Category Archives: Humor

At The Moment

Is it starting to feel like summer where you live? Are the kids you know and love all graduated and working towards getting ready for their next chapter? Are you eagerly anticipating the next great summer pop song?

I’m cautiously optimistic about this new life that we, as a couple, are going to craft beginning this summer, in Wisconsin.

Hubs, our good boy Radar, and I will be hitting the road in less than 24 hours.

Towing this:

Our summer home!

But for this brief moment in time (aka me trying to remember that #thistooshallpass), things in these parts are super wonky.

Examples:

There is a box of cleaning supplies sitting on top of Hubs’ office chair at this moment.

My dining room table is filled with a combination of disposable grocery bags filled with clothes that need to be put in our camper, 2 old computer monitors , recently found plastic easter eggs with jelly beans inside them (score!), and a parking ticket courtesy of the city of Denver (my bad-but hey I got it paid online just now!).

We cannot park our Tacoma in the garage any longer. It’s filled with stuff for the movers to put in their truck, stuff for the junkyard dogs to pick up, and whatnot.

But that’s the sucky part of moving, right? And it’s almost over.

Did you know that prairie dogs are plentiful in Colorado? Well, now you do!

Hubs and I will be celebrating our recent 32nd wedding anniversary on the road, as we make our way to our next (and final?) destination. To find our “forever” home, as they say. The home we will die in. Or maybe not actually physically die in. I will just say the odds are that it’ll be the house in which we reside when we take our final breaths.

Ok, that’s just dark. Sorry folks, my anxiety is showing.

Really, what Hubs and I will be doing on our cruise through the upper Midwest is a lot of talking. We collectively have some shit to process. Stuff to discuss. Ideas to share. Plans to make. Pages to get on.

But also: the two of us have this unfettered opportunity to cut loose and have some fun. Maybe try some new food and drink, discover new places to rest our heads at night, and just sort of savor the quiet.

I am trying to resist the temptation to segue into how I hope for things to turn out beyond this road trip. Once we’ve landed in small town Wisconsin and reunited with our family and old friends.

At the moment, however, I’m going to make the wise choice and live in the here and now. Give myself and Hubs the “present” of being plugged into our present.

Raise a glass with me, friends! Cheers to a happy, fun, and safe summer!

8 Things I Can’t Get Behind

I haven’t published a blog post in a couple of weeks. That makes me crabby. Other things in my life are making me crabby as well. I have faith I will get through it, however, and the crabby-ness will dissipate over time.

In the spirit of crabbiness, I present to you the 8 (random and completely unrelated to each other) things I cannot get behind. If you’re feeling crabby like I am right now, I encourage you to share in the comments the things you personally cannot get behind as well.

Misery loves company and all that.

This post might indicate a need for me to trash my “tag line” on the home page of this blog, which reads: “Tales from an optimist transplanted from Wisconsin to Colorado. Finding silver linings, lifting others up, sharing positively good stuff”.

At the very least, I promise to publish a less pissy post next time.

