Her and Her sunglasses

I had a meeting w/the Hair God on Saturday. I call him this, because not only is he a great stylist…but he is gorgeous. I don’t mean pretty-boy gorgeous, either. He is tall, bald, tattooed, and hot! Which is awesome, because I do have to stare at his face for two hours while he cuts my mop. This, however, is not about Hair God.

Hair God recently changed salons, and he now works in the Highland Village (ie snotty whore) area of Dallas. I am not against the wealthy. Hell, hopefully I’ll join their ranks one sweet day. However, I am very much against the attitude of entitlement. Look, sweetie (finger snapping and head swing included), having a bank account w/a few more zeros at the end does not make you a better person. So, Jess and I (because it was lady’s day filled w/shopping, lunch, and Hair God gazing) journey to Highland Village where my 2003 Honda Accord looks like the rusty junker a child molester might drive. The salon is very nice and divided into these tiny rooms that make the hair styling experience seem intimate and personal. However, this tight space also allows conversation to drift from one stylist’s station to another.

So, Hair God and I are settling into our comfortable witty banter about Denton, relationships, work, and whiskey (if you need a visual, I keep trying to look at him and he keeps having to re-adjust the position of my head) when I first realize that she is sitting next to me. She is dressed in a summer dress, minus a bra (who needs a bra when you’re so thin that your sternum sticks out through your clothes), carrying a big, metallic bag, gossiping to her stylist about how people (in the same room as she is) are dressed…other stylist..blah blah…She was about half way through her haircut when I sat down. So, as she is finishing up, I’m half way through mine. She gets up to leave, dusting off imaginary blonde wisps, secretly scanning the room to notice those noticing her. As she exits stage left, Hair God rolls his eyes.

Five minutes later she reappears. The world has ended. She has lost her sunglasses! Better yet, she has lost her $350 sun glasses. Oh, it just keeps getting better...someone has now stolen her $350 sunglasses. She starts asking all the stylist who are busy at work, if they have seen her sunglasses. The lovely Hair God says "No, I haven't. I'm working, not watching your sun glasses." God, he somehow got hotter in the past 5 seconds. Now, she's over by Jess loudly proclaiming "I left them right here." Jess is doing her best to ignore her, head buried in an old W. Then, she starts lifting up the seat cushions where Jess (all 6 feet of her) is sitting. Jess stands (still buried in W) while this extremely rude person moves our purses off the bench and searches for $350 sunglasses where my friend's ass had been 5 seconds ago. She finally gives up the search but not before bitching to the manager as well as an innocent by stander.

Hair God and I share a laugh over her ridiculous antics (I mean, really, no one stole your sun glasses, you pretentious bitch...you lost them..it's ok...I do it all the time). I finish up my haircut, give the Hair God a hug and a parting sass, pay my tab, and head for the door. The Texas sun is out in full force, so I reach into my bag.

But someone else's sunglasses had taken up resident there. Her's! I guess they fell into my open purse amiss all the seat cushion lifting and such..I quickly turn and head back into the salon before her glass's GPS had the chance to track my movement (by the way, the glasses...not so cute...they look like hollister's w/thicker plastic frames). The owner was still at the counter, so I hand him the glasses while clarifying I DID NOT steal them. He gets very excited and says "She will be very happy that you found them." and I say "Have a great day."

But what I really want to say is this: "Tell her that if she wants to own $350 glasses, keep up w/them. Tell her that hollister makes a $15 pair that looks just the same. But, most importantly, tell her pricey sunglasses, hair cut, car, house, etc. do not mean shit...and, just because she has these things, she is not better than me or Jess or Hair God or anyone. So treat everyone the same regardless of their address...or next time I'll back over your fucking sunglasses with my junker and not give it a second thought..."

Meeting the love of my life..

At the time, I was involved with another man. I had also lost another soul very dear to me earlier that year, and I was a little depressed. He tried to cheer me up, but something was missing. So, one afternoon, after having lunch w/his grandparents, he took me to the place where I met my love.

She was near the back of the room. She looked at me passively, uninterested, while all those around her begged for attention, a smile, a look in their direction. She already knew I was there just for her. Her big brown eyes met mine...it was love at first sight.

This is how I met Brie. I filled out all her paperwork, then I picked her up from the humane society a few days later. She had just gotten neutered, so she was a little shaky and disorientated. She barfed three times in my car on the way home. To this day, there is still barf residue on her paperwork (always a fun story for the vets). Also, she was very timid for the first couple of months she lived w/me.

Now, Princess Brie Brie is a force to be reckoned with and a celebrity of her own making. She is one of the funniest people I know, and she has never spoken a word. She makes my day a little brighter every time I see her big pointy ears.

If you have never adopted an animal, I highly recommend it. You'll be saving a life, and, who knows? You might just meet the love of your life.

Britney's Meltdown at the VMAs

Disclaimer: I love celebrity gossip. I know it's dumb. I know it's beneath me. I know that reading all the gossip rags only fuels the fire and leads to more star meltdowns, breakups, and shopping trips to Rodeo. Nevertheless , I'm a frequent visitor of both perezhilton.com, eonline.com, and people.com (they have the nastiest tidbits and the pictures to go with).

So, my fave story today. The Britney meltdown. Poor Brit Brit couldn't hold it together for one song during the VMAs. I saw the performance this morning from work on my tiny monitor w/no sound...and I bet it still sucked in Hi-Def w/a 32' screen.

