Dear Diary:

    As I headed out the door early this morning to begin the 1/4 mile walk down the mountain towards my car, bleary eyed from the shock of Daylight Savings Time, I half expected to be greeted by flashing lights, and guys in bullet proof vests with guns drawn.

    *Insert sound of male voice distorted by megaphone here.*

    "Marn, this is The Fashion Police. Put your hands up over your head, come along quietly, and nobody gets hurt."

    Oh yeah, it was that bad.

    Today was gym day but last week was particularly crazy what with juggling work, gym, and the added bonus of maple syrup season beginning. There aren't enough hours in the day for everything and one of the things that I let slide was the laundry.

    So today's fetching gym ensemble was: bright green stretch pants that sag in the butt and are stretched out at the knees, utterly shapeless dusty rose tee-shirt, the whole shebang topped off with one of Paul's oversize, badly wrinkled denim work shirts.


    You might think it could not get worse than that, but sadly you would be wrong.

    See, the powers that rule the cosmos also decreed that it was time to have a bad hair day. Actually, scratch that. Bad hair day does not really encompass what was happening on my head today. Hideous hair day is a much more accurate description.

    See, yesterday when I was in the sugar house running the rig my bangs kept getting in my eyes. So last night when I got home I grabbed some scissors and cut them. Take it from me, you so do not want to be trimming bangs when you are tired, cranky, and just generally out of sorts.

    And now my bangs, which generally skim my eyebrows, ride a good half an inch above them. If you are young and hip this is a good look, eh. If you are my age it does not say "Bjork", it says "dork".

    So that's my Monday.

    The rest of the week is going to be better, right?

P.S.--Since today is all about sad confessions, I guess I'll throw in the one I made about a year ago.

Old Drivel - New Drivel

Subscribe with Bloglines

Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -

.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime

A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!

< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>

This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.