Number One Reason NOT to Drink the Coffee at My Parent's House

Warning:
Possible offensive or at the very least crude content that might leave some scarred for life (especially if you have actually drank coffee at my parent's house.)


A week and half ago Atlanta got hit with a "snow storm". The quote marks are for the readers who live in areas where they actually have snow storms with snow. (I wouldn't want to offend anyone having just started back blogging and all.) But those who have not ever experienced a southern snow you need to know that in Atlanta any amount of snow, no matter how little, is reason for the world to shut down and for people to forget all driving skills. This year, though the snow accumulation was laughable, there really was ice on the roads and it made for some pretty scary driving over in my parts.

Exhibit A: Carmella and Beau playing the street across from my house. Complete sheet of ice.

As the member of a family where it is genetically ingrained that you must attempt to drive in all adverse conditions no matter how ill advised I drove over to my Mom's to pick her up so we could run at the Leita Thompson trail. The Leita trail is about 2 miles from her house and 7 miles from my house. I had contemplated running to the Leita but it did seem a little crazy to run 14 miles (round trip) just so I could run a few loops on the soft, groomed, snow covered Leita trails (longest loop is 2.5 miles and the max I can stand to run that loop is 4 times, usually I'm just good for 2 though). Plus, as I discovered the next day when I did run from my house that the sidewalks were very treacherous. So driving actually proved a better choice. I know many people chose to take the "snow" day off from workouts or opted to go to the gym as the temps were in the single digits but we so rarely get "snow" that I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to run in it. Who knows when Frosty is gonna show again. Gotta run and have some fun before it all melts away, right?

Snow, for us Southerners is a precious novelty. I feel like I am in a fairy tale running through the snow. Silly, I know, but don't forget: I've lived here my whole life and have been logging 50+ miles a week on the same roads for over 4 years now. Snow is a free change of scenery.

Leita trail about a mile in (clockwise):

Me and Lola heading out:

Frozen pond at the midway point on the trail:

Mom and Lola:

Mom and I had a lovely run and on the way back to her house I asked her if she had any coffee. I was out and didn't feel like stopping at the store. She only had whole beans. Oh, never mind I said, I don't have a grinder. . .

Oh, she said, I have a back up coffee maker with a grinder. You can have it. (Score!)

I know you are thinking, "back up coffee maker"? Okay, so there are 4 important things to know here about my parents:

1. They are very serious about their coffee. Annoyingly serious. Growing up 2 things we were never out of were coffee and wine.

2. My dad LOVES to buy kitchen appliances and gadgets.

3. They actually have another "back up coffee maker".

4. Yes, this makes it damn near impossible to ever buy my parents gifts. Except wine. You can, apparently, never have too much wine.

Said "back up coffee maker" that I scored:

After a lesson from her how to make a great cup of coffee, I left Mom's happy from my run and with a bag of coffee beans, a new coffee maker, a waffle iron, some beer, some potatoes, and some ketchup. (Yeah, so I remembered there were a few other things I needed to get at the store.)

I tell you what.

The shopping at my parents is good! And cheap. (Hello free! Pleased to meet you!) However, it does require some patience; like how I am waiting for them to decide that they don't really want that big flat screen that they just bought or for mom to figure out already that the wardrobe in their room really isn't the right piece for them. . .

Ryan was really excited about our new coffee maker too; especially once he figured out he could program it. And while I love that I can wake up and have coffee hot, ready and waiting--the thing sounds like the space shuttle taking off in my kitchen and serves dually as an alarm clock. The not so good part about that is at 5:30 am when I don't need to get up until 6 am. Why 5:30 am? Because Ryan ambitiously thinks he is going to be ready and leaving the house before 6 am. But typically at 5:30 am I am in the process of smacking him for the 3rd time in 27 minutes to get up and turn off the f-ing snooze.

Ryan also has been a little frustrated by the coffee but for a different reason. He thinks the coffee is weak. Therefore, I am of the belief that he is just not adding enough beans but he isn't convinced. When he found out today that my mom was coming over because my sister was coming over to do my hair he told me to ask her again how to make a "great cup of coffee." But then he changed his mind and said, never mind, ask your sister. Then he when out to do boy stuff since there was going to be a bunch of women coloring their hair here.

I totally had forgotten the story until, in mid foil and in all seriousness, I asked my sister how to make a great cup of coffee. I was thinking Ryan had told me to ask her because she and Wes have a similar coffee maker (also a previous back up coffee maker's of my parents.) But when she busted out laughing and commented that she hadn't ever told the story to mom; I suddenly remembered.