  • Grown adults wearing cartoon character clothing. I think they look ridiculous. Not that I don’t like to frequently wear my brightly colored LuLuRoe leggings purchased from a local thrift store. So you can take this opinion with a grain of salt I suppose. Just know that if you see me in a Goofy (the dog) sweatshirt in public, something is terribly wrong. I’ve either been kidnapped and forced to wear someone else’s clothes or all my clothes burned in a fire.
  • The phrase “SorryNotSorry”. To me, it’s snotty sounding. Privileged. I do think it was bourne out of good intentions though, as too many of us women run around apologizing all day long for every little thing. I once met someone through a former workplace who wore a necklace with this phrase on it. It made me want to barf.
  • Angry white men. Seriously dudes what in holy hell do you have to be so angry about? You have carte blanche in this world. A free pass to do as you please. Opportunities galore based on being born male and white.
  • Businesses spelling their names incorrectly in a “cutesy” way. Certainly this is done to stand out so that potential customers remember them next time they’re in the market for a new “kar”. Maybe it’s just me but when I see big signs on the highway with purposely misspelled names I cringe.
  • Gender Reveal Parties. You’re having a baby, people! Why put the focus on gender like this? You’ll love the baby no matter the gender, right? If not, you’re just an asshole. Just call it a baby shower FFS and let the gender be a surprise. Don’t even get me started on the phrase “we’re having a baby.”
  • When people wear mis-matched socks. This drove me nuts when my kids did this as teenagers. I assumed they did this because they lacked the motivation to find matching socks (aka laziness). But now when I’m out and about in the world I am seeing people well over the age of 14 wearing two totally different socks on their feet. Why, just why??
  • When people who I am certain have at least finished the 12th grade use poor grammar. Prime example: I should “of” instead of I should “have”. It floors me how often I come across this on social media.
  • Sweet Potatoes. Potatoes should be salty, peppery, buttery…not sweet. I feel like a real weirdo about this because it seems 9 times out of 10 when I’m engaging in foodie conversations with others and I state my disgust of these things, I’m met with “really? Oh, they’re so delicious, especially with brown sugar and marshmallows”.

Weight Schmeight

A couple of months ago, when I was still employed, my co-worker Maureen, laughing her head off, presented this book to me. She had discovered it while sorting through donations for the thrift store portion of the non-profit we worked for.

This, I think, is one of the simple things in life to treasure: working with someone who likes and appreciates you. Someone who’s thoughtful, generous, and knows how to make you laugh. I just love this woman. She always lightened my mood.

I read this book shortly after she gave it to me.

It’s important to note that the author, Wendy Reid Crisp, wrote this in 1995. Because of that, some of her commentary is not necessarily applicable or relatable, in my view, to the upper middle-aged women of today. Like me.

Yet there were some bits and pieces that struck a chord with me.

Here’s one excerpt that I have a little something to say about:

“I’m not going to….3. Introduce body parts as topics of conversation.

In New England, there’s a group of women in their sixties who have been friends for forty years and who meet annually for a long weekend at a good spa. Their first event, on Friday night, is an “organ recital”. Everyone recites ad nauseam the state of her organs-heart, uterus, lungs, kidneys-and other anatomical conditions. As it should be, for the rest of the weekend the subject of personal health is taboo”.

I love this. Having a group of friends who get together yearly at a spa sounds fabulous! I’ve had this notion for a while now that someday, I’ll have a girls weekend. My sister will be there along with my “bonus” sister (Hubs’ sister), along with a couple of my girlfriends and a few cousins. We will sip sangria in the mornings, jam out to rocking tunes, and spend time in a pool or lake lounging on giant inflatable flamingos. We will dance, we will laugh, and we will raise a little hell.

It will be epic.

But there’d be one catch: at my girls weekend, on Friday night, we will engage in newfangled version of Ms. Reid-Crisp’s “organ recital”. There will be a designated amount of time (not to exceed one hour) during which we are allowed to freely discuss all things related to our weight. We can bitch about our muffin tops. We can talk about the pros/cons of intermittent fasting. We can swap Keto recipes. But when the timer goes “ding” (yes I will bring a timer) that’s that, ladies.

I might even bring a big old jar that those in the group who utter a word about their weight at any point after our Friday night “recital” will be required to put a dollar in. Kind of like a “sear jar”. All monies collected could later be donated to Planned Parenthood or another non-profit that benefits women.

I say all this because I detest the conversations we women always seem to engage in about our bodies. Our weight issues. It bores me. It seriously irritates me. I don’t like how when one woman will look at a perfectly good tray of delicious cupcakes and make some comment like “I need one of those like I need a hole in my head”. Because then, I feel like I need to “own” the fact that I’m a little fat. Probably 10-15 lbs over what I “should” be based on my height. I always feel compelled to respond by saying I don’t “need” a cupcake either.

Like “hey girlfriend, I’m fat too!”

I just find this troubling. There’s so much more to us women than how we look in our jeans. Or how we think others think we look in our jeans, I suppose.

