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My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Life from John Edwards' Haircut

I flew over the cuckoo's nest about 1 week ago; leaving the Rocky Mountains in search of employment in warmer climates.  Where did I land?  Santa Clarita Valley - a somewhat less populated valley, north of Los Angeles, and all the city of angels' turmoil that seems to swirl from every sewage grate on the mean streets of the angelic, modern day ghetto.

Day dreams and aspiring thoughts have a way of birthing ambitious moves.  Some are thought out and well planned while others are so spur of the moment that the end result hardly seems like the trouble we go through to strive to the ultimate goal.

Job searching is never a thrill.  At my age, the butterflies in my stomach have long since begun to metamorphosis into a moth, cocoon type slumber, and going to interviews isn't quite a nerve racking as it once was. The uncomfortable shoes, pinched toes, and adapting to walking on heels seems to have become less bearable than they were 20+ ago.  And, what makes job hunting even more of a thrill (like that of the mandatory pap smear and colonoscopy that comes with age) is the snotty youngster who is the sub-human guppy who decides your fate.  Forget that most people I have encountered are nearly 25 years younger than me; and I am old enough to be their mom. 

A friend informed me that pantie hose no longer are a normal aspect of dressing in business attire, and that wearing  half slip is not a crucial part of  becoming a lady.  What the hell do we have Victoria Secret for?  Push up bras and thongs are run off the mill under garments.  Who the hell feels any sense of domesticated comfort with underpants creeping towards an exit only?

In the drive to garner some reversal of years, I chopped my long hair off, and fell into the theory (who the hell came up with this hair fashion faux pas) that women over a certain age should not have long hair?  So, I was relegated to a salon chair, and spent hours being cut, textured, colored and had loads of costly "product" applied to my head.  What has happened to dippity-doo?  Or the semi permanent Aqua Net?  I got a chic hairstyle,, some high lights, low lights and even some red at the nape of my neck to give the impression that I watch E Channel, Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and even know who Justin Beiber is.

With this make over into middle aged rejuvenating rebirth, I then sat in shock with the total for looking younger.  Almost $300 for all of this bullshit, that hardly seems necessary.  The pre-pubescent manager of Employment Agency 101 is going to take one look at me and giggle.  For all I know, I've hiked my dress into my granny panties, and no one wishes to offend this old nanny granny.

So, with the cost of my hair cut, color and re-vamping, I still sit with confusion as to why the dirty scoundrel John Edwards would need to have ever spent $300 on his short, nothing head.  Could it be that while he is being groomed, there was some sort of surgical procedure going on, wherein the stylist was actually some Manchurian Mastermind, injecting Edwards' scalp with long lost brain cells and a wholesome moral compass?  I'd ask for a refund Mr. Edwards.

Last week, the jury system once again failed us.  John Edwards walked out of a court room, with not so much as a slap on the hand; although a whack upside his vacant head would have been far more entertaining to watch.  Reports of brain dead jurors winking, smiling, making giggly-eyes at the lowest form of pond scum are still fresh on talk radio.  What is it with juries nowadays? 

The peace I can draw from this whole thing is that scum film Edwards has a lifetime to contemplate hell.  I suspect GOD and maybe even Joan of Arc, and without a doubt, Elizabeth Edwards herself, have some overhead projector and the strikes against John are being tallied.  Edwards spewed this speech after his court room dating game about how sorry he is, how he loves his children, yada, yada, yada.  Had I not been driving a friend's car, I would have hurled my lunch all over the windshield.  Does this man know nothing of being humble?  Or maybe he is just bumbling boob.

Alas, I am still searching for a job, there are still teenagers interviewing me, and John Edwards is still getting over-charged for his slick willy hair cut.  Maybe he should seal his mouth shut with a good dousing of Aqua Net.

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