And so now we have reached the part of my story where an alternate title for this post has occurred to me: Reason #4,602 Why Not to Live in Your Parents House After College.

Pookie was about 24, doing the moved-back-into-Mom-and-Dad's-house-what-am-I-going-to-do-after-college bit. Now, first you must understand that my parents do not by any means have a small house but even though it is a larger house you are able to hear everything going on in the kitchen no matter where you are in the house. You actually come to believe, if you are in another area of the house, that once people enter my parent's kitchen they begin screaming at each other to converse. It is that clear and that loud. Pookie's bedroom at the time was at the farthest upper most point from the kitchen and one morning, surely fresh in from a hard night of partying most clearly overheard this unfortunate exchange between my parents:

Mom: Beau! This coffee is amazing! What did you do to it?

Dad: I put my dick in it.

Can't Wait for Christmas

I know I've been lame (okay, lame-er) on the blogging lately. My apologies. Christmas is a busy time. Normally during December I have an off month but this year I am making a genuine effort to be ready for a marathon in mid January.

Last week I got my mileage back up to over 50 mpw and I got in a 21 miler for the long run. Everything felt good (it has been 3 weeks since my marathon) but by the end of the week my legs were dead. I took yesterday off and cleaned out my house. My plan was to do my long run today (either 21 miles again or 23.5 miles) but the high today is barely in the 30's and currently it isn't even 19 degrees. Seeing how my lungs react to the sub freezing temps-- and I'd like to not be sick this Christmas (was last year)-- I think I will do my long run tomorrow when the low/high is 45/57.

Call me whatever you want but I don't see the point in torturing myself if I don't have to.
Right, right, right.
It could be really cold race day. . .

The way I see it is that it won't make a difference if I get sick and can't train and run on race day. Better to get to the start line healthy. I'll worry about how cold it is when I absolutely have to.

So, like I said. I've been busy; shopping, wrapping up gifts, decorating, cleaning etc. As the kids get older Christmas is becoming more and more fun and we've been busy with family activities, shenanigans and parties. This year we had some visitors from the North Pole: Walt and Rosie.

These are two very mischievous elves that Santa sent to the kids. Oh boy have these two made quite a ruckus at our house: tp'ing, leaving gifts and little notes, rearranging the furniture, making forts with all the cushions, un-decorating the Christmas tree and just this morning I woke up to q-tips and cotton balls over the house. Walt and Rosie had even gotten into those furry red handcuffs that Pop gave me and Ryan. I KNOW!!!! Don't you just want to know why my Dad gave me such a thing? Yeah, I'll get to that. . .

So, yes, I have been greatly entertained by the kids this year. Particularly Beau and his inability to wait for Christmas. Apparently he either doesn't like surprises or doesn't understand at all what is meant by "surprise."

It is funny but my sister Pookie is the exact same way. When we were little she use to not only unwrap all her presents under the tree (and then wrap them back up) she would also unwrap everyone else's. It killed her to not only NOT know what she was getting for Christmas but to also NOT know what everyone else was getting.

Me?

I'm okay with surprises. I even like them. In fact, I've been DYING for about all my life for someone to throw me a surprise party already.

Okay, in case they are reading, I did have some friends in high school who threw me a surprise party once but they ended up telling me about it beforehand because-- as they said-- they were worried I would "make other plans and not come to the party." But these days my social calendar is a lot emptier so feel free to throw me a party and rest assured I will be there because I will have nothing else to do.

But my sister? She must hate surprises. She would say stuff like "Do you want to know what Aunt Harriet got you?"

And I would say, "No. I can wait until Christmas."

And she would say,"It is perfume. And Mom got you a leather skirt--a black one, and Kathy got you a gift medallion from Turtles-- 10 dollars worth. What tape are you going to buy with it?"

It got so bad that Lala just let Pookie help pick out all the gifts she bought and then paid her fifty cents a gift to wrap and I guess, bribe her to keep the gifts a secret. And it wasn't just Christmas--birthdays too-- and she was this way ever since she could talk. We couldn't tell her any secrets. She can't keep them. And for that matter, Lala, can't keep a secret either.

Oops, starting to digress. Let's bring this back around.

So I have discovered that Beau is like Pookie. I can't help but wonder if is genetic or just a youngest child thing. Can anyone else weigh in? Youngest child versus not being able to wait for Christmas without peeking. . .

