If I got a perm, could we still be friends?

...Or would you disown me?

Here is a slightly-underwhelming vlog I just made for you guys, wherein I discuss the possibilities of getting my hair permanently altered.

It's just over two minutes, so it can't be that bad. Right?


(you can also watch it here)

Interesting sidenote- I was kind of freaking out about my robe while shooting this. If I look distracted, that's why. I was afraid I would flash you. But not afraid enough to go get dressed.

When Kurt saw what I was wearing he was all, "You had better not have a nip slip!"

A nip slip?? Who talks like that?! My husband, of course.

So what do you think? Should I do it poodle-style (ha, dirty), or go for the authentic, unwashed euro-grease look this summer in Finland?

Or is there a third option out there?

(Also, have you guys ever permed it up? I would love to hear some some 1980's- inspired stories)

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Live blogging in my skivvies.

Ok guys, here it is. Day 3 of being unemployed, and guess who slept in, didn't shower, and isn't wearing any clothes right now?

Probably Robert Pattison.

But also me!

I'm kind of excited, and also kind of ashamed. So if you're thinking about stopping by, call first.

No, don't call the health department! Call me, so I don't answer the door naked.

(unless you're into that)

I don't exactly have a lot of things on my to-do list today. I just finished it. Here, I'll show you:

(I'm mostly excited about #4. Which may or may not involve N*SYNC.)

Being laid off is awesome.

(Someone hire me?)

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My showers are pretty exciting.

I have this entire medley memorized:



Every.Word.

I also have this song memorized:



And this one:



I'm not sure which one I'm more proud of.

....Or which one I sing more often in the shower.

Kurt sure is one lucky guy.

Other close contenders for my #1 shower song?

• Saved by the Bell
• Fresh Prince of Bel Air 
• I Like Big Butts 
• The Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros.

My showers are pretty exciting.


--------

What are your favorite songs to rock out to while shampooing your hair?

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Six year olds are gross. Or maybe that was just me?

Did you read Kenzie's post on Monday? She wrote a really funny story about how she always wished she was a boy, because it would be so much easier to pee standing up.

It spoke to me.

When I was little (let's say 6-ish), I decided that sitting on the toilet was boring. I needed to spice things up.

So I started straining my pee. Whenever I sat on the toilet, I would leave my underwear on. On purpose. To strain it.

And then when I was done, I would just pull my pants up and get on with my day. I didn't have to wipe or anything- bonus.

Sure, it was pretty uncomfortable running around with wet jeans, but I didn't let that get in the way of my experiment.

.....I can only imagine what I smelled like.

When that got old, I started peeing outside. My brother Jimmy got to do it on camp outs, and it sounded like fun.

I would crouch in the bushes next to our house, with my pants around my ankles. Once I got going, I would have to shuffle my feet to avoid stepping in the river. You never knew which way it was going to flow, so I had to be very alert.

I quickly discovered that leaves and grass don't make very good toilet paper.

Then it got cold, and running outside whenever I had to go lost it's appeal. I thought about it for a while, and I realized that I needed to learn to pee standing up. If I could do that, I could do anything.

This one was tricky. I had some ideas, involving standing on the toilet seat, or maybe using a bent peace of paper. But after a few failed experiments (Kids, why is there a puddle of pee on the floor? Again???), I was ready to give up.

Then one afternoon I was helping my mom bake, and a funnel caught my eye.

Perfect.

The next time I had to use the bathroom, I dashed into the kitchen, and grabbed the funnel.

It worked perfectly. I thought about keeping the funnel in the bathroom, for easy access. But I was worried about getting caught. In the end, I snuck it back into the kitchen drawer, in between to pasta scooper and the cheese grater.

I'm about 99% sure that I didn't wash it.

When I told Kurt these stories, he just stared at me in horror.

"Come on dude, it's not that weird."

"We are never having children."

I'm sure you all have stories like this. Right?

------

So I just googled "pee funnel for women" and it turns out it's a big market. I was way ahead of my time.

Maybe I'll just put one of these on my Christmas Wishlist. For old times sake.

