The Service Level Agreement of My Hair

It's 10:26 a.m. and I have a haircut appointment at 12:45 p.m.

All morning, I have been thinking about my hair.

I have come to the conclusion that my relationship with and about my hair is the second-most complex relationship I have in my life.. the first being the relationship I have with my waistline. And I don't think I'm alone in this.... am I, girls?

First, the expectations I have for my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. I expect it to single-handedly make me gorgeous, glamorous, polished and skinny. If my hair looks bad, I feel bad all day. If I am having a good day, glance in the mirror and find my hair has betrayed me, my mood immediately plummets.

Second, the expectations I have for the man who cuts my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. Why can't he make my fine hair thick and glorious? My short, uncooperative, somewhat frizzy hair become long and sleek? Why can't he maintain my current style AND keep the length I have worked so hard to grow out? Why can't he keep my bangs from growing out so damn fast??

Side note about my hairdresser: When I inform people that my hairdresser is, in fact, a male, people automatically assume that he is a homosexual. I fully understand why, of course, and I fully pity him for the raised eyebrows and assumptions he deals with. But the fact is that if you met my hairdresser in a dark alley, you would be terrified. The man encompasses the term "vato". Shaved head, tattoo sleeves, multiple piercings. Low rider with rims and his last name in gothic lettering on the back window. A virile chicano specimen.

Maybe I should try a new hairdresser for a change... but I'm too scared to leave him.

Obseity Ain't Just a River in Egypt

I grew up in Texas, home of the deep-fat-fried twinkie.

My mother and I, in a fit of genius, once melted Kraft caramel squares down and dipped marshmallows into the goo.

I've been known to eat butter straight and an entire can of frosting with my fingers.

My traditional "last supper" before starting a diet is Easy Mac and a tube of cookie dough.

It's no surprise to me that I struggle with my weight. I just like food too damn much. The high I get from turtle cheesecake is akin to shooting heroin between my toes (I have never actually shot heroin between my toes, so turtle cheesecake may, in fact, be better).

When my husband sent me the link for ThisIsWhyYoureFat.com, I realized that I should be mostly disgusted by the pictures... but I am deeply admiring.

That's a giant burger between two large meat pizzas, eggs, bacon, colby and pepper jack cheese.

There's also a Deep Fried Cupcake With Chocolate Syrup And Sprinkles. French fries topped with cheese curds, egg, bacon and covered in brown gravy. French Fry-Encased Hot Dog On A Stick. Here's a Bacon-Wrapped Meatloaf With A Layer Of Mac And Cheese.

Check it out and enjoy the mild queasiness mixed with deep hunger...

Okay, I'm back...

... but don't go pinning any expectations on me.

If I completely over-analyze myself, I realize that the main reason I have procrastinated re-starting the blog is that I cannot suffer the obligation to write every blasted day.

I mean, people! I am not that interesting! Sure, thoughts flit across my brain all throughout the day... but turning them into an actual entry would be nearly impossible.

Sadly, I almost understand the appeal of Twitter. Ugh. How trendy.

For instance... how does the Internet know I'm fat? I understand the concept of cookies (yes, that's a double entendre), but it's become eerie. I can believe that the prevalence of Wonder Diet Drug banner ads might be just coincidence. But Lane Bryant follows me everywhere. Every. Where. Yahoo, Cakewrecks, Facebook. It's starting to creep me out.

Also, I returned from the restroom at work about ten minutes ago. But I am still gagging, literally physically gagging, from the smell the gal next to me was producing. Just thinking about it sets me off. *GAK* What could she have eaten to produce that stank? Burnt rubber tires with an acetone chaser? *GAK* Just typing this... oh, people walking by my office would think I had a hairball.

Today's water cooler discussion topic:
Is that Bachelor guy a schmuck or what? He's such a douche, I can't believe I didn't date him.