Ch ch ch Changes

Okay, so.  T hired a new guy to work in the shop.  I don't know that I'm entirely thrilled.  I KNOW that I should give the guy a chance.  I just don't know that I wanna.  My first impression of him was that he's kind of a kiss-ass with a sob story. I have zero patience for either.  (Yes, I realize I do my share of bitching, but I am NOT a whiner)  Also, I like MY space and after nearly 14 years, I consider the entire shop to be MY space.  I'd piss all over stuff if I knew it would effectively mark my territory.

I'm effectively unsettled.  I am unsure of how this will change the shop dynamic. The shop dynamic being me acting like a pseudo-bratty-know-it-all-lovable-scamp-with-a-mouth-like-a-trucker and T sometimes playing along, sometimes scolding me, and sometimes just staring in slack-jawed wonderment at my overflowing awesome.  You see where the new guy's gonna fit in??  Me neither.

TWH suggested I walk up to him, punch him, and tell him "Now you know!!" and walk off, prison style.  I may just unleash my inner Bon Qui Qui.  We'll hafta wait and see.

If I come back tomorrow and tell you all I'm unemployed, you'll know it ended badly for EVERYBODY.


P.S.  Speaking of coming back tomorrow, go check out my guest post on The Family Pants.  Mama Pants is doing a guest posting series called Fancy Friday.  We're getting our Fancy back & we're sharing how we're doing it!!  Stop by and tell her what makes you feel Fancy!!

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Okay, so. Most days, TWH & I ride into work together. When I pick him up in the afternoons, we exchange the usual pleasantries. Among those is "How was your day??" TWH will usually add "Anything interesting happen today??". My typical answer is "Not really". I'll throw out a tidbit or two but it's never anything truly noteworthy. Let's face it, Not every week is a Chicken Shit Husband kinda week.  Today, however, I had something to tell.

TWH: So, how was your day??  Anything interesting happen??

Me: I almost accidentally said Twat at work today. There was that.

TWH: You almost said WHAT??

Me: Twat.

TWH:  How do you "Accidentally" say that??

Me: A client & I were discussing Game of Thrones & how Sansa seems to have the worst decision making skills in the history of EVER. (SPOILER!!)  Even when she was given the opportunity to leave King's Landing, she chose to stay.  I told him I was all like "You stupid Twaaa...TWIT!!".

TWH: Anybody buy that??

Me: Not really. They've met me.

TWH: Anybody say anything??

Me: No.

TWH: Then they couldn't have been surprised.  I can't believe they'd expect anything less at this point.

Me: Is that Good or Bad

TWH: Yes.

Yes is his go-to blanket answer he gives when he knows there is Potential for Pouting. He will neither deviate from or elaborate on his answer.

I usually end up pouting anyway.  Mostly because somehow, somewhere, in that "Yes" I'm supposed to be mildly insulted.  I think...

I Have a Theory

Okay, so.  I have a theory T may be a Test From God.  I may be failing.

Take yesterday, for example. It was slow in the shop. T decides to watch a movie on his phone. While he is watching said movie, he is providing running commentary. "No. Oh no!! Don't do THAT!!"  "Oh. He's just DEAD..."  It went on.....  And on....  Aaaaannnddddd ON.   He was wearing his headphones y'all. I couldn't hear shit about the movie BUT his running commentary!!

Amazingly, I held my tongue. I just gritted my teeth & kept reading Game of Thrones. (I HATE Jeoffrey & Cersei)

Later T was reading People magazine.  I was reading my book.  T begins commenting ON THE STUFF HE'S READING!!  Oh. Dear. God!!

I begin responding. "I read that."  "I read that too."  "AND that."  Finally my eye began to twitch & I HAD to say something.
"I've read it. I've read the whole damned magazine.  I have already seen everything contained in between the covers of that magazine. I do not NOW nor will I EVER require your running commentary on a magazine. Or a movie. Or anything. Really. So for fuck's sake WILL YOU STOP!!"

He got vewwy vewwy quiet after that.

I kinda apologized later. I just felt like THIS all day yesterday...