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"I bet you just lost 20 followers." -Kurt

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I prefer to call it "genetically superior"

I went to the dentist the other week.

For the first time in 12 years.

No, you read it right. 12 years. And it was the second time in my life.

Growing up, we were really poor. Remember how we didn't have money for Health Insurance? Well, we didn't have money for a lot of things. Including yearly teeth cleanings.

And, um, when I was little? Brushing my teeth wasn't exactly my first priority.

I was really nervous. I had admitted to Kurt that is had been a few years since my last visit, but I hadn't told him just how many years we were talking about.

He's a dental student. He wouldn't understand.

But I did insist on going to see a real dentist, and not a student at the school.

There's nothing wrong with the students- they do a great job. But I know a lot of them, and Kurt knows the rest of them, and if my teeth were crumbling and about to fall out, I didn't want it getting around the school.

Dental students are the worst gossips.

Especially the male ones.

-------
I was nervous. Really nervous. I even flossed for the occasion (I floss my teeth just about as often as I go to the dentist).

I had years of Calculus buildup (Kurt refuses to call it Tartar), and it took me a few tries to figure out the spit-sucking machine.

But as for my teeth? The ones that I thought would be crumbling and falling out?

4 Cavities.

That's it.

And they aren't even serious. "You could just wait until next year, and have your husband fix them in the clinic. They aren't bad at all."

I was shocked. And impressed with my dental genetics.

But I guess it makes sense, because my little brother just went to the dentist for the first time in his life (he's 15), and he didn't have a single cavity.

We totally lucked out in that area of the genetic lottery.

Kurt was impressed. Mostly when he saw my X-rays.

"Whoa, 3 of your wisdom teeth are missing! And the other one is fully ruptured, but perfectly placed. You aren't going to need any surgery."

Even better. For years I'd been worried about it. I had heard that it's possible for the surgeon to nick a nerve, and for one half of your face to go completely slack for the rest of your life.

And I just knew that that would happen to me.

(It turns out the nerve damage would only cause loss of feeling, not loss of motor function. But I didn't know that.)

A few years ago when I was teething (which hurts like hell), I decided that I was going to wait until after I got married to get them removed. That way, if my face became lopsided, it would be too late for the guy to run. I'd have already snagged him.

But now? I don't have to worry about any kind of nerve damage. Score.

I guess the moral of this story is if you are going to be really poor, make sure you live on a farm in Michigan. The fluoride levels are to die for.

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He is such a lucky guy.

We were sitting on the bed, and I was petting my leg hair.

"This is my favorite length. It's long enough to not be prickly, but short enough to not be completely gross."

He just stared at me.

"Here, do you want to feel it?"

"....are you kidding?"

I gave him a slightly wounded look. "No babe, I'm serious. I think it feels nice."

He reached out, and touched my leg hair. Then he quickly pulled away, a slight grimace on his face.

I looked at him expectantly.

"It feels nice, huh?"

He gave me a weak smile. "Um, sure. It's great."

And that is how I know he loves me.

---------

I'm linking this post to my sister's meme, Small Treasures Tuesday. Because the look on his face was a treasure.

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Dear Abby,

I'm sorry.

I should have waited until our next hair appointment.

It's just, well, I don't have very good impulse control.

The other day, I was feeling all blah.

I needed a change.

And I was in Target....

I know I should tell you in person.

It's just, your pregnancy hormones might make you crazy. I'm kind of scared.

Or, gosh, what if you cry?? I could never forgive myself for making a pregnant girl cry.

At least, not in person.

And so I'm writing you this letter.

Because when you see me, you might not recognize me...

(I swear it's just temporary dye. Give it a month, and it should wash out just fine)

(also, the box said dark blond. It lied.)

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My arms are so sore, I can't brush my hair. Or my teeth. Which is ok, because I married a dental student.

I woke up on Saturday, and my first thought was "I wonder what I should wear to my pole dancing class?"

I know what you're thinking. "What kind of crazy dreams were you having?" Or maybe "Um, duh. Lingerie."