My first indication of Beau's inability to contain a surprise was about a week and a half ago. He told me that he had made me a present at school and couldn't tell me what it was and I would have to wait until Christmas. And in the same breath he said: "It is an ornament. For the Christmas tree."

And I said: "Beau, you aren't suppose to tell me what it is. You are suppose to keep it a secret so it will be a surprise Christmas morning."

And Beau rolled his eyes at me and said: "I didn't tell you what kind of ornament it is." And with that off to school he went.

Fast forward to that afternoon when he comes home with said present:

"Open it," he demanded, thrusting the present in my hand.

I start to protest, saying I should wait until Christmas morning. . .

"It is an ornament, " he tells me yet again as he helps me pull paper off and before the unwrapping is done he says excitedly, "It is a snow man!!! With a sled!!!!"

The next day Beau comes home with another gift. This one he gives to Carmella and thrusts it in her hand and says "Open it now. It is a star. I sewed it."

Carmella was quite gracious and complimented him and told him she made the same star when she was in kindergarten too but that his is much nicer.

Another day goes by and the kids decide they need to buy some gifts. They clean out their piggy banks for what little is left. I think I have mentioned this before but if not, you should know my kids keep the school store in business.

The school, in addition to the school store, puts on a "Holiday Store" so the kids can go and buy little gifts for friends and family. Total racket, but a trip to the school store motivates the heck out of my kids and gets them ready for school way ahead of schedule.

When I picked the kids up from school that day they are waiting in the carpool line with their arms laden with gifts. We drive home and their excited chatter was indecipherable. We arrive home and I help them pile out of the car. Carmella tells me she has gifts for me, Daddy, Lola, Beau and her friend Ashton. Beau tells me he has gifts for Daddy and for himself.

I instruct them to go put their gifts under the tree. Carmella complies and goes off to do her homework. Beau puts his gifts under the tree too. But then, after a moment, he comes back and gets the one he bought for himself. I feel compelled to add that my sister also shops for herself at the holiday. In fact I think she spends more on herself than she spends total on everyone else. Seriously, is this a "baby of the family" trait or what?

"I'm just going to open this one right now," Beau tells me. "I already know what it is," he further explains.

I try to dissuade him but he already has it opened. Then he abandons "the gift"--a pad of paper and fancy pencil--on the couch and goes outside to play. He returns a few minutes later and asks if he can open the present Carmella got him.

"No," I tell him.

What about the one he got for Daddy, he wants to know.

Confused I ask, "but don't you already know what you got him?"

"Yes," he says, but he wants to open it anyway. Then he starts asking me where the gifts are that I got for him.

I tell him, "I'm not putting them under the tree until Christmas Eve."

"Why," he wants to know.

"Because you will unwrap them," I tell him.

"No . . . " he says smiling, knowing that I know he is lying.

He even tried to unwrap a gift for him at Lala's. She caught him and he told her that he was "just removing the bow" so he could "get it open faster on Christmas."

Yeah, right.

So everyday Beau asks me where his gifts are, what they are and can he have it right now? The suspense of Christmas is killing him slowly from the inside out. He can't stand it. He even told Ryan what I got for him--as if that would give him some sort of fix. And he only knows what I got Ryan because the UPS man gave Beau the package when he playing outside the other day and he opened it before I could get it away from him.

And Ryan upon learning of said gift-- I guess because he is the baby of his family-- asked if he could have his boots before Christmas too.

I tried to play dumb: "What boots?"

"Beau," he said, "told me you bought me boots. Let me have them for my hunting trip with Dusty."
Sigh. Darn UPS man for giving Beau the package. Note to UPS: Do not let children accept packages!

"There are no boots," I tell him. "They were the wrong kind. I returned them. You, like Beau, are getting potatoes and switches and coal for Christmas. Maybe Dusty will keep your feet warm on y'all's broke back rendezvous."

So Saturday, Ryan and I dropped the kids at Pop and Lala's to attend the annual Loser Christmas Party. My Dad, barely able to look me in the eye and at the time I think it is because I am wearing my Vixen costume, thrusts a gift in my hand.

He tells me that it is for me and Ryan and to not open it until I get to Dee Dee's. He says, "If you don't like it give it to Pookie."

Ryan is in disbelief that I ride in the car, not tearing into the gift, not even peeking. I repeat to him that Pop said not to open it until I get to Dee Dee's.

