Tune in right now to your local Instant Messenger installation to experience the joy of my one-woman show, powered by beer and pretzels. I’m very entertaining. To myself. And possibly a few friends, though they might just be scared to point out that I am an incredible dork.
Wow, one beer and suddenly it’s a major tragedy when I reach the bottom of the pretzel bag. DAMN YOU, PRETZELS! RUNNING OUT ON ME WITH YOUR SALTY GOODNESS SUDDENLY GONE! I have abandonment issues. Pretzels give me flashbacks. What’s not to enjoy?
Ahem. By the way? Me = cheap date.
Today was thrilling. I visited the chiroquactor and told him with GREAT JOY how my neck is better. See! It MOVES! It moves both to the right AND to the left! It is a fully functioning neck and my head is enjoying it quite a lot! And I have been doing my stretching and really I am much better than I have been in a long time, so thank you for your help!
Silly me; I thought the chirquactor would join in my little celebration with me. But no. Even though he was wearing shoes and not sandals, he shook his head sadly at my naivete. Oh, Mir! See, this is so TYPICAL! A patient has an alleviation of symptoms and assumes that all is well. BUT IT IS NOT. No. I am a TICKING TIME BOMB, what with my many SUBLUXATIONS waiting to JUMP OUT and BITE SOMEONE’S FACE OFF.
Wait. No. That’s the beer talking. The beer would like to bite your face off, or maybe just make out with you for a little while, but that’s not what the chiro said. That’s only what I heard.
No, he said that this is a DANGEROUS TIME because I still have MANY PROBLEMS (“tell me about it!” I cheerfully agreed) and now is when a person might leave treatment thinking all is well, and the slightest problem could bring back all of my symptoms. I need to keep working on aligning my spine properly, you know. Uh huh. So, um, I’m going to keep going for a bit longer, until I’m feeling more or less back to normal, and then I am going to nod and agree with his very earnest explanation of why I must see him all the time or risk exploding in a mass of misaligned horribleness, and stop going. Truly I do not deserve a healthy spine.
Anyway, that’s the plan! Shhhhh, do not tell him. At least not until I’ve had another beer. And found some more pretzels.
So after that excitingness, of learning that my improvement is but the tip of the iceberg, I went and got my hair cut.
Wait, gotta back up.
Because I was getting my hair cut today, I remembered that whole thing about hair dye taking to the ends of hair the most and decided to dye my hair, yesterday, so that I could then have the overdyed ends cut off, today.
And we know just how great I am dying my hair! Hahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
So, um, last night I dyed my hair with the same fabulously colored hair dye I used last time, that was the right color but didn’t actually cover my grey. This time I left it on for 10 minutes longer to see if it would penetrate the grey better.
The good news is that it DID work on the grey, this time!
The bad news is that the 10 extra minutes meant that I got extra super-duper highlighting somehow, and now my roots are an interesting color. Rather more red than I would’ve preferred. Still hoping it might mellow out a bit. Still hoping that I might figure out how to dye my own hair without ending up looking like Elvira or Ronald McDonald. Still hoping that world peace will happen within my lifetime!
Okay. So. Me and my two-toned hair went back to the woman who scalped me two months ago and I sat down and said, “Hi! Remember that last haircut? You made me CRY.” The thing is, it was a good haircut (grew out nicely), it was just entirely too short… so I figured I’d give her another chance. She rose to the task and I’m pleased to report that I am not bald. The cut came out quite nice. And she only made fun of me a little for my dye escapades.
As for the rest of my day, I don’t remember. It has all fallen away in the tragedy of not enough pretzels. Let me get back to you. But if you have some pretzels, bring them over, please.
I’ll bring more beer too. and the fancy mixed nuts. Then we can talk about the Elvira thing.
woohoo. cheap date with Elvira. I’ve got a black velvet painting of Elvira (hung next to my black velvet painting of Elvis (rest his soul)) under my neon michelob sign in a place of honor in my double-wide. show ya’ my etchings of Dale Earnhart too.
Oh, Mir! You do crack me up! I have similar dye fun with my hair. And the same Christmas schedule for my kids. And the 12-year old from you previous post is getting more action than me, too. Merry Christmas!
We really NEED a hair photo y’know.
Mir, Mir, Mir. (Shaking head exasperatedly.) Haven’t you learned anything from me yet? Better to make the kids wear holey underwear, and save the money to treat yourself to a good – PROFESSIONAL – dye job. Trust me – the kids won’t mind (will probably enjoy it, to tell the truth). And your hair will look FABULOUS, which is the whole point!
Beer = Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!