I went with Yoga pants. But next time I'm wearing shorts. And heels.

When I told Kurt I wanted to take pole dancing lessons, he wasn't really surprised. But when I told him who's idea it was, he was shocked.

My friend Nicole, from Keepin' the Castle is the brains behind this operation.

Nicole is one of the nicest people you will ever meet. She sews and cooks (just thinking about her marble brownies is making me drool), and is an awesome mommy. She teaches piano and loves her sunbeam class, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't use face cards. Also, she might never speak to me again after she reads this.

I think all of us used her as an excuse. "Yes, I said pole dancing. But it's ok, because Nicole is going, too." And suddenly it seemed respectable.

So that morning I was super excited. I even got up at 10:45 on a Saturday to get ready. Which is kind of a record.

The class didn't start until 12:30. Probably because the students all work late? I think a few of them paid in $1 bills.....

...Just kidding. If anyone was a professional, they can't be making much. We all looked awkward and ridiculous. Which was really nice, because there was a lot of laughter and no pressure to try and look seductive.

I mean, we all tried, but we also failed.

It was awesome.

Here is what I learned: Pole dancing is not sexy. It's hard and painful and a lot of fun if you go with friends who will laugh at you when you are trying to do a booty bump.

Also, if you do wear shorts, please put spandex on underneath. No one wants to see your lady parts. (someone needs to say this to our teacher. I call not it.)

Today I have bruises and sore muscles but it was totally worth it. Because I can do a fairy.


(This girl calls it the Cheerleader, but in Pittsburgh it's the Fairy. Also, our teacher was much less annoying than this girl.)

The moral of this story: Pole dancing is painful, but really fun.

Plus, it's always good to have a skill you can fall back on. You know, For those hard times when your husband is limiting your spending money, and Michaels is having a sale...

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I have many flaws. But my new hair isn't one of them.

Remember a few weeks ago, when I wrote that totally obnoxious post about my new hair color?

Yeah, about that. I suck. It's just a fact. I'm always late, I steal clothing (just from sisters and roommates. I've never successfully** stolen anything from a store), and I'm messy. Like, really messy. And I sleep a lot. Basically, you should not be surprised when I do things like write a post about my new hair color, and then forget to take a picture to include in the post. And then publish it anyway. And then add 5 other pictures because I feel lame and I'm hoping to distract you.

Sorry guys. Here is that picture I promised you.

(I couldn't resist! Man, it's a good thing Kurt never checks my blog)

And here is a more hair-centered picture.

What do you think?




**This one time when I was really little, I tried to break open a little $15 toy gumball machine in a toy store. It was the display one, and it had real gum in it. And by "break open" I mean I was just kind of sitting there, twisting the handle, and hoping for the best.

But the manager saw me, and threw a fit. She yanked me into the back room, closed the door, and yelled at me. Without telling my mother. I think I was 6. I started crying, and she wouldn't let me leave.

Out in the store, my mother realized that 1 of her 4 children was missing, and almost had a heart attack.

5 hours later (or maybe 10 minutes. I don't know, I was 6) my Mom found me in the back room, sitting on a chair, being yelled at by the manager. After telling the whore lady off, we stormed out and we never went back to that toy store again. Looking back, I wonder why the hell we didn't sue. I'm pretty sure we would have won.

(I know, I'm so hostile. Remembering this never really bugged me when I was little, but looking back it makes me really mad. Just thinking of someone doing this to one of my future kids gets my mother-bear-defending-her-young instincts all riled up).

Still, it scarred me enough that I've never tried to steal anything since then. Any time I think about it (yes, I sometimes think about it) I get this feeling that that woman is following me around, just waiting for a chance to finish what she started.

Creepy, huh?



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Guess what color my hair is?

If you're guessing brown, you're a little bit right. I mean, that's what it's supposed to be.

(This is the first color I ever dyed my hair. Aww, memories!)

When I turned 16, my Mom told me I could dye my hair (but nothing extreme). I was SO excited. My hair was brown, so of course I went and dyed it...Brown. Again. Not sure what I was thinking with that one.