See, it is a youngest in the family thing and while we are in the midst of discussing my theory my sister happens to call. Of course I can't resist telling her that Dad got me a present but that I am to give it to her if I don't want it. And of course she is pissed that I got a present and she didn't.

"What is it?" She wants to know.

And I tell her she'll just have to wait until she gets to Dee Dee's.

Changing the subject I ask her if she is wearing a costume. She says she is but that I'll just have to wait until I get to Dee Dee's to find out what it is.

Whatever I can wait.

So we get Dee Dee's and finally my sister gets there and we open it.

That's right. My Dad got me The Naughty, Naughty Christmas Kit.

I know! I'm a little scared of my red lipstick too. Scary clown face! I never wear red lipstick. Clearly with good reason but I did giggle at myself everytime I looked in the mirror.

So then we called my Dad for an explanation about the gift.

He said he figured anyone who wore such naughty costumes for Christmas must need a naughty present. And he added that it was the only present I was getting since certainly I was on Santa's naughty list.

What!? You mean I'm not getting a frying pan or ham? Darn!

Hey Pop! Beau would like you to know that he loves ham. In fact, he hugged a ham today at Trader's Joes and begged me to buy it for him. You should give him a ham. He'll appreciate it. Really. He nearly a 1/2 lb of ham today by himself.

Okay. Just to summarize:

Beau? Doesn't understand surprises.
Ryan? Loves me so much he'll wear a goofy ass costume.
My dad? He gives the gift of ham. It is his thing.
Me? I wear costumes and am clearly my parent's favorite.
My sister? She unwraps her presents before Christmas.

And yes, of course. Like any good big sister would do I took those red fuzzy hand cuffs and hand cuffed myself to Pookie.

I hope everyone has a fun and happy holiday this year and doesn't take themselves too seriously.

I know, I know Jesus is the reason for the season. . .

But I know that if it was my birthday that I would hope everyone would celebrate by having some fun and enjoying themselves.

Because when I told you to go to bed you didn't

Alternate titles for this post might be karma, revenge, or just the worst dinner guests ever.

Last night Fishstick and her husband had Ryan and I and my sister and her husband Wes over for drinks and dinner. Fishstick and Mr. Fishstick and Pookie and Wes are all newlyweds. They don't have kids. So they like to entertain and have other adults over. They do this because they have the energy and because they need to have a reason to use all those place settings they registered for. Otherwise, what's the point. Not to mention, since they don't have kids they still have all their place settings and nothing is chipped or broken. So they can entertain.

The Fishstick's and Pookie's are also younger than Ryan and I. I also use to be both Fishstick's and Pookie's babysitter. Neither of them ever listened to me about going to bed. Pookie is my sister so it is totally expected that she would ignore me about going to bed because really, who listens to their big sister? Fishstick and I worked out a deal: when Rae and George--her parents-- came home she would run and jump in her bed and pretend to be asleep. She got to stay up late and I still looked like I had it together.


Anyway it is nice to have young and newly married couples as friends. Most of Ryan and I's friends have been married as long as we have (almost 9 yrs!) if not longer than us. They all have kids. See the plural? It is the plurality of children that drastically cuts into your entertaining. Because once you have kids all your entertaining energy goes into arranging play dates and super fabulous children birthday parties. There is no time, energy or money left for adult parties. Not to mention what are you suppose to do with the kids even if you do have a dinner party. That whole hiring a babysitter to sit upstairs with them doesn't work. Kids? They like a party.

Which yeah, Ryan and I still entertain. We just invite everyone--kids and adults over and hope for the best. Trust me, it isn't the same.

So last night we got a sitter. Not the original sitter mind you. Lala was too worried that Pam might go into labor and somehow Lala has it in her mind that she is going to help birth this baby so she couldn't be saddled with my kids. Because my kids? They get in the way of birthing babies. So Bubbles and Poppy watched the kids. Thanks! And yes, as of this writing Pam is still preggars. So Lala's midwifery skills are still on alert.

Ryan decided that we should take his car. I was like fine whatever but I am not driving then. The Ford F250 superduty is way too big for me to manage. So Ryan drove. On the way to the Fishsticks--who lives ITP by the way( we are very uncool and live OTP)-- Ryan told me a really cute story. It was about how his truck almost died on him yesterday and he barely made it to the auto parts store where he determined his battery was dead. He got a new battery and assured me all was good. Having owned a Jeep for 11 years and learned just slightly less than a professional mechanic about cars I briefly wondered if maybe it wasn't something more than the battery but then my girl brain took over and I applied more lipstick.