And there’s so many more interesting topics of conversation, right? The books we’ve been reading, the vacations we’re planning, the new job we are applying for, the state of the world, our favorite movies, who’s pissing us off at work, who’s pissing us off at home, caring for aging parents, fun experiences we’ve shared together, and so very much more.

Sometimes inspiration comes from an unexpected source. Thank you Maureen, and thank you Ms. Reid-Crisp.

***Featured Image courtesy of https://www.healthygirl.co.za/20-healthy-girl-body-positive-quotes/

How Are You Rolling These Days?

I ask this as a sincere question.

Like, I can take it. Be real.

Think of it as a “check in”.

I also ask this because I have a full blown complex about coming across on this blog as self-centered, self-involved and driven solely by self-interest. Like “me me me me me” obnoxiousness.

Please God tell me I am not alone in this.

However, I know the nature of a personal blog is that it is personal. Attached at the hip to who the blogger is as a person. Like, no one is paying me to write news articles here. I am not beholden to anyone other than myself (and you) in this space.

It’s really quite the conundrum, don’t you think?

Also, I am not in the right head space to finish and publish the post I most recently started about work and career and me (of course).

Because of Christmas. Because of Work. Because I have the crud (aka sinus and possible ear infection, and yes I should get my ass to the doctor’s office).

So, tell me, how are you feeling physically these days?

Aside from the crud, my shoulders are aching more than usual. Likely because of the physical activity my upper body has been up to, with all the Christmas cookie baking and packaging I’ve been doing. I am hop Blah .Blah. Blah.

I freaking love baking. Christmas cookies especially. My secret? I keep it simple. No high-falutin Martha Stewart shit going on behind the scenes over here.

Though someday, I think I’d enjoy simply trying some of Martha’s recipes or DIY tricks. Maybe when I have this kitchen to cook and bake in.

How’s your attitude?

Currently, I am waffling between “let’s get Christmas wrapped up, mmmkay?” and “Christmas is my favorite!” Depends on the day. I am very much looking forward to making some merry though. Especially this weekend when I’ll be dressed as an elf while working at my employer’s “Santa Shop”, where donated presents, food, and hygiene products are given out to low income families.

How are you feeling emotionally?

Good question. Hard to answer actually don’t you think? I push those emotions of mine down during times of extreme stress. So much so that I can’t properly answer this question. Once I start seeing the light at the end of this Christmas tunnel I have faith that my body will relax and those emotions will come to the surface. I’ll sit down on my couch with Radar, sip some wine, and let it go.

All of the above and more is why I’ve determined that I’m going to choose one word to focus on in the New Year: “Balance”.

I was totally going to end this post with the loveliest Christmas music video I could find on YouTube.

Instead, I’m going to share two of my newest favorite songs; both of them stick in my head as I go about my day and lift me up. Maybe they’ll do the same for you.

I have been a fan of this dude for about 8 years or so. Can’t wait to see him at Red Rocks (or anywhere else) someday.

Doesn’t this just make you yearn for a tropical vacation this spring????

Raccoons, Cats, and Me

A couple of weeks ago, Hubs and I were laughing about a post from a woman on the Next Door app who had a raccoon slip in through the doggy door. She shared the cutest picture of this little creature. Later in the thread, she posted that she determined it would in fact not be fun to let the critter roam about at will, and found herself throwing everything she could immediately grab at him until he high-tailed it out of there.

This reminded me of another ridiculous thing I saw on the Next Door app a couple of months ago. So Karen this lady posted footage from her porch camera which showed a girl about 10 years old throwing a book shaped object towards a cat sitting in the lady’s driveway. Of course it was her cat, and of course everyone lost their shit and assumed this was an evil child who taunts and torments neighborhood pets for shits and giggles. Unsurprisingly, everyone jumped on this kids parents and questioned what they must be teaching in their home.

I chose to not comment on this post, because my gut told me there was more to this story.

