Monday my son tried to fake his way out of school with a stomach ache.  He was reminded that he had soccer practice and wouldn’t be allowed to go unless he went to school.  Ah, a miraculous recovery occured.  “Oh, laying here for a few minutes has made me feel much better.  I’ll go get dressed.”  Not even a little subtle.

Tuesday I was Anjelica’s hair model.  She was actually sick.  Her whole family was sick with barfing and diarrhea.  Ick!  But she had to go to work or else her Vegas fund was going to be lower than desired, so I went to get my haircut.  I went despite a phone call I got an hour before I was supposed to leave.  It went like this:

A:  Hey, I was watching the video for the cut I’m doing on you, and the layers are pretty short.

Me:  How short?

A:  Well, they’re shorter than I thought they were, but it’s a really cute cut.  I can modify it though, and make them less short.

Me:  Anjelica, don’t worry about it.  Just do whatever you need to do to pass the cut.  It’s just hair.  It’ll grow back.

Yep, famous last words.  I believe Jane Fonda had this same haircut when she was known as Hanoi Jane.  I can’t imagine what posessed Toni & Guy to bring it back.

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Okay, it’s not really that bad, and my bangs (I don’t really think of them as bangs since I don’t let them hang in my face – it’s more like shorter pieces in front that swoop to the side) certainly don’t look like I’ve been unwashed in the jungle for a month, and my color (in spite of actually being a toner, oops) is nothing like the muddled brown she had.  Did anyone have a decent hairdresser back then?  Give that poor woman some highlights!  Yesterday, I thought, well, I just won’t wear my hair down for a couple of months.  But today, it cooperated and looks pretty much like normal.  From the front anyway.  The back still looks a little motorcycle mamaish.  Well, she did say it was going to be edgier than what I was used to. 

Wednesday I went to softball practice (yay, I could wear a hat!) and watched D sit in the grass eating Chik-Fil-A (or however you spell it) while the rest of us starved and actually practiced at practice.  Hunh.  J yelled at him.  Later I yelled at D because he dropped his lid and straw in the parking lot and DIDN’T PICK IT UP.  Hello, WTF???  Does anyone actually do that?  I said, “DW!  That is not okay!  This is not biodegradeable.”  I was rather indignant as I shoved his garbage back into the sack he was trying to get it into when it fell.  That did it though – crush on coach is officially over.  He really was just going to leave it there if I hadn’t have said anything.  Eeewww, gross!

On Thursday we had our game against Team America.  I was pretty damn excited because I had seen a guy on this team before who was very cute, so I got my hair all done up and wore lipstick and everything.  I know, that’s totally ridiculous, but as my mother keeps reminding me, “You never know where you’ll run into your New Husband, so please wear make-up and fix your hair!”  I knew I would get an up close and personal view of Cute Guy since my lovely teammates decided that since I can’t catch I should be catcher.  Does that make any sense whatsoever?  Well, it turns out that Cute Guy is on a different Team America.  I knew as soon as I saw the jerseys – not the same team.  Sad.  And this Team America didn’t have one single cute guy on it.  They had cute girls for D to look at though.  I think he may have drooled a little.

The Make-the-Girl-Who-Can’t-Catch-Catcher idea actually worked.  I caught some of the balls, and the ones that went past me didn’t matter because it’s apparently in the rules that you can’t go on a passed ball.  Great!  So I was pretty happy.  The only bad part was my surgerized knee makes a really nasty grinding sound when I crouch.  It doesn’t hurt, but the sound is nauseating.  I had two hits also, so I was happy.  We still lost though.  Yeah, we’re on the schnide at 0-3.  It’s okay.  We were just so thrilled not to have been mercy-ruled out of there that we all went out and celebrated.  I drank Seabreezes, yum. 

Yesterday and today, my son did actually stay home from school with a stomach ache.  He had to go to the doctor though.  He’s got some virus and is on the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast).  I hope he didn’t have it on Monday too!

I went to my parent’s house today to visit, and my mom was asking what I’m doing this weekend.  I’m not really doing anything other than getting this house cleaned since it looks like a tornado went through it.  It’s the dog’s fault.  Well, sort of.  I got up this morning and realized that I am a pig.  I have this really gross habit of putting dirty clothes in the other sink in my bathroom.  There’s two in there, and only one me, and I only need one sink.  Normally the dirty clothes go in a hamper, but the hamper was in the laundry room, and rather than moving it, I just tossed the dirties in the sink so the dog wouldn’t eat my socks and undies.  It got to overflowing though.  That’s just nasty.  The point of that whole story is that she once again mentioned that if I was looking for something to do, then why not go to church with her and my dad?  I told her, for the millionth time, that I would be sleeping in on Sunday since it’s my only day to do so.  What I didn’t tell her is I feel no need to prove anything by walking into a certain building on a certain day at a certain time.  I’m just not a big fan of going to church.  I’d rather do my own thing on my own time.  That’s probably wrong on so many levels, but I don’t know.  I don’t want to go, and I definitely don’t want to go with them.  My mom has become very religious since she had her transplant.  Like outspokenly so, and it kind of weirds me out.  I’m not even the same religion as they are!  Maybe if she’d sweeten the deal by throwing in brunch …  

Finally, this is the sickest story ever so beware, my dog has totally violated me.  I was getting ready for the game on Thursday and was butt-ass nekkid.  I bent over to take off my socks, and my dog came up behind me and licked.  Right up the middle of my bent over stuff.  I am completely traumatized.  However, I’m not completely stoopid, so now I know to keep my ass against the wall whenever I’m changing.  The smarter thing would be to have the dog away from me while changing, but he follows me like a baby duck wherever I go. 

And that’s it, my week in a rather long nutshell!

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