There were her moves...or lack there of rather. She seemed to be pacing and flailing her arms in a way that might suggest thought of dancing but never the action itself. She even seemed to trip a few times. Her poor backup dancers, however, were working hard just to keep her afloat..which they couldn't.

There was her costume. Who drinks as much as the tabs say she does(not to mention those pics from late night Mc D's trips) and then feels comfortable throwing on a bedazzled bikini to wear in front of millions? Someone who is delusional and should not raise children.

There was her supposed meltdown after running off stage. I would run and cry too if I had bombed like that.

Did I mention that I've never even heard the song?

Maybe Brit should have been logging some hours in the gym and in rehearsal instead of partying it up all week. Brit, you aren't Paris Hilton. You're famous for something. What was it,again?

Popped Collars and CDB

Here's a recap of my Friday night:

Since Owen was studying for the GRE (because what is a drummer suppose to do when his band breaks up? Oh, I know. Go to grad school to get a PhD in Chemistry!), the ladies and I decided to get together for a rousing game of "Dupe the Dumb Frat Guys in to Buying Us Drinks". Now, the rules of this game are simple. You dress really slutty, come up w/an awesome back story for the each participant (usually involving stripping or homosexual/bi-sexual tendencies), and pretend to be interested while extremely tan young men w/popped collars buy you drinks. Like taking candy from babies... However, last night it was more like taking candy from an extremely hungry 300 lbs. man. So, after multiple looks and a few snippets of conversation w/the occasional collar, Jess and Kendell called it and went on home.

Never ones to go home early on a Friday, Other Jenn and I met up w/Chloe and moved the party on down to Andy's, the place where everyone knows your name AND who you went home w/last night. I accidentally ordered two double beam and cokes (note to self: never try to order w/hand signals regardless of how loud it is in the bar). Then, of course I had to drink them...which I did. Conversations get fuzzy and I literally got shoved out of the bar (Thanks, Jared!) at 2:00 AM.

Side Note Time: OJ's boyfriend is the lead singer of the Feds, another Dallas/Denton band. The Feds are having drama (yes, like the "In" group of girls in high school that you hated, bands fight amongst them self, force others to join sides and then end up making up at the slumber party where they do each other's hair and nails) w/another band that I will refer to is Crappy Douchebag Band because not only does their music suck, but yes, Virginia, they suck as people! The story goes that the Feds stiffed them at a show where they just barely made the bill. La la..don't expect to make money opening at a bar in Dallas..don't expect to make money from playing in a band, period!

Back to last night, as we were leaving Andy's, OJ decides we are going back to Crappy Douchebag Band's house. So, she grabs a Band member and we start walking to my car. Along the way, we acquired a lost puppy/weirdo who wants to go w/us, even though he doesn't know where we are going or who we are. Somehow, we convince te lost puppy/weirdo to follow us tho the party...and we drop him at his car. Then, we speed off and drive sporadically through Denton trying to lose this guy. We finally arrive at CDB's house at 215-ish.

OJ and I grab a seat on their porch swing and as soon as our ass hits the seat, they start in. They talked shit about The Feds. They talked shit about Matt, OJ's bf. They talked shit about the show. They talked shit about Denton. They just talk shit for about 30-45 mins. I have never met a group of people so united in ignoring social graces and politeness for ego-stroking. How dare you, you prissy, worthless excuse for a musician and a human, talk shit about my friend's boyfriend when she's sitting right there? Are you fucking serious? You're an idiot. You aren't entitled to anything, and no one fucking cares if you're alive much less if you're in a band...

So, mid-rant, I jumped up and said I was out. I murmured something about Owen and GRE and early morning (which they scoffed at..how dare he "sell out" and further his education) and ran/walked to my car.

Then, I came home, crawled in my warm bed next to my man and our child, and thanked God for Owen and his kind heart. Every once in awhile, I have to have a reminder of why I love him so much.

Sometimes, your night ends up not at all how you expect it. I thought I was going to dupe dumb guys into buying me drinks, but I ended up paying for every bottle that touched my lips. I thought I was going to get away from the house for a few hours and spend time w/my girls, but by the end of the evening all I wanted to do was cuddle up next to my boyfriend in our tiny apartment. Sometimes, your night ends up exactly how you needed it to be.

Me and mine

I need to do this. I need to write to get stuff out of my head. I need to advance my writing career out of the technical writing field. Yes, because it's dull and unsatisfying. Like sex w/an ex, tech writing has become so predictable (man, I've seen that move..oh and that one, too) and so mundane I fight to stay awake I only thought it was a great application of my English/writing skills..

Just the facts: I'm a 22 year old girl who lives in a tiny house in Denton, Texas. My boyfriend will be officially moving in to these cramp quarters in a month. I have a Boston Terrier mutt named Brie who is a lap slut and an attention whore. My boyfriend, Owen, was the drummer in a band, Upside (now DOA). I've managed to collect a few lady friends throughout my time in Denton, and they are all unique, intelligent, and F-U-N. I can't cook, but I love eating. Clean Day Saturday is a holiday I celebrate every Saturday morning (kind of like the Holy Sabbath for you church-going people). I have 12 shelves in my bathroom. Each of which has about 3 different kinds of bath product on it. I prefer whiskey shots to all other forms of drinking. Hi, I'm Jennifer.