I felt for the kid. It made me remember how my mother, Bonnie, instilled in me a fear of cats. Back when I was in elementary school, Bonnie would be periodically hired to do some interior painting in people’s houses. The one thing she hated about this is the cats inside those houses. They freaked her out. She didn’t like how quiet and sneaky they were. She didn’t like how they climbed the counters and sometimes sit atop the cabinets and hiss at her. She did not trust them for a second.

When I was 12 or 13, some young, foolish parents (I honestly can’t remember who) chose to hire me to babysit for their 1 or 2 year old (?) kid so they could enjoy a night out. I didn’t know they also had a cat until I got there.

Now this was more than 40 years ago, so the details are fuzzy at best. I remember the cat pursuing me around their little house. Like I was prey. I avoided it as best I could.

With adrenaline running through my veins, I got a bright idea: I could trap the cat in the bathroom, thereby protecting myself from this evil feline for the remainder of the night.

I imagine I found some sort of treat which I then threw into the bathroom. Once the cat ran in, I slammed that bathroom door shut and then marveled at my resourcefulness.

Around an hour later, I had to pee. As Bonnie always said “like a race horse”.

That was when it occurred to me that there was only one bathroom (remember I said this was a “little” house).

Oops!

I panicked. I had zero confidence that the kid’s parents were coming back anytime soon. And I sure as hell wasn’t brave enough to let that demon out of the bathroom, especially considering how pissed he would surely be that I trapped him in there earlier.

So I came up with another bright idea.

I found a Tupperware bowl in the kitchen. Then I proceeded to put it on the floor, pulled down my jeans, and squatted down above the bowl, releasing everything out of my bladder. What relief!

I swear to God I do not recall what happened when the couple returned home. I like to think I disposed of the pee-filled Tupperware bowl, washed it thoroughly, and returned it to it’s original home. Yet, thinking back to how clueless I was at that age, I’m guessing I did not.

Now back to the story about the girl and the cat post on Next Door.

My gut was correct here. There was more to it. The child’s mother responded to the thread with a mixture of disgust for her asinine neighbors’ wrong headed reactions to the video and original post, and loving acceptance and understanding of her daughter’s side of things.

It turned out that the kid was deathly afraid of cats (like me at that age) and because of that fear she was trying to scare the cat away. She was not trying to maim or kill the poor thing (you can see I’ve evolved and am no longer scared of cats). And the kid was also a sensitive one, because when she heard about what all the neighbors were saying, her mom reported that she was devastated. This whole debacle probably put her in therapy, if she wasn’t there already.

**Header image courtesy of https://www.123rf.com/

Simply the Best Mutt

This post is for those of you who have adopted a rescue mutt at some point in your lives, without knowing much about them beyond where they were rescued from, their supposed breeds, and their approximate age.

Do you ever wonder what their origin story is?

I do. And I have a theory about what Radar’s is.

Radar showing off his newest favorite toy, that moments before was covered in cloth.

What am I sure of? That before he came to Colorado, he was loved by someone else. I say that because of his sweet nature and love of all people he encounters.

This is the point in this post where I was going to tell you a clever, heartwarming story I made up about the newlywed couple that were his first “hoomans” who named him “Goofy”. These two crazy kids broke up for a time, then got back together when they were a united front trying to find him after he ran away amidst the devastating flood that hit the Houston area in the spring of 2019. They didn’t find him but “found” each other again. And of course they learned that the wife was pregnant and then they proceeded to live happily ever after, though often wondered what became of Mr. Goofy.

Instead of that, however, I’m just going to tell you all that Radar the dog ought to be the first of many dogs to compete under the category of “Mutt” at the Westminster Dog Show.

I know that the WDS does have the “All American” category of dogs; however from what I understand these dogs only compete in the “Agility” competitions. What I’m talking about is adding more diversity to the mix. Making it more inclusive, if you will.

There would be no agility tests. No checking their dental health. No showcasing the dogs’ levels of obedience.

Instead, the mutts would be judged on things like how long each dog does the “zoomies” after bathtime. You know, when they get out of the bathtub and run around like tasmanian devils, rubbing their wet furry bodies on every possible surface?