But back to the question. What other color could it be?

You're probably thinking red, huh? Nope.

I've done it before, though. Once I dated a guy for 3 months before he realized I wasn't a red head. Which was really weird- I mean, I have black eyebrows. What red head has black eyebrows?

(This is the kit I used back in the day. And it turned out really pretty)

You might be thinking purple. I probably seem like the type who would rock that look. Turns out I am. Not rocking that look- but able to rock it.

The summer I graduated high school, I had light purple highlights. It was really pretty um, hardcore. My mother was understandably horrified. It was my first major rebellion.

(This stuff fades really fast. Just sayin')

But a few months later I went off to BYU, and my hair was dyed back to brown. Turns out purple is not an acceptable color for a BYU student.

So what about now?

Why blond, of course!

I know, some of you probably guessed that right off. Go you.

But most of you are shocked, huh?

I went in to my friend's salon, and told her to do whatever she wanted. She knew I was going on a cruise next week, and so she gave me a lighter, flirtier color to go with my soon-to-be-tan skin. Or, more realistically, my soon-to-be-burned-and-blistery skin.

I wasn't sure at first. I never am when I change the color. But Kurt loves it. I was blond when we first started dating, and only dyed it back to brown for the wedding because I felt like those pictures shouldn't be full of lies.

See?

Dating (he married me for my teeth):




Married:




NOW:

(INSERT PHOTO HERE)

Yeah, I don't have a picture yet. How obnoxious is that?

Kurt is too busy with his finals to snap any. I've been planning this post for a few days, but I was waiting until I had this last picture to post it.

And then I gave up and decided to post it anyway.

So which color/style is your favorite?

I know, I know. You're hoping I'll go purple again. I think I'm gonna wait until my daughters are in highschool before I revive that look.

What's the point in rebelling if no one is horrified?



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Eavesdropping, cussing, and threading my eyebrows.

Blogger Chix Designs hosts a party each week, called Talk About It Tuesday. It's an excuse to talk about anything you want.

Not that you need an excuse, of course.

But still, it's nice to have someone to blame, in case you get in trouble.



Today, I'm talking about my eyebrows.

My office is right next to the lunchroom. Since my desk isn't visible from the hall, I think people forget that I'm here. Which is awesome, because when they stand out in the hall and gossip, I can hear every word.

My favorite line so far?

"Yeah, this hot Asian surfer chick. And she totally wants me. I can tell, man."

.....sure she does, buddy.

I usually spend my lunch hour at my desk. Because I'm cool like that.

Also because there is a tv in the lunchroom, and every time I wander in there, a group of 50-something women and men are watching a soap opera. And if you make any noise, you get death glares.

Which is probably why so many people stand in the hallway to gossip.

Today I spiced up my lunch routine a little bit. By threading.

Yup, that's right, threading.

Who knew you could do it yourself?

I know some of you are scratching your head, wondering what the heck threading is. That was me, a week or so ago. I'd never heard of it.

Turns out, it's an ancient Middle-Eastern hair removal technique, which has recently become popular in America.

All you need is a spool of thread.

(This isn't actually my thread. Mine was much less shiny. I found this picture here.)

So today I sat at my desk, hunched over, with my compact mirror balanced against my monitor.

That's a pretty good example of what not to do.

But I kind of got the hang of it after a while. And I felt very sophisticated and cultured.

Except for, you know, that hunching thing.

(I found this picture on Google Images. But we can pretend my eyebrows look that pretty.)

I didn't mind doing my eyebrows. It was much less painful than plucking, which is my usual grooming technique.

I don't really recommend doing the upper-lip, though. That hurts like heck. And by heck, I mean,

"holy mother f*#$%!&*$@#*!!!"

Abrupt silence from the hall. I bet those guys weren't expecting that reaction to their Hot-Asian-Chick conversation.

Here is a how-to video I found on YouTube, in case you are thinking of trying it yourself.

There was no embed code, so you'll have to click here



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Degree Red Satin

Your armpits will be irresistible.

(click here)



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