with a plastic knife.
Next week, could you clear your calendar, it is Yoda’s birthday, we are having a party.
Yoda is registered at PetSmart, Macy’s and Wal-Mart.
When I crashed my car, the gentleman I ever so rudely rear-ended was amazingly gracious.He declined to take my information, allowing my insurance to remain oblivious to the danger I am on the road.He was driving a truck, so the damage to his vehicle, was minimal, but check out the damage to my poor car, it is obvious I had to cause some damage to his. Again, he didn’t take my information, get my name, nothing. A kind, Have a Nice Day, and I left the scene of the accident scot-free.
It was only later after I had some time to absorb what had happened, slow my heart rate, quit panicking, that I thought of a reason.
He must have thought I was pregnant! Some wild-eyed pregnant chick just slammed into his bumper, causing him to freak out and think of all the horrific dangers of wimmins driving cars.
Today, I wore the same shirt I had on on the day of the wreck. When I went to the W.C., I did a double take in the mirror. I wonder if I am pregnant when I am wearing it, God only knows what other people think!
So, do I get rid of it or tuck it into my closet to wear as a maternity top when I actually am, with child? I only know that I shouldn't wear it any longer!
Anyone else swear off these tops? They sure are nice to hide the muffin top. However, I would rather not be asked when I am due. Especially by myself.
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