As of yesterday at 3pm in the funeral home, alone, I am totally sick of my hair. Totally sick of my hair, my make up, and that mirror on the back of the office door that makes me look shorter than I really am. And because feeling uncomfortable with how I look is so not necessary and it being natural for a mammal to evolve over time, I Googled. I found hair cuts and hair styles that I could see myself sporting. They were short and they were cute and still very professional. They also looked bird-proof. It's sad, but Maya's little birdy feet get caught in my hair about once a week when she goes to snuggle up under the thick blondeness. I have to either gingerly unravel the rat nest anchoring her feet or, on one occasion, I've had to cut a few strands of hair and let Maya nibble the rest away from her foot.
Because the salon closes early on Saturday and Sunday, and I'm stuck at work all day (and today especially, from 8am to 8pm) I decided to just experiment. I planted myself infront of the mirror and created a different part in my hair, one that sits more to my right instead of dead center. There you have it. Instant Sexy. It added slightly more volume and hid the icky darker tone of my hair. I took some make up that one of the ladies here left in the drawer and smeared a bit of eye make up on, added a bit of mascara. I did the same this morning while getting ready for work and styled my hair differently with a bit of mousse for volume.
I look wonderful and my new hair style, although subtle, makes me look my age and looks very professional. I still want to hack a couple inches off. For Maya's sake.
So, remember when I was all happy and proud of Poodle for being accepted into law school? That is a great accomplishment, right? Well, after almost a year of torment by his teachers and other law students and a severe bout of depression and loneliness, he has come to the conclusion that Law school just isn't for him. I knew he was struggling with making friends, not necessarily with the academics although he spent many long nights on assignments he thought were pointless. Last week he sent me a text while I was at work asking me if I had time to get on AIM. When I logged on he said he was sitting in class contemplating jumping out the window. I knew he wouldn't do it. He's a bad ass but he's not one for big shows just to get attention. He rather sit silently and let what ever is eating away at him fester into some debilitating psychological problem. He told me he was with a group of students before class and they began talking about some judge and problems with a particular court. He said that it was so boring and mindless the way they were talking, he wanted to just shut them out. He knew at that moment that he wasn't meant to be a Lawyer or any professional involved with the court system. I had a feeling what was coming, and I totally supported it. I feel so bad for being the one to pressure him into going to Law school, because at the time he was thrilled about having that chance. He and I both thought it was going to be an experience similar to his Criminal Justice education. Later that day he was working on another impossible assignment, searching for evidence in a Case Log search engine to support his claim in a research paper. He had been searching through two search engines for examples and evidence to support his paper but he couldn't find anything. When he had a similar problem a couple weeks ago and went to a fellow student for help, the guy completely and unnecessarily blew him off, even though Poodle had helped the guy only a few days before! And the teachers are not supposed to help the students if they think it will give the student an unfair advantage over the rest of the class. He knew asking another student or the teacher was out of the question. When I called the next morning (because that was how bad it got...I had to call every morning before he went to school to make sure he wasn't having a mental break down) he told me he was up all night looking for evidence and didn't find one thing. We had been talking for almost an hour, both of us agreeing that the best thing for Poodle would to have him quit now and get most of his tuition back. He said he had lost all his passion for Law, believing it would be more like Criminal Justice when it really wasn't. He told me he would have quit months ago, but he thought I would be disappointed, which is utterly stupid. I want him to be happy, and if "happy" is closer to his family and friends back in Delaware, then that is where he needs to be. He quit that same day. He stayed in Brooklyn for a few days so he could be by himself and wallow in his shame, seeing himself as a quitter. Once back in Delaware he seemed to be back to his old, happy, optimistic self. He has an appointment with an academics counselor at University of Delaware on Monday, where his original Bachelors in CJ is from. He wants to pursue a double major in International Intelligence or Computer Science. His theory, multiple degrees = multiple and better opportunities. But he is also considering a Masters in CJ. He's jogging now, too! He's watching what he eats and working out just about every day. I'm so proud of him. He has already lost 5 pounds, which I think he mostly gained from all the stress and late nights. He was miserable in New York. I finally got my Poodle back.
I was just told to update my blog, which I probably would have never done had NerdyGirl, my sister, not sent me an extremely brief message to "Update!!!".
Any who....An update on Gorilla at the gym, she is totally and undeniably plastic. Every inch of her. From the fat and pouty lips to the overly poofy breasts with the titanium nipples (seriously, even her sweat shirt can't keep those beasts covered), all the way to the abnormally perky butt that sits way too high to be natural. I'm not dissing plastic sugery or any cosmetic procedure as long as it's tucked, snipped and sucked out in moderation. Gorilla sweats plastic beads. Her make-up is tattooed on, and she is still super ugly! She still can't jog properly (let go of the handles and get off the phone!). She is also a free-weight hog. She'll plant her plastic self infront of the weight rack and if I reach around her I'm afraid I'll lose an eye. Her phone just ends up lying somewhere on the floor for anyone to accidently kick. I know she probably only works out because her body will look warped if she doesn't. She has an attitude problem and she never smiles. I'm currently trying to find other reasons to hate her.
We just recently held the services for a motorcycle victim at the Funeral Home. He was 25 years old and simply heading to work one morning. There was no other car involved in the accident so we can only assume he was trying to avoid a car infront of him. I like to think he swurved to avoid running over a dog or a cat or a small child. He's very handsome. His mom called a few days before we were supposed to hold the service and told me through a gush of tears and the horrible sounds only a heartbroken mother can make that she just had to see her baby. She couldn't eat or sleep and had to see him. There's no way I can say no, I told her, but keep in mind he won't be in his clothes. He'll be wearing a hospital gown. He won't be able to be placed in a casket by the time you get here, he'll be on one of our dressing tables. He won't be the baby you remember, he has a couple abrasions on his neck, but give me some time and I can make him look the way he did before he left for work that morning. After a few minutes I could hear her beginning to breath more slowly and she asked me "What about his face?". "He didn't sustain any injuries to his face...To be completely honest, he is very handsome. His hair is perfect, his little gotee is perfect. Give me some time and I'll be able to add a bit more color to his cheeks, but that is really all he needs." She listened to me and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was smiling, "Thank you so much for talking to me. I think it would be better if I waited till the service to see him, he'll be wearing his favorite shirt and his bandana." She thanked me for another three minutes and told me to make sure not to put too much make up on him, and quietly hung up. I couldn't help but cry. I put my head down on the desk for a few moments and just cried. I wasn't sure if she would keep to her word and wait till the service or show up at the funeral home without calling. Since I was there by myself that day I went into the chapel and did what I could incase she showed up. I put some make up on, just a bit, mostly blush and a natural lip tone to cover the flat,sallow skin. I cosmetized the abrasions on the neck till they weren't visible and draped a sheet over him to hide the dressing table. His neck was broken, an internal decapitation, and I was afraid to replace the styrofoam head block with a pillow. Luckily, she never did show up. Did I mentioned he looked truly alive? His skin was still glistening, and his lips were moist. It was the creepiest thing I ever saw. I had to talk to him while I did his make up because I felt I was violating him in some perverted way. I even caught myself blushing! It creeped me out. If you drive a motorcycle, make sure to wear a helmet, it makes my job physically easier. And I added physically because it takes its toll on me emotionally. That is the third or fourth motorcyle accident we've had since I started working at the funeral home. NEVER an automobile accident.
That update is long enough. I'll add more this weekend!
