Sunday, July 30, 2006


Hot town, summer in the city

Okay. I realize that Cowtown hardly qualifies as 'the city'. But it was hotter than a match head out on the sidewalks today. Right ideal weather for staggering around Cowtown snapping lots and lots (and LOTS) of photos.

More of which I shall gladly share... tomorrow.

Sunday, July 23, 2006


Tea for two

Friday, July 21, 2006


Yeah, me either

Today is deadline, and deadline days are usually little more than a blur, so the day just sort of registers in bits and pieces as it progresses around you.

This afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, brow furrowed, frantically working on the stack of cases that I had apparently been saving just for deadline (because everyone knows I thrive on stress), when from the other side of my cubicle I hear the new girl say: Yeah, I don't know that I'd want that in my mouth.

*sigh* I miss out on all the good conversations.

Thursday, July 20, 2006


I put a spell on you..

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


There's always an excuse

I'd like to believe that I haven't been posting because I've been engrossed in terribly interesting adventures and fun projects or engaged in some fascinating activity or another. Something productive that was absolutely not a waste of time and which kept me far far too busy to be bothered with things like blogging. Better yet, I'd like YOU to believe that about me. But I won't let you because it simply isn't true. Unless you just want to believe those things. In that case, far be it from me to stop you.

The one thing I do manage to do a lot of is nothing. If there is a bunch of nothing to be done, I'm your gal. And when I'm not doing that, I watch a movie or hide out behind a book or help out with a local vacation bible school program. Like the one the Methodist Church hosted with two or three other churches here in Cowtown. Fiesta! VBS, where kids age four through twelve wield scissors and glue sticks and get fired up about Jesus. The huggable donkey was not included, so the kids were a bit bummed about that. But, they did get to shout VIVA! repeatedly, and often in my ear, and that seemed to kind of make up for it.

I volunteered to help with crafts, so I got to see a lot of the wielding first hand. I didn't have much of a chance to reflect on God or how that day's craft helps kids gain a better understanding of who Jesus was/is (I kind of just give the kids the benefit of the doubt that they made the connection themselves), but my time volunteering did make me really appreciate the fact that I have just the one child rather than, say, thirty. Because then not only would I absolutely never get any sleep or have to worry about my hair (since it would have long since been yanked out), I'd have to move into a shoe.

I didn't really have a chance to see what other neat things the kids got to do when they weren't growing grass, finger painting, or making stained glass windows out of tissue paper with us. I picked up on what games they were playing, the day's bible adventures, and snacks they were eating through bits of conversation over the tissue piles. I also learned the difference between mean and evil. You see, mean is pushing a kid in the lunch line; evil is pushing a kid off a five-story building. I'd say so, yeah.

I went to vacation bible school at the First Baptist Church every summer when I was a kid. I don't remember any of the memory verses I was awarded little stars for memorizing or what crafts we did. And there were definitely no discussions of mean v. evil (mean is making women feel inferior to men in general but their husbands in particular; evil is justifying it through scripture). Mostly, I remember the songs, the snacks (cookies and kool-aid. always), and the games. Oh, and the pledges. Yeow.

Maya, lucky girl, got all the benefits of the snacks and games and crafts without having to pledge her allegiance to anything. And, aaaand! I got original art work from Little Girl to proudly display on my fridge, which was a bonus. Thanks, VBS.

But, all that is over now, so I can go back to doing nothing until something better comes up.

Sunday, July 16, 2006


We Will Become Silhouettes

Monday, July 10, 2006


Fixing her hair

So, turns out I didn't hate my hair in the morning after all. This time, it took two whole days for the hateration to set in. Two days before I started tugging on my hair like a child would a Crissy Doll. Two days before I started whining that it looked like the beautician walked off before finishing the cut. And, just so you know, I wanted to give the new cut a chance. I really did. I wanted to be okay with it, honestly, but those fussy curls and the frizz and all the brush wrangling required made it really difficult. No amount of pulling, pleading, or pomade seemed to make any difference. So finally, this morning, in a fit of frustration after fighting my hair for an hour (not only do I tend to choose styles for straight hair, I also apparently choose those I have no chance in hell of replicating once my new do and I make it home), I slapped some scissors in my mom's hand and had her snip a smidge more off the length in front.

Saturday, July 08, 2006


I'm just a girl with a new haircut

This afternoon I found myself standing in the middle of Sprawl-Mart with a chunk of time to kill as the one-hour photo folks transferred vacation pictures from a disposable camera to disk. We had enough foresight to remember to pack our camera, but once we reached our vacation destination, failed to take it with us anywhere we went. I think subconsciously I may have wanted to prevent physical proof of my time spent in "family-friendly Las Vegas" proper. So, thank God for shops that sell disposable cameras by the buttload to husbands! I don't know how I would have made it without all the sweaty Silver Dollar City shots. Which I am absolutely NOT posting, by the way. Well, maybe one or two. Some day.

Anyway, when faced with time to waste inside a Supercenter, I sometimes get the urge to do crazy things... like deliberately walking into a SmartStyle salon so I can pay to have a stranger (with somewhat questionable hair) chop my hair off. And, inevitably, I pick a hairstyle intended for straight hair, one I know that my hair will fussily reject, but I'll insist upon it anyway, because I'm delusional.

I didn't sign in. Instead, I situated myself in the far corner of the room and flipped through books. About the time I decided I was going to do this thing, a girl spotted me in my corner and asked if I had been helped. I gave a clumsy description of what I wanted done (long in front, short in back), with the aid of a picture I found in one of the books, and let the girl guide me over to the sinks for a shampoo. Thirty minutes or so (and a few awkward exchanges that barely passed for small talk) later, the floor was covered with curls and what was left on my head had been flat-ironed into submission.

I'm sure I'll hate it in the morning. I ALWAYS hate my hair the next day. Cutter's remorse. But, I like it.. for now.

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