Then at the gate getting into the Fishsticks neighborhood the truck died and the thought that been in my head about the alternator reappeared. Ryan conceded that maybe it was the alternator and not the battery that was the problem.

We had to call Mr. Fishstick for come help us. Did I mention that truck died just outside the gates?

How embarrassing is that?

Well probably really embarrassing for most people who have not owned a Jeep. But seeing how I am not lucky enough to be one of those people I am fairly comfortable in car breakdown situations. No big deal. Annoying, yes. But eh, once a fairly regular occurrence for me. You know once you have your drive shaft shear in half and have oil spilling out of the bottom of your car and you have to depend on perfect strangers to help you push your car out of the middle of a busy intersection during rush hour traffic not much that happens with a car is going to faze you. Really.

Mr. Fishstick jumped off the truck and we managed to get it parked. We enjoyed the dinner and looked at entertaining video from Pookie and Wes's wedding and marveled at how little we all remembered of the event.

When we first got to the Fishsticks I told her that I wanted her to know that I wasn't petting her cat because I am allergic to cats not because I don't like cats. Which confused Fishstick since my cat Thor( who yes is still alive and lives with Lala) I actually got from her. I had to explain how I am not always allergic to cats but sometimes I am and not touching cats seems to best combat the problem.

Unfortunately last night was one of those times that it turned out that I am allergic to cats--despite be vigilant about not touching said kitties.

And apparently Ryan, Fishstick and Pookie have never witnessed what happens to me when I have an allergic reaction to cats. I find this hard to believe seeing how Pookie and I grew up together and we have always had cats but whatever.

They were all greatly horrified how my right eye almost swelled shut and was all puffy and watery. They kept saying I looked like the guy in There is Something About Mary and were pushing the Claritin--which I declined since I have never taken it and didn't want to see what happened when you take Claritin after some cocktails. Besides once you reach the point of swollen eye the worst is over. It is all the itching while the eye swells shut that is the miserable part.

And, for the record I did not have hives. Just one eye that was severely swollen. I get face hives and vomit and lips swell when I eat fin fish. All over itchy giant welts on my body when I take penicillin. Hayfever and asthma to grass pollen. Really, when I think about it, the swollen eye is the most comfortable of all my allergic reactions. Totally manageable. Just really scary looking.

So my sister and Wes took us to their house and we spent the night. Lala and Pop had to go get Lola for us and were totally freaked out that our "dishwasher was on". As if we'd had a break in and the crime that occurred was that someone loaded and started a dish cycle. Certainly not that we had set it to run while we out. No, definitely could not have been that.


We called a tow truck this morning and Ryan right this second is off buying an alternator and will be playing auto mechanic this afternoon with his friend Jeff.

At some point during that time I will be going running.

Last week's workouts were as follows:
Sunday: Running and some walking on the beach for bit over an hour. Just calling it 5miles since I know it was at least that.
Monday: Same. 5 or so miles on the beach again.
Tuesday: Travel day but hit the elliptical for 45 minutes. I forgot how very boring the elliptical is.
Wednesday: 21 miles. I forgot the pace. It was just under 9 minute miles.
Thursday: 6 miles recovery in the rain. One hour on the bike at the gym in the afternoon-20 miles hill workout.
Friday: 5 miles on the treadmill--3 miles at or close to 10k pace, 1 mile at tempo and 1 mile recovery pace. Around 37 minutes for whole run. Walked it out for a half mile cool down. 1 hour continuous swim--about 2 miles.
Saturday: In the morning an hour on the bike at the gym-21 miles hill workout. 10 mile general aerobic run after lunch. Run felt great! I sprinted up the hills, practiced running hard on the downhill and recovered on the flats.

Totals:
Run: 52 miles
Swim: 2 miles
Bike: 41 miles (I feel the need to qualify that all miles were on the gym bike which is way easier than any miles on the road.)

Last bit of business. Deciding on races:

My marathon training is getting back on track. I have managed 3 21 miles and 2 19 milers. This week will be a cut back week because I am racing a 10k on Saturday (however not at all optimistic for a sub 42). I feel like I am in a good place to do either GA ING full or the Country Music Marathon. I am pretty much definitely planning on doing the CMM so that I can visit with my friend Chris but can't decide whether to do the half or full at ING.

