Vent Vent Vent Vent Vent Vent Ventventventventventppfffttttttt
Anybody ever have a coat disintegrate on them within half a day after putting it on? I took my winter jacket out of the hallway closet for the first time this week, being that it was the first time in which the weather truly warrants it, and I only wore it to work and back, chucking it on the floor by the door when I walked in because I was too tired and lazy to hang it up at that moment. Next morning I pick it up and the outer jacket is shredded and crumbling as if someone had throw acid all over me in the store parking lot without my knowledge. I admit it's kind of an old jacket, but it was sturdy and very well made and showed zero signs of wear and tear. But that was just... bizarre. Like it had undertaken some kind of chemical change lying on the floor in the middle of the night, and there's nothing wrong with my hardwood floors. Now I need a winter coat. Another reason to get a new job.
I also somehow managed to get far and above the worst haircut I have ever received in my life the other day, and I'm about to gank the axe out of the shed and take on a little frontier stylist action of my own. I wanted some inches cut off and the length layered, but the lady seemed oddly terrified of taking off any length, which is common with hairdressers when they deal with my head, hesitating to trim any of it off and try to find their own ways around my directions. Not to mention she seemed determined to give me some semblance of a mullet (or "femullet" as Joe calls the ladies version) which is utterly unacceptable, and after struggling with the shears going back and forth I managed to escape with some dignity, but less hair on the top of my head. That's what I get for going to the cheapo haircutters instead of shelling out for a real salon. Yet another reason why I need a new job.
Everything's sort of compounded the depression I've felt since Thursday when I got my rejection letter in the mail from a job I applied for two weeks ago that would have paid me very well and helped my financial situation considerably. Getting cut from 35 hours to 26 is significant in ways that reveal themselves during those desperate moments when you need a winter coat or your hair cut in a way that won't make you look ridiculous at job interviews. I need to get a hold of my reckless life once again. I need to stop feel helpless, and eating out of depression, and remembering what it was like when I had control over my situation. Tonight I was at Baker St. pub with Joe and Mike watching the wrestling pay-per-view and I went into the ladies room and just stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself very, very hard in the smeared glass -- at my baggy eyes, my grotesque body, my unbearably bad haircut, and my shredded coat that I still wear because it's all that I have to keep me warm -- and I felt like never coming back outside again. And when I get that way, I know things need to change. And what's even more frustrating, I know I can change them. I just need to flip that breaker in my brain to make it happen. Now if I could just have someone reach inside and find it for me...
Sorry... you know how it is. Hey, the blog's still called "monster on a rope", y'know! It sure beats getting drunk on my woes. Then again I've never actually tried that.
Hmmm!
I also somehow managed to get far and above the worst haircut I have ever received in my life the other day, and I'm about to gank the axe out of the shed and take on a little frontier stylist action of my own. I wanted some inches cut off and the length layered, but the lady seemed oddly terrified of taking off any length, which is common with hairdressers when they deal with my head, hesitating to trim any of it off and try to find their own ways around my directions. Not to mention she seemed determined to give me some semblance of a mullet (or "femullet" as Joe calls the ladies version) which is utterly unacceptable, and after struggling with the shears going back and forth I managed to escape with some dignity, but less hair on the top of my head. That's what I get for going to the cheapo haircutters instead of shelling out for a real salon. Yet another reason why I need a new job.
Everything's sort of compounded the depression I've felt since Thursday when I got my rejection letter in the mail from a job I applied for two weeks ago that would have paid me very well and helped my financial situation considerably. Getting cut from 35 hours to 26 is significant in ways that reveal themselves during those desperate moments when you need a winter coat or your hair cut in a way that won't make you look ridiculous at job interviews. I need to get a hold of my reckless life once again. I need to stop feel helpless, and eating out of depression, and remembering what it was like when I had control over my situation. Tonight I was at Baker St. pub with Joe and Mike watching the wrestling pay-per-view and I went into the ladies room and just stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself very, very hard in the smeared glass -- at my baggy eyes, my grotesque body, my unbearably bad haircut, and my shredded coat that I still wear because it's all that I have to keep me warm -- and I felt like never coming back outside again. And when I get that way, I know things need to change. And what's even more frustrating, I know I can change them. I just need to flip that breaker in my brain to make it happen. Now if I could just have someone reach inside and find it for me...
Sorry... you know how it is. Hey, the blog's still called "monster on a rope", y'know! It sure beats getting drunk on my woes. Then again I've never actually tried that.
Hmmm!
posted by Melissa at 11:15 PM
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