They would be judged on how cute their expressions are when their parent excitedly says the mutt’s favorite word or phrase, like “Treat?” or “Who wants to go for a walk?”

And of course, they’d be judged on their best, most unique tricks.

It’d probably have to be its own show, though, because the folks at the Westminster Dog Show take their shit very seriously.

Reminder to self: watch that movie “Best in Show”, stat.

Speaking of shit…a couple of weeks ago, Hubs was off in Wisconsin for the week, leaving me home alone with Radar-ling.

Here’s what happened on one of our neighborhood walks that week:

We ran out of poop bags and I wanted to avoid the nearest poop bag dispensing thing in our community garden area because there was a dog with their human and I didn’t want to have to deal with Radar going completely nutso and pulling me down and causing a ruckus. Because of course this has happened before.

I know there was an angel watching over me as I managed to walk the distance back to our house with one neuropathic (I have hereditary peripheral neuropathy) hand holding the leash and the other carefully holding a pile of poop mixed with grass and dry leaves in a used Kleenex found in my coat pocket, without Radar bolting ahead and pulling me down to the ground where most certainly his poop would have wound up somewhere on my person.

Truth be told, I am the more hands-off doggy parent, as for the most part, Hubs takes the lead with getting him out for walks, giving him baths, and making sure he’s fed. I am the “fun” parent. The one who plays with him, curls up with him on the couch and has lively one-sided conversations with him.

I was nervous as the time grew closer to me being on my own with him. Sure, I am capable of taking him out for walks and all of the other stuff Hubs usually does as the more responsible pet parent. It’d just been so long since it was just the two of us.

Well, it turned out that the professional training we three participated in when we first adopted him, coupled with Hubs continuing to reinforce that training when taking him out for walks, paid off.

I was proud to report to Hubs when he returned home that Radar was a very good boy the whole time he was gone.

My Radar-ling is just simply The Best.

Pooping at Work

One of my Facebook friends posted about a “genius” idea they learned about: “pooping shoes”.

These are shoes you change into at work prior to using the facilities to, you know, take a dump.

My Facebook friend was in the camp of people who nevereverever poop at work. They find it abhorrent when others do. They have a poop schedule to which they adhere. If their schedule is somehow off and they have no choice but to poop mid-day, they would hop in their car, drive home, do their “doody” and come back to the office.

This Facebook friend of mine also shared that they are grateful that at this point in their career, they work from home. No special shoes needed to poop there.

Yet, if they did still have to work in the office amongst other people, they’d have a special pair of shoes hidden in a drawer…just in case.

Or maybe they’d be like Zahid from the Netflix show “Atypical”.

Thoughts on this?

Here’s mine:

Who really takes the time to peer under the bathroom stalls and register exactly who is using the shitter? Weirdos, that’s who.

Now, a quick glance just to ascertain if there is someone in the stall, to prevent oneself from attempting to gain entrance-that’s normal.

If one were to change their shoes at their work station, then make the trek to the restroom, wouldn’t there be a decent chance that someone would notice the change in footwear? And furthermore, would there not also be a chance that the one who noticed the new shoes would also need to use the facilities approximately 20 seconds after one has plopped their ass onto the porcelain throne?

Because I’m pretty sure that would happen to me.

I’m just not that smooth. Or that sneaky. I’d change my shoes, then on the way to the toilet, I’d be distracted by a client in need of something or a co-worker with a question. Someone, no doubt, would take notice of my new shoes and perhaps ask why I changed shoes. Shit (ha ha), then I’d have to come up with a believable lie, like “these are more comfortable”. Then I’d have to wear my “pooping shoes” for the rest of the day, hence resulting in a need to find a new pair of “pooping shoes” to bring into work the next day.

It’d become a whole ridiculous fucking thing.