My thinking is that since I do usually do a 24-25 miler long run a 4-5 weeks out from a marathon the GA ING (March 30) falls perfectly in that range for the CMM(April 26). But then maybe that is too ambitious and I should just do the half at GA ING and save myself CMM. Thoughts? Opinions? I made a poll if you just want to vote and have no 2 cents. . .

The Wedding of Pookie and Wes

Click here to see the wedding photos the photographer took.

So I was thinking. . .

As a child my 3 favorite shows were: Captain Kangaroo, Sesame Street and The Lawrence Welk show.

And I was thinking, you know, for Pookie's wedding it might be worthwhile to look at some clips of those old shows so we could brush up on our dance skills.

I also think, most definitely, that we should get an accordion player.
Every DJ does it . . .

Who doesn't love a Polka?

Finally a reason for it!
We can put to use our elementary school PE class acquired Square Dancing skills. Disco Square Dance--this makes me giggle so much.

And I think--instead of a toast, it would be really cool if the bride's maids did something like this. Surely Pam can play the piano but it might be cool with a flute too:

Yeah, still high on something. . .

The Marrying Type

See that guy there?

That is Wes.

And guess what.

He is going to be my brother in law.

Yeah! He FINALLY asked Pookie (my sister) to marry him.

Look, here I am with the happy couple. Psst I'm the blond. Pookie is the brunette though lately I think she is red. She switches her color a lot. And her hair cuts. She is a hairdresser. It is what they do. Me, who had to pretend all day that I didn't know this proposal was going down--pretend to Wes and Sarah. Wes who drove us to the race and Sarah who spent prerace with me. Wes who found me in the medical tent after the race. Wes who drove my car and who I always ask shamelessly when is he going to pop the question. I am good though and didn't say anything all day even though there were a lot of times I could have. But see, that is because I am so self involved--especially today-- that it really isn't hard for me to keep a secret since often I am too busy thinking about myself to stop and spill the beans.

Lala though? Yeah, don't tell her anything. She tells everyone. It is funny to me that she makes these sculptures. They are called Secret Keepers. Only thing she knows about a secret is how not to keep it. That, and make funny little stone heads that apparently keep secrets.

Anyway, here is the happy couple:
Congratulations. I am so happy for you guys and please don't make me wear an ugly bride's maid dress.

Race post tomorrow. I am going to bed. I just had to share the exciting news.

PS. Here is the rock and the date!:

Badda Bing Badda BANGS!

Guess who got a new hair cut?

Well no. Not Ellie.
Tara?

Yep. Highlights too.
Carmella?


Yep.
She was disappointed that she didn't look any different. Honey, it is your legacy. Embrace it.

Beau and Chase?
Beau yes.

Chase no.

Tara's sister Melissa came over to Salon De Nat to let Pookie wield her magic on her too. But she left before I could get a picture. I was off getting the boys and then Carmella from their schools. I totally missed out on all the kid free fun.

And what about me you ask? Yep.

Carmella snapped this picture of me in foils.

Yes, I know, hideous picture. I didn't have time to shower and change before they all got here and then I had to run off and do the carpool shuffle and my errands.

But in all honesty, this is pretty much how I look everyday. Just substitute a visor for those foils and you've got me on any given day.

Pink skirt is cute though, isn't it? Pookie, who made fun of skirt at the Atlanta Half marathon, now openly covets skirt for ING marathon. I may lend her one. Still deciding which one I will wear.

But yay! Another convert.

Anyway, I really, really hate having my hair cut. I go way too long between trims. I am totally not adventurous when it comes to my hair. I have pretty much had the same hair since high school--blond, all one length long. And I am talking about the hair I had after I set aside the Clairol mist and stopped competing in who had the biggest, tallest, hardest hair ever contest. I have tried out many colors: every shade of blondness, red and brown. But I have been settled on dark blond for awhile. My sister calls it mermaid hair. I think it of it more as Captain Cave Man hair.

So this whole day of beauty got started because I called my sister over to cut my hair. Then everyone wanted cuts. So everyone one got cuts. And me?

I got some little blond streaks and. . . . BANGS!

Pookie was quite reluctant to cut them as she thinks I will spend all of our upcoming beach vacation bitching and moaning about them. And fair enough, she is probably right. But today? Today I love them. And yes, they will probably irritate the crap out of me running. Oh well. See. See how the taper really is madness.