And he was stepping ALL OVER my last nerve!!

I probably owe him some Reeses Cups or something...

Why Yes...

Okay, so.  At work, I am usually the one who answers the phone. I'm not exactly sure how or when this duty fell to me primarily but it has. I also do most of the bathroom scrubbing, sweeping, straightening, sign making & mail sorting. I use all this to my advantage on Secretaty/Executive Assistant Day & guilt T into a free meal so don't think I'm complaining.
Anyways, typically right before & after a big Holiday or Vacation we get about 50 gajillion phone calls with people wanting to know the following:
Are you open??
Are you both working??
What time do you close??
Have you/when are you gone/going to lunch??
Are you busy right now??

I can answer these questions civilly up until about lunch. Depending on when lunch is.  Recently, right before a major Holiday, lunch didn't happen until about 2PM or so. To say I was getting a little cranky before would be understating it somewhat. I had my head down and was going balls-to-the-wall cutting hair when the phone rang. I answered like THIS:
"T's Barber Shop. Yes we are open. Yes we are both working. Yes we are busy. No, we haven't gone to lunch. No, I have no idea when we're going to lunch AND we close at FIVE. Is there anything I failed to cover??"
To his credit, the client on the other end of the line responded with "Nope. That pretty much answered all of my questions. I'll see you later."
All the clients who were IN the shop at the time were laughing their asses off.
T was NOT amused.
At ALL.
Not even a little.
He kind of fussed me.

UNTIL...

He was telling this story later that day as an example of my insolent behavior.
It just so happens the client I said all that to was sitting in the shop waiting for a haircut. He spoke up and said:
"That was me who called. I found her answer to be extremely helpful & concise. She answered all my questions BEFORE I even asked them".

HA!!!  Suck on THAT!!

Now T tells that story as an example of my insolent behavior & how I get away with it.
And as a cautionary tale to some of our newer clients that I haven't broken in good yet.

T often fails to appreciate my genius.

The Universe Loves Me... Part 2

Okay, so. I said in my earlier post, TWH was out of town this week.  We usually have lunch together a couple of times a week while T hits the gym.  Since I was Lunch-dateless this week, I called my friend Lann to stand in.
At around 10 this morning, Lann calls me to tell me he had to "Run to the courthouse" (He's a Sheriff's Deputy).  An hour or so later I texted him to see how things were going. He texted me back to tell me he was gonna be a little longer than he thought.  An hour later, he's still at the courthouse. An hour after that, he's STILL at the courthouse & there's no end in sight.
By this time, I'm pretty sure my insides had begun to eat themselves.
That's when it happened.
The Universe sent me a pizza.
A Large, half-cheese, half-pepperoni, piping hot, disc of cheesey, yummy, goodness.
FOR FREE!!
So I texted my friend.
"The pizza place across the street just sent over a freebie pizza"
"I totally caved & ate some"
"The upside is, there's pizza here whenever you get done"

He finally showed up around 3 to get a haircut.  He apologized profusely & we decided to do it another day.

So now I have a lunch date with one of my favorite friends AND I got free pizza.

The universe loves me!!

The Tale of the Chicken Shit Husband

Okay, so.  Earlier this week, Wednesday-ish, a guy comes into the shop, removes his ball cap, and says with a sigh only the bone crushingly oppressed can muster "My wife is MAKING me get a buzz cut and I was told to come see you". (Talking partly to me, partly to the shop at large).

T: Your wife is MAKING you get a buzz cut??

Chicken Shit Husband: Yes. I don't WANT one but she says I'll be cooler with it when I'm working & stuff.

Me: Okay, have a seat.

I get him settled and begin asking him the obligatory questions about overall length, etc.

CSH: I don't know exactly how short she wanted it.

Me: Well...  Did she mention any numbers?? 2, 3, 4?? Anything to indicate what she wanted the end result to be??

CSH:  She mentioned some numbers but I can't remember what they were.

Me: I tell you what. We'll start out longer and work our way shorter until YOU'RE happy. How about that??

CSH: Okay.

I fire up the clipper, snap on a blade and get ready to cut.  HE LEANED AWAY FROM THE CLIPPER!!  I try again (because I'm nothing if not persistent) and he leaned away AGAIN!! What. The. Fuck?!?!

Me: Is there a problem??

CSH: I'm not sure I want to do this since I can't remember what my wife told me. I'm gonna go GET HER & bring her back here so she can just TELL you what she wants.

Me: Alrighty then. Whatever makes you more comfortable.

He leaves. Never to be heard from again.

UNTIL TODAY!!  Oh yes folks!!  HE CAME BACK!!

CSH: You remember me from earlier this week?? Yeah, well I lost the fight. I'm gonna sit here & wait for my wife. She's on her way here.

T: You're really gonna do it this time huh??

CSH: Yeah. I told her about the mix up with the numbers & she told me she'd make it easy on me & to just get a zero all over.

T: A ZERO on your WHOLE head??

CSH: Yeah.

(Note: A zero is SHORT. A zero is what most Military & Police get on the sides. The only way to get shorter is with a RAZOR)

Me: (After he sits around for about 20 minutes) Are you still wanting to wait for your wife or do you want to go ahead & get started since you have your instructions??

CSH: I guess we can get started.

I get him all situated. AGAIN.  I fire up the clipper. AGAIN.
You know where this is going.

He chickened out. AGAIN!!

CSH: You know, I think you might be able to talk to my wife better about this. Maybe she won't argue with YOU.  I'm just gonna go outside & smoke until she gets here.

Me: Of COURSE you are!!

He fled. Never to be heard from again.

Because if he comes back a third time, I'm gonna tell him to take himself, his hair, and his WIFE to fucking Supercuts.

Let THEM deal with that shit!!

I Think T is Trying to Kill Me

Okay, so. T & I are going to lunch. He usually drives because my driving scares the shit out of him. That, and he usually knows where in the hell he's going. I am hopelessly Directionally Challenged.
Anyway, I go to get in T's truck. I open the door, put my foot on the running board, AND DAMN NEAR SLIDE OFF.
Me: What in the hell did you do to your running boards??
T: I cleaned my truck yesterday.
Me: Did you OIL them or something??
T: I put Armor-All on all my black. (His words, Hand-to-God)
Me: So you DID oil your running boards.
T: They're a little slick, I guess.

We arrive at out lunch destination. I grab a handful of napkins and wipe down the running board on my side of the truck. So I don't die.
T: What the hell are you DOING??
Me: Wiping the oil off. You're just gonna have to think of some other, less obvious way to kill me off.
T: ??
Me: I know this is payback for the toilet paper roll last week. You're gonna hafta try harder. Bastid.
T: Oh Jesus...

I'm relating this story to TWH on the way home. I told him it was a damn good thing I DIDN'T bust my ass because my last words to T, before I lost consciousness, would have been "You're paying for this!!". TWH said "No. Your last words would have been "You're fucking paying for this!!"

I Love that man!!

I Work With a Man

Okay, so. I work with a man. it has its pitfalls. Like this, for example.

Yes. It's the new roll ON TOP of the old roll!!

I took a this picture a couple of weeks ago and Tweeted it along with the caption "I work with a man".  I fixed the roll, griped at T, then continued my day.

T is not easily taught. Of course, this is a NEW development. Maybe he's devolving or something because today it happened AGAIN. I decided to take action.

I grabbed a sharpie and wrote the following on the EMPTY roll:

Really?!? Just fucking REALLY!?!?!

How hard is it to put the NEW ROLL on the HOLDER?!?!

Stop being an asshole and perform that EXTRA STEP already!!!

Love,

ME

Yes, I really managed to fit all of that on the empty roll. There's a surprising amount of space on them.

If that doesn't work, I'm taking a page out of The Bloggess' book and investing in a shit ton of post-it's.

That'll fix his ass.

Dear Asshole

Okay, so. I work in the Public Service Industry. I cut hair in a small, 2 person shop. Our main clientele are Law Enforcement & Military.  I learned to cut hair on a Marine Corps base so obviously, these kind of haircuts are right up my alley.
Occasionally, we'll get someone in who is, well, a Complete Asshole. You know the type. Someone who, for whatever reason, has deemed themselves "above" just about everyone else. They're overly educated. They have money. They're really, really good looking (and have yet to discover there's more to life than being that). Whatever. They're a jerk of the highest order.
We have one such client. He's an officer in the military. He walks in, grabs a bunch of magazines (or half the paper, whether there's a full shop or not) sits in the chair and makes it abundantly clear that he is in no way, shape, or form going to hold a conversation with you.
The following is my letter to this guy and ALL of his ilk.

Dear Colossal Asshole,

 While we appreciate your business and whatever business you've sent our way over the years, you do not have to be such a Total Dick.
  I can assure you that neither T or I are under-educated morons who cut hair simply because we were too lazy or stupid to find other means of employment.
  As a matter of fact, I am relatively certain that if you ever bothered to actually TALK to one of us instead of suffering what you perceive to be our blatant stupidity in silence, you might find out that we both have higher than average IQ's and can talk about a wide range of subjects.
  I am truly sorry you have to suffer the Human Race daily and that it's such an obvious burden. I am acutely aware of the jackassery and dumbfuckery that people commit daily.
  I am a barber.
  I have to see Fuckwads like you.
  Unlike you, I choose not to let the bastards get me down.
  Perhaps you could start slowly. Be nice to the people who do shit for you.
  It may change your life.

OR keep being an Asshole.

Your choice.

Sincerely,
Me
 

Dude..... UGH!!!

Okay, so. I've mentioned before that I work in a Barber Shop. I see Male People all day EVERY DAY. I see these super-cute, meticulously dressed guys come in the shop with THE nastiest feet EV-ER!!
Really Fellas!?! You go to the gym. You shop all A&F, Hollister, whatever. You have those stupid looking white Oakleys. Aaaaannnnnddddd... you have nasty, un-groomed, Sasquatch feet.  I'm amazed you don't click on the tile when you walk. Did you think no one would notice your flip-flop clad feet were crusty, hairy, and disgusting??
There's no shame in a pedicure guys. None. At. All.
Consider it a public service if it makes you feel better.
It'll keep ME from throwing up in my mouth ALL. Damn. Summer.

My Thursday Coulda Been Better

Okay, so. We now have Wordless Wednesday & WTF Friday so I figure my Thursday coulda been better. Let's start with work, shall we?? It began, as always, with me getting there first. I did the usual opening up routine and and began the work day. Fast forward to about 10:30. Had a client come in and ask for a flattop. I gave him one and HE FREAKED THE HELL OUT!!  I'm talking full-on-panic-mode-almost-got-to-see-a-grown-man-cry Freakout with a capital "F". Seriously!?!?!  I'm a barber. I cut your hair. I don't help you with your deep breathing while you come to grips with the fact that you may have made a boo-boo. It turned out okay. He liked it when I was done with it. Yay.  I continue on with my morning. Cutting Marines hair (it's a drill weekend) until it's time to close up for lunch.  I call TWH & tell him to head over to the shop. He picks me up & we head downtown to pick up Cirque de Soleil tickets and grab some lunch. Downtown is a freaking madhouse. Overlooking the fact that it's downtown & things are usually a little crazy, it was HollyDays. Wheeeee!!  HollyDays is some Junior League annual shopping thingy that I've never participated in BECAUSE I WORK; and this shindig is geared at other Junior League types who don't. This means no tickets today because we can't even get close to the ticket office. Soooooooooo.... We go to lunch. We go to the restaurant and seat ourselves as instructed. Our perky, young, waitress comes by to take our drink orders. And promptly disappears.  After about 20 minutes or so, she reappears and asks us if we're ready to order. We order wraps & soup (this is a thing) and she disappears again. About 10 minutes later, she reappears to tell TWH they're out of soup. We STILL have no drinks. Perky Waitress looks at out table & says "Oh hey!! I never brought your drinks!!  My bad!!" and she scampers off  then reappears shortly with our drinks. She was never seen again. Food comes, we eat, I use the menu & my phone to calculate the bill & tax, I put money on the table we leave. I took an hour and a half for lunch. We went 10 minutes away from my work & I got back with about 5 minutes to spare. You do the lunch math.  Soooooooooo.....  I get home. There's a frozen lasagna on the stove for me to make for dinner. It's gonna take 80 minutes. I put it in, set the timer for the correct first-stage time (it's a frozen dinner with a multi-step cooking process. I'm already out of my depth here) and go play with Pinterest.  The timer beeps & I move on to phase two, set the timer, and go about my business. A little while later, I go to check on dinner. Only to find the oven was off. I'd apparently set the "Turn the oven off" timer the first time. Shit. I re-start the oven, re-set the timer and sit down to write this rant. Next week, we're having pb&j. That's in my cooking scope of capabilities. Like I said, my Thursday coulda been better.

Nothing Personal...Really

Okay, so. I am a total gum-chewing freak. I breathe on people all day at work and I'm convinced that minty gum smell is preferable to whatever I just ate or drank that day. I'll never forget, when I was starting out, the client in one of my co-worker's chair looked at her after lunch and said "Tuna Salad huh??". I cannot imagine anything any more mortifying. Or couldn't, until today. Today, I accidentally spit my gum out on a client. Yes, you read that correctly. I. Spit. My. Gum. Out. On. A. Client. I have no idea how it happened. I was opening my mouth to respond to something he said and it just FELL OUT!!  Fortunately, I caught it. It didn't ACTUALLY land on my client, but still...the gross factor is pretty high here. I usually just almost-swallow-and-choke on my gum. This is equally as unattractive as it involved much choking & spitting but at least the gum stays in my MOUTH. The guy was a good sport about it. Because my clients are awesome. I told him it was nothing personal. Really. I'm just a gum spaz. I could give up the gum but the alternative is just too daunting.

I Am NOT a Girly-Girl

Okay, so. Today at work, I had to have T (Troy- My Work Husband) kill a bug for me. I spotted it as it made it's way across the room and left a post-it on T's mirror that read "There is a bug by my garbage can that needs killing". He just shook his head and laughed. I told him "Hey, this is YOUR purview. I don't do bugs!!". Now, while the bug was hiding behind my garbage can, I was perfectly willing to ignore it but after a few minutes, it made a foray out and came in MY direction.  I. Lost. My. MIND.  "Aaaaahhhhh!!  Kill it, KILL it, KILL IT!!" I screamed as I ran as far as my clipper cord would let me in the other direction.  Now, a little info. I am by no means A Girly-Girl. I don't enjoy shopping endlessly, I hate to get flowers, my happy place is the home improvement store, and while I have a penchant for shoes, they are almost exclusively sneakers. I just seem to be missing the G.G. gene. This makes the fact that I get all squealy and freaked-out over creepy crawly things doubly amusing for both TWH & T.  TWH says it's because it's about the only thing I have a "Girly" reaction to.  After T killed the bug to DEATH, the older gentleman in his chair asked me "What do you do at home if there's a bug??". After some (tongue biting) hesitation I answered, "Call my husband to kill it". The hesitation came because lately, I have had to handle some bug killing on my own. It's been a harrowing experience, to say the least. I have discovered said bug and began with "OHMYGODSONOFABITCH!!" and gone looking for a shoe immediately. Once I get a shoe in hand, I chase the creepy crawler around screaming "DIE Mother Fucker!!" as I pound it into a smear on the wood/tile. I realize screaming obscenities isn't necessary but it helps me keep my nerve up. It's my battle-cry, if you will. After the bug is killed & killed GOOD, I either wipe it up with several Clorox wipes or take the carcass outside and toss it just off the porch to serve as a warning to all other would-be crawly invaders of my home. "Think twice, you multi-legged assholes. This could be YOUR fate!!" is the message. Thus far, it seems to be working. Either that, or TWH is doing A LOT of bug squashing unbeknownst to me.

Naughty Jokes Mean Everything's Okay

Okay, so. In my line of work, I see people seldom enough that I tend to notice changes more often than I would if I saw them every day. Weight loss, weight gain, gray hairs, recovery from illness or injury, or, sadly, progression OF illness. My client falls into the last category. I have a client who's elderly and has been with me pretty much since the beginning. I have watched him go from walking in under his own steam to being wheelchair bound over the last few years. He's still sharp as a tack and funny as hell, but his body is just "giving out" as some elderly bodies are wont to do. Typically, when he comes in, I get him all draped and begin combing his hair into something I can work with. While I'm combing his hair, I hear him say my name. "Ginger" he says. "Yes??" I say squatting down so I can talk to him. I have to squat because part of his infirmity (or the root cause) is that he can no longer lift or turn his head. He can only look down at his lap. So I squat down to talk with this funny man. He always tells me a naughty joke. Nothing completely off color, just naughty. Naughty & funny. Today, he didn't say a word. NOTHING. This worried me. I pondered this as I made small talk and cut his hair. I was hoping this was not a bad sign, his not telling me a naughty joke. Then I heard it. Softer than usual, but he called my name. With an inward sigh of relief, I squatted down to hear my naughty joke and it was WONDERFUL!!  Nothing side splitting, but wonderful all the same because his telling me my naughty joke meant everything was okay.

Be Afraid... Be VERY Afraid

Okay, so. I've just started telling clients that I have a blog and a little of what it's about.  They look at me with a mixture of interest & fear. Interest, because hey, I've started a blog. Fear, because the filter between my brain & mouth is virtually non-existent and I have NO personal boundaries whatsoever. I understand "Personal Space". I guard mine as fiercely as the next person. I do not, however, fully grasp the concept of where the line between my "Telling Tales", and TMI exists. There have been several times when TWH has proofread my posts and said "Do you REALLY want to put that out there??". My response is usually "What?? Too much??".  After some discussion, he usually convinces me that maybe I don't want people to know about my current health issues, or why I have a stash of antibiotics. That maybe I don't want to be too specific about locations, my neighbors, etc.  All of this is to say that I GET why people look afraid when I tell them I have a blog. It's obviously with good reason. Maybe this blog will help me establish those boundaries...  Or maybe I'll just piss off all but the very best of my friends and those individuals that get my particular level of "Wrongedy-wrong" and love me for it. We shall see. Until then, be afraid people, be VERY afraid!!  Mwahahahahahahaha!!

My Work Husband is Mentally Lazy

Okay, so. I work in a two-man shop. It's just Troy (TWH has dubbed him my Work Husband) & I. Together. ALL DAY. I often tell Troy "It's a good thing you're cute!!". This is not to say, or even imply that he's stupid. He's far from it. He's a whiz with numbers, can remember all kinds of Boxing stats, is super-handy, and can tell you just about anything about any gun or car.  He's just Mentally Lazy. For example, he actually asked the shop at large once "What day is Cinco De Mayo ON anyways??". He mispronounces words regularly and WILL NOT bother to use the correct pronunciation after I tell him. He insists on pronouncing Sudoku "Zoodokoo" and I cannot even bring myself to eat in the local Chinese Restaurant because he so badly mangled the name. (Crouching Dragon = CROTCHING Dragon).  We watched LOST for all 7 seasons and by the 7th season I was so glad the damn show went off the air because I would have to watch the week's episode, practically take notes, then explain the episode IN MINUTE DETAIL to Troy the next day.  He regularly referred to his Grandmother's being Diabetic as her "Having the Sugar Diabetes". I finally cured him of THIS particular phraseology by asking him if he categorized it that way so as to differentiate it from the BACON Diabetes. It worked.  Anyways, Troy likes to bring movies in the shop for us to watch when we're slow. While I appreciate the effort, his taste in movies borders on horrifying. He picks based on title (if he's heard of it), actors (usually their lesser, crappier works), or (I shit you not) the Cover Art. These are usually a lesser form of hell. Occasionally, we get a movie (like the one this week) that is well known but a TOTAL DUD. It's plot is lackluster, the acting is mediocre, and I would love to do anything BUT watch it. Except Troy is engrossed and needs some stuff gone over for clarification. Part of me wanted to tell him "I'm not watching, I don't know, and I don't give a rat's ass." but that would have hurt his feelings and he would have sulked for the rest of the day. Part of me wanted to pull a theory or two out of my ass just to confuse him, but THAT would have hurt his feelings and he would have sulked for the rest of the day.  I couldn't win for losing.  Mental Laziness is an actual affliction. I suffer from it daily.  Troy, however seems completely unaffected...

I am NOT a Gracious Winner

Okay, so. Yesterday I posted on FB about my not being a gracious winner.  I am not. At all.  EVER. To be honest, I'm also a shitty loser but who isn't.  When I get the spot underneath the ONLY tree around my workplace, I can be seen sitting in my Jeep with my arms raised above my head yelling "YES!!  Ha ha!!  Suck it BITCHES!!". This is my victory cry.  I modify it slightly when I, say, beat my family's collective asses at ANY game.  I usually stop at "YES!!  Ha ha!!  I won!!  BOO-YAH!!"  Then I do a Happy Dance while going "Uh-huh, uh-huh. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh!!"  A-la Emperor's New Groove.  My family hates playing games with me simply because this may occur. That, and I am the Keeper of Useless Knowledge and usually pick a game like Trivial Pursuit or Scattergories.  Yep, I like to give myself as many opportunities to be an Ungracious Winner as possible.  Trust me, it's far better than seeing me lose...

Today I Broke

The air conditioning went out in the Barber Shop today.  In this heat, the A/C giving up the ghost is not an uncommon occurrence. It was 108 today in Baton Rouge and we were Balls-to-the-Wall busy with the back to school crowd. Did I mention the A/C went out??  Just checking...  We found out the A/C was broken about 10:30 or so this morning. My first comment was "So we're done at lunch right??"  Troy just gave me THE LOOK.  Lunch came and went and we returned to our little box. It was still Hot as Hell.  Troy set up the fan to promote a convection oven like effect and did little to alleviate the heat.  At around 3:00, I Broke.  Troy, God love him, moved the fan to what he thought might be a better position in the room and asked me "Is that better??" to which I responded "NO!!  That is NOT BETTER!!"  "You know what would be BETTER??  AIR CONDITIONING!!"  "You know where I can find AIR CONDITIONING??  HOME!! That's where!!"  "You know who else has to work in shitty conditions like this??  Little kids who work in sweat shops assembling celebrities designer fucking couture!!  THAT'S WHO!!!"  Like I said, I. Broke.   I then apologized to the Marine sitting in my chair for my tirade.  "Sorry for my language, I have a Potty Mouth when I'm happy and I am EONS away from happy right this second."  He stopped laughing long enough to tell me he wasn't offended.  Gotta love the Marines. Not much fazes them. Not even their Barber having a hissy fit in the middle of their haircut.  I stuck it out. I didn't die, despite my dire predictions to the contrary.  Now I am sitting here with my favorite Mommy Drink and soaking up the working A/C from the comfort of my living room.  Tomorrow I'm wearing shorts!!

On an Accidental Maiming of The Boy note, he's still whining about his head. Apparently, someone hit him with a ball and threw a shoe at him today. They both hit him in the exact spot I did with the car door.  I am NEVER gonna live that down....

I'm new here

Okay, so.  I've started a blog. Wheeeeeeeee!!  I have NO IDEA what I'm doing. I like to tell stories from my job (I'm a Barber) on FB but there's not always enough room to discuss the day's stupidity. Hence, the Blog. I kinda thought this would be a good way to do it. Honestly, all this blank space is sort of intimidating.  I'm typically snarky with a little unmedicated ADD thrown in for good measure and a CRAZY BAD potty mouth and virtually NO filter between the brain & the mouth. I'm not sure how that will translate...  Anyways, so now I'm a member of the blogosphere. YAY!!