Instead, I’ll continue to be grateful for the fact that I do have a pretty consistent “poop schedule” (every morning after my first cup of coffee, in case you wondered). And if I simply must poop at work, I will flush first; right at the moment I am certain that those unholy sounds are about to start coming out of my tushy. Then, if someone else enters the stall next to me, I will finish up, wait it out until the coast is clear and then disembark from the toilet seat.

And if someone else is pooping when I’m peeing in the stall next to them, I will speed things up, wash my hands according to the instructional sign hanging by the mirror, and make a quick exit to give that person some space and some respect.

Because the fact of the matter, is we all poop. That is what toilets are for. Even the ones at work.

The Year That Was

Pardon me for using the most frequently uttered word of 2020 here: but what an unprecedented year this has been. For me, for you, for all of us. All because of a virus, whose name shall not be mentioned because I know we are all sick of hearing it.

I am ready to usher in the new year, as I know we all are.

Beyond (or in some cases because of) this pandemic, plenty of unprecedented things happened in my world the last 12 (or should I say 9?) months:

I unexpectedly lost one job and gained another. Now I’m back to running a food pantry again, a job I never knew I could love so much.

We bought a camper! It was as much as “seizing the moment because we’ve always wanted one and who knows how many moments we have left” as it was “now we have the security of a home on wheels if we need to flee the country”.

I broke my first bone! On account of falling onto the pavement due to a rare combination of poor judgement and general clumsiness. I was fortunate in that the bone healed up pretty darn well after wearing a walking boot for 6 weeks. Who knew that in 2020 I’d gain such an appreciation for wearing two matching shoes?

I learned that sometimes gifts I give to someone can wind up being a gift for myself and both sides of my family as well as my spouses side. Yep, I got Rabbie, that kid of mine who studied history for almost three years at a state university, a subscription to Ancestry.com for Christmas. Now on the daily we are hearing fascinating stories about how my great great great great great great great great Grandmother Mary Chilton came over on the Mayflower. And other stories like how brothers Ira and Samuel Dickenson (Ira being my great great great great Grandfather, on my Dad’s side like Mary), came upon a bear in the woods in 1832 and proceeded to beat it with a cane. Word is their beating of this bear led him to become so docile that he became an exhibit at the zoo.

Don’t be surprised to read more stories of my ancestors adventures as 2021 unfolds.

Then there was the death and resurrection of Karl the cat. Back in November, he came down with a double ear infection. Poor little dude. Shortly thereafter, despite having started antibiotics, he developed pneumonia. Apparently it may be true that cats have 9 lives, because this one actually died on the couch one morning when I was at work. Hubs came to the rescue however and performed mouth to mouth resuscitation on him, inflating his little kitty lungs with enough air to revive him. He was rushed to the pet ER where he spent the night on oxygen. He came back home sassier than before, ready to climb on everything and taunt Radar.

All in all, it wasn’t for me the worst of years I suppose. It surely was an interesting one though. Let’s hope 2021 is interesting too. But in different, better ways, right?

Happy New Year!!

***Header image courtesy of https://cdacmohali.in/goodbye-2020-welcome-2021-images-quotes-wishes-status-whatsapp-dp/

The Brightest Gem

Her name is Kelly. Or, as my Dad often called her “Kel-Kel Poo Poo”. She is my one and only big (biological) sister.

I’ve no idea where Dad got the idea to call her this. I think it’ll forever remain a mystery, as Dad unfortunately passed a few years ago. For the record, he often called me “Rhoda-Joda”. I think the silly names he came up with for all of us was one of his many ways of expressing his love for us.

Kelly and I, ready to partake in the Bloody Mary bar to celebrate our Dad’s second birthday in the afterlife. Babe loved a good Bloody Mary with a “snit” of beer to chase it down.

I don’t know where I’d be without Kelly. She is 8 1/2 years older than me (hard to believe that seeing the picture of us here, right?). She was continuously looking out for me and supporting me as I grew up. I was in awe of her as a kid and still am.

She was the one who regularly sent me care packages when I was away at college. They were filled with random, fun things, like candy, holiday window clings, note pads and other doo-dads. It always made me feel so special, so loved, when I opened them up. I doubt that I ever properly thanked her for them at the time.

