The real decision ’08: Should I cut my bangs?
These are trying times; economic downfall, sky rocketing gas prices, millions impoverished and uninsured, but worst of all… my bangs are really freaking long and I don’t know what to do with them. This is becoming very taxing on my personal livelihood, I’m lost, confused… do I cut them? Do I keep them shaggy? Do I grow them out? Do I need a lobotomy? These are the questions that today, you boys and girls, will help me find out.
The options…
Me, right now, looking frankly a little stoned (I'm not) with entirely too much damn hair in my eyes.
Or…
French Rangoon and I in Vegas. You can actually see my face! Oh my God!
Or do I just grow it all out?…
Static Monkey and I in Madison,WI a loooooong time ago.
I’m thinking I’ll cut them but God knows I can never make a decision alone, I’m just so unsure and generally inept in every way, such is my lot in life… But vote, your Local Ginger needs your support.
Filthy Perverts…
Every once in a while I like to list off some of the most bizarre search terms that bring people to my page; an idea that I clearly stole from my good friend and fellow blogger Hautepocket, but it’s a good one, so she should feel honored that I pay this homage to her genius . I’ve had some weird search engine terms in the past but holy Jesus has this crap gotten ridiculous. In the past week I’ve had everything ‘vagina’ related including, but not limited to, “vagina kick”, “vagina suckers”, and “weighted vagina balls”, the latter to which I can only respond with “WTF?!?”. If that isn’t weird enough I now have people visiting my blog when they are really interested in something “in my ass”. “In my ass”?!? Really? How on Earth is this chaste, innocent, virginal blog attracting people on the prowl for something in my ass? Unless he posted those pictures online after all…
Ginger relaspses, looks fabulous doing so.
I might have a mild shopping addiction. Ok, that’s a bold faced lie, but I just love everything about shopping; I love fashion, I love dressing up, I love everything except the immense drain on my wallet. A few months ago I faced a serious financial crisis, so I made the sort of cut backs that I never had before; I stopped going out to eat, I stopped going out to bars, I bought generic, and I didn’t go shopping, for anything but groceries and bare essentials, for months. It was like letting an alcoholic look closely at a vodka bottle, but then pouring them a cup of grape juice, that is how I felt looking at shop windows and not being able to spend money on anything but Manager’s Special meats at Kroger. Agony, pure, unbridled agony.
It only worsened the last few weeks with all the new, fabulous fall clothes filling store windows, magazine pages, and therefore haunting my dreams. What kills me the most is that I love just about everything in stores now; the tweeds, houndstooth, herringbone, and *plaids*, the preppy “Clueless” look with a rocker edge, all the adorable little jackets, long gloves, pearls, tights, everything tailored to perfection, adorned with beautiful embellishments and made of rich, luxurious fabrics, pencil skirts, forties style shoes, cute little berets and fedoras, and hordes of boots… oh the boots. I’m getting a fashion erection right now just thinking about it.
I have loved all of these things for years, this season couldn’t get any better for me, well it could, if I had money to buy any of it. **Cue the involuntary shopping spree.** Yesterday I decided that I had earned a little something, I had been diligently saving for months, I had paid off loans, payed off debts, paid my tuition, and still had plenty for rent and bills. I deserved to buy something for myself, within financial reason, to wear on my first day of school tomorrow. I went to Filene’s Basement and almost got carried away. It was like taking that deprived alcoholic, after months of giving him that damn grape juice, and dumping him smack dab in the middle of Oktoberfest in Munich. It could have been bad, I could have bought so much, God knows I was itching to, but instead settled on two fall day dresses and a bangin’ new bag for school, which I needed so I can’t feel guilty about that. All in all I feel better having shopped a little, it definitely relieved some serious built up stress and internal sorrow. More important than that is the fact that I am going to look absolutely j’adorable at school tomorrow, which let’s face it, is the most pressing issue of all in life- my ability to look cute in public and parade around in ridiculous outfits for the masses. Maybe a picture of said j’adorable ensemble will come this way after class tomorrow, I know you’ll all be waiting in suspense with baited breath until then.
The Ex-Boyfriend Files
The other day my ex boyfriend Matt called me up with the awkward “Hey… how are you?… are you still living in Columbus?” conversation. Now, mind you I haven’t really talked to him or seen him in more than a year after he decided that he was “no longer sexually attracted to me” and that we had become “too good of friends” and subsequently broke up with me, thus ending our four year relationship. We were living together, and after three months of us staying in the same place post-breakup, which was God awful to say the least, I finally found a new roommate so he left but took everything with him, as I had left all my worldly possessions in Wisconsin when I moved here to be with him. For all these reasons compounded it’s fairly needless to say that we weren’t really on the best of terms, though most of the hatred has long since faded I much preferred to just forget that he even existed vs. wasting billable hours despising his very being or memory.
So he calls and wants to chat, apparently he had just read in a magazine that mature people stay on friendly terms with their exes and he decided that perhaps he should attempt to be a mature adult. I’ll stay immature thank you, and to whoever wrote that damn article- fuck you. But I digress, we actually talked for about forty minutes before my phone died, and we went over just about everything. We went over school, job changes, even relationships, everything was pretty normal until after discussing my boyfriend John briefly, he asked if we were going to get married. Whoa, that was weird. I awkwardly cringed a little thinking ” God yes, he’s the love of my life and you mean nothing to me now, in fact I think I was a total idiot to stay with you for so long and I don’t know what I ever really saw in you”, but instead I just meekly replied “someday”. Let me tell you, if you feel that your life is too boring then just call up an estranged ex and discuss how much happier you are with other people. Although that was frankly a little one-sided, while I’m blissfully happy, he hasn’t dated anyone for more than five or six months thus far, like a constant stream of rebounds. Perhaps I just put up with more crap than most women in my position would.
