The Blonde Leading the Blind

I’ve been on a lengthy blogging hiatus over the past several days.  And, while there’s certainly been no shortage of things to blog about, I just couldn’t bring myself to fire up the computer and type even the smallest of entries.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks, and lately, when I get too overwhelmed with things to do, I just seem to shutdown and move into a daily schedule that involves going to work, rushing through whatever pressing task needs to be done next once I get home, and then crashing in my bed way too late for a weeknight only to get up and do it all over again.

It’s a horrible cycle to get into because all of my priorities fall by the wayside.  I skip working out, so I feel like shit.  I eat crappy food, so I feel like shit.  I sleep too much, so I feel like shit.  And, when the cycle’s gone on for too many days in a row, I do something that five years ago was unthinkable, and honestly, horrifies me a little even now…I skip the shower AND the makeup and actually go to work with my hair in a ponytail that takes me fifteen minutes to perfect so no one can see the gouges left in my hair from raking the brush through my very fine, very greasy, very unwashed hair.  Oh, and this, too, makes me feel like shit.

I’m tired of feeling like shit.

So, tonight, I’m trying to pull myself together and forge ahead, even though I really just want to go to bed.

With May Sales Conference madness and Mother’s Day mayhem behind us, SpiderHusband invited my family over to partake of Pizza King goodness and Dairy Queen cake deliciousness on Saturday to celebrate my birthday.

I got a gift card to my favorite of all favorite stores, Aveda, from my brother, Michael, and his wife, Kendra.

And if that isn’t enough of a sweet deal, my mom, who was not supposed to get me another gift since she already bought me a ton of clothes for my birthday, bestowed me with another Aveda card.

Just so you know, Mom, it is only my love for Aveda and the fear of you taking back my gift card that prevent me from posting your picture in this entry.  I’ll be spending the gift card shortly, then all bets are off.  : )

This gathering signaled the end to what seemed like a month of birthday celebrating with gifts, gifts, and more gifts, like these presents that I got earlier in the week:

A winning scratch-off lottery ticket from my sister-in-law, her Bucket-to-be, and their crew.  You’ve provided SpiderHusband hours of amusement as I basked in the glow of my good fortune and riches…all $1 of them.  Hey, a winning ticket is a winning ticket, right?

Two new shirts from Old Navy…in, wait for it…colors other than black and white…thanks to some birthday cash from my awesome mom-in-law, Connie.

Aveda skin care products from Cathy.  Did I mention I like Aveda?

Whoo-hoo!

I’m in love with my new toothbrush - the Oral B Advantage Glide. I first was wooed by its very hip pink and silver coloring, but upon closer inspection I could tell it was so much more. With its angular bristles and blue indicators and soft touch, I knew I had found a winner. I was so right. It was magical the first night I brushed, and the glory just doesn’t seem to fade.

Before you think I’ve totally lost my mind, you should know I’m obsessed with dental hygiene. But for good reason.

It’s not just my tree trunk thighs and goofy blank gape that I got from my Dad. I seem to have inherited some of his dental issues as well.

A few years back I had to resort to going to a dental school to have some work done on my teeth thanks to my not-so-groovy dental plan through my job. It’s not as scary as it sounds. It was affordable after what little my insurance paid. The students were supervised by professionals. Everything was clean. But, the materials were the bare essentials required to get the job done with not much regard to cosmetics, i.e. if you needed a filling, and I did, it was the cheaper silver-tone stuff, not the more discreet tooth-colored goo.

By the time I started my current job in 2004, my teeth had seen some serious wear and tear, and several fillings had started to corrode and needed replacing. I wasn’t worried. I’d never really feared getting dental work done and wasn’t worried. Until, I had my first couple fillings replaced. All went well with the procedure, but by the time I got home I could barely move my mouth and chewing was completely out of the question. I spent the next twelve months trying to figure out what was up with my mouth and how the hell to fix it…an endeavor that resulted in:

• Three root canals
• Four crowns
• Countless trips to the dentist
• Two-thousand dollars worth of out-of-pocket expenses
• And, my personal favorite, one emergency visit to a San Francisco doctor after having an allergic reaction to antibiotics prescribed before root canal number three

It was definitely time for a new dentist. I found one in Dr. Lisbeth Randall. She rocks and so does her staff. She helped figure out what the issue was on my first appointment. Turns out I just have really sensitive teeth and muscles in my jaw and after a couple intensive cleanings and learning how to hold my mouth open so I don’t put too much stress on my jaw, I haven’t had a problem since.

Unless, you count my total oral fixation with toothbrushes, dental floss, and Cool Mint Listerine as a problem. I think not.

The usually non-political SpiderHusband has become exceptionally interested in this year’s presidential election.  And, me?  I owe a lot to of my professional accomplishments to my days spent in government PR.  So, both of us were crushed when Friday night we discovered that the local paper had erroneously printed that Barack Obama would be making a campaign stop in Noblesville Saturday.  After digging around, we found out that he would instead be appearing in my former hometown of Anderson, which is about a 30 minute drive away.  Tickets were free but required for the event, so we loaded up the hounds and raced to Anderson to see if tickets were still available.

Ah, if only the website had