I started writing this post on her birthday, November 10. Of course she was working that day. The woman is a work horse and always puts others before herself. I’ll be so happy for her, in another year or so, when she’s able to retire and get much-deserved time to relax and pursue all of those things that give her so much joy, like spending time with her beautiful twin grandsons and traveling with her husband.

It could be said that I owe Kelly my life. I remember hearing stories from when she was about 11 and had to baby-sit me sometimes. She dreaded those times, because our brother, who was just shy of 2 years older than her and had ADHD, delighted in teasing me to the point of tears. She was the one who calmed this bawling and sweaty toddler down during those times.

Kelly is the big sister every little sister wishes they had. She let me tag along with her and her girlfriends when she was in high school. She appointed me “junior” bridesmaid when she got married in 1979. She let me spend weekends with her and her new husband (and eventual baby boys) during the summers. At the time, they lived across from a small resort where we would rent paddle boats and cruise around little Lax Lake. She worked as a waitress back then, and sometimes I would get to hang out at the restaurant with her and her funny friend and co-worker Karen. So many sweet memories.

As she lived in closer proximity to them, Kelly was the sibling who took on the role of managing our parents lives as they got older. She was our family’s rock as Bonnie and Babe’s health deteriorated and for that I owe her a debt of gratitude.

Kelly is also my rock. She’s the first one I call when I have news to share, whether it’s good or bad. It’s fair to say she is the brightest Gem in my life.

For any of you that are blessed to have a “Gem” of a sister like I do, you understand that all I’ve expressed in this post honoring her merely scratches the surface. I’m grateful for Kelly and for the opportunity to have this blog where I can express that gratitude.

About Bangs

So this is my attempt to produce a blog post after having written very little in the last week.

There’s lots of reasons I haven’t been engaged with blogging. 1) I broke my left foot last week and am adjusting to this unexpected temporary reality 2) the election (Yay Biden-Harris won!).

Photographic evidence

But I don’t want to focus on all that right now.

I feel like I have a lot to say on the subject of bangs and it would no doubt be of great interest to all of my followers.

I’m a fan of them. For myself. I have little tolerance for when they start invading my field of vision, and staying at home due to Covid-19 made me realize that I can trim them myself without completely destroying my “look”.

Rocking my Toni Tenille inspired bangs in 5th grade

Not like I have a “signature look”, mind you. I guess I just surprised myself because I always assumed if I tried trimming them myself, they’d end up way too short. To avoid coming across as idiotic, I’d have to make up some lie about how it happened, like I got too close to my glue gun while crafting and had no choice but to chop them off super short. And I am a terrible liar, so that would have not gone well for me at all.

When my bangs get too long and I’ve had a more physical kind of day that results in semi-profuse sweating on my brow, they do something really odd. They curl up towards the ceiling. Like straight up. Like the only way I can rectify the situation is to completely wet and then blow dry my hair. Something I only care to do once a day, thankyouverymuch.

Years ago, I found a website that allowed me to put a head shot of myself up and choose all sorts of different hairstyles to see how they would look on my face. It surprised me how many of the ones that didn’t involve bangs actually looked pretty darn good on me. Of course that website didn’t account for the type of hair one has, which was a major downside. It didn’t factor in my hair being relatively thin and naturally wavy. So how the do’s with no bangs would look in real life on me would most certainly not be flattering.

Despite my hairdresser and both my kids (all bang-less individuals) telling me that I most certainly could pull off the “no bang” look, I don’t think I have the wherewithal to allow my bangs to grow out. They would be in my eyeballs as they grew. I’d be forced to use bobby pins to hold them back, which would look quite strange. Or I’d be doing that thing where I’m alternating blowing air upwards out of the side of my mouth so I can get the hair out of my way and see what’s in front of me and swiping my fingers over my forehead to brush those growing bangs out of my line of vision.

So I think for the rest of my life I’ll be wearing bangs.