Overall it actually wasn’t too unbearable, I think I’m just becoming an expert at ex-boyfriend run ins so the pain was less severe than expected. The down side is that he wants to continue being “mature” and keep in close contact with me, I did foolishly offer to let him come over sometime to see our cat Flanders, but it was supposed to be an empty offer, something that he wasn’t supposed to actually take me up on. But alas, it appears that I’m now doomed to be friends with him, I’ll do it, for the sake of the Fur-children, but I don’t have to like it…
The Sectional Saga
Last week my boyfriend and I bought a sectional for our basement “man cave”. We figured this would be the perfect way to fill up some extra space down there and have room for guests to sit if we ever decide to actually have anyone over, which at this point seems slim.
We picked it out in the showroom Saturday and were able to pick it up on Tuesday, so two days ago we borrow a pickup truck and go to get this thing in two different pieces, and holy shit is it heavy. Each half was over 150 lbs., but even more than the weight it was just terribly bulky and super hard to maneuver. After two grueling trips we manage to get the two parts inside the house but then we come to find that they won’t actually fit through the basement door. Shit. So we remove the door, still too big. Then we* have the super fun and time consuming task of removing the door frame and subsequently the banister in order to just barely squeeze this thing through, though quite naturally bashing up the walls and leaving several dents and holes. Once we finally get both pieces down three hours later, it becomes painfully clear that this thing is entirely too big for the room, by this I mean it takes up all the fucking space, it’s beyond ridiculous, but in our defense it really did seem a lot smaller in the showroom. Even removing the plastic covering was a bitch, it was all pinned underneath with industrial strength staples, and the process took me about 45 minutes and included almost crushing my body and my cat underneath the weight of it, profuse sweating, and taking the Lord’s name in vain at least twelve times.
So now we have this obscenely large sofa taking up 3/4 of our den, we literally only have 8 inches on either side to squeeze through to get upstairs/ to the remainder of the basement. However now my boyfriend and I can both completely stretch out and lay down without actually having to touch one another, which really is the big dream of serious couples everywhere. The only thing that scares me now is the thought of trying to get this thing upstairs in a few years whenever we move next.
The obnoxiously large sofa. To accurately gauge the size of this thing please note that the TV that looks tiny in the background is a 50"
*And by “we” in all these references, I clearly mean my boyfriend did/paid for these things while I watched and made dumb comments, I mean supervised.
My newest (musical) obsession
About a week ago, sort of by a mix of accident and luck I discovered this amazing band that can be best described as a mix of Arcade Fire and Snow Patrol, but you know, from Iceland, so I can’t understand a damn word they’re saying. They’re called Sigur Ros, and they are freaking amazing, the whole band is enormous, like 10 people, and if you have any taste in music whatsoever I highly recommend checking them out. So far my favorite songs are Staralfur and Inni Mer Syngur Vitleysingur ,Hoppipolla is really beautiful too. If you like sweeping orchestral pieces where the music simultaneously inspires feelings of uplifting joy and deep melancholy, then Sigur Ros is for you. I mean, trust me on this one kids, look at me, I like them, and I’m awesome, don’t you want to be awesome too?
Hurricane, schmerricane
Yesterday we had hurricane force winds for 10 straight hours; trees are knocked down, roofs are half missing, and a third of the city is still without electricity. This doesn’t seem so odd being that Ike is a very strong storm and it is hurricane season, it’s what to be expected right? Except for the fact that I live in Columbus, Ohio, hundreds and hundreds of miles from any sort of coastline.
So I have to ask; what the fuck God? What the fuck? I live in the one part of the country where it’s so average and ordinary that I thought we were immune to any real sort of natural disasters, that is if you take the basic principle of ‘the cooler the place is to live, the more likely your life is in danger existing in said place’ and apply it to this situation. Take any sort of coastline state; the beach is gorgeous and wonderful, so therefore your life and personal belongings get threatened for at least two semi-continuous months each year. Or California? Constant sunshine and temperate weather is the trade off that your car may fall into an opening in the Earth one day. What about the mountains of Colorado? They are amazing, serene and spectacular, that is until you’re buried alive in a horrific avalanche, that’s when you wish, “God, if only I lived somewhere tame and vanilla, like Kansas or Idaho, then I would never have to worry about crap like this.”
I do (shockingly) love living in Ohio, however I’m fully aware that it is not by any standards an “awesome” place to reside. That being said, I figured my trade off for living somewhere that is statistically ordinary would be that I would never have to worry about crap like this, you know, like a fucking hurricane from the OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY tearing up the city. It’s all very surreal, the fence that separates my back patio from my neighbor’s got ripped out, there are shingles from who only knows who’s house littered all over my front yard along with dozens of branches and parts of trees, not to mention that almost all of the traffic lights in the city are out so everything is at a complete standstill. It’s pretty freaking ridiculous, though I feel bad flipping out about it because if we got hit this bad then I can only image what it must be like down South.
In fact, I kind of feel like an ass right now… I should probably just stop before I officially end up in hell with the title of “most self-obsessed, selfish, uncaring bitch in history”, maybe for my encore I can go into the Children’s Hospital where I can point and laugh at the little bald kids.
Today I like my body which means…
… that tomorrow I’ll hate it. Somewhere within a 16 hour span I’ll go from happy, to complacent, to stressing over my bulging gut that has appeared overnight (in my mind), and freaking out about the mounds of cellulite that miraculously only I have the power to see.
You know, sometimes being a woman with all these neurotic, irrational, and generally absurd thoughts is really a giant pain in my ass (which seems a little less firm than it did yesterday…)
A day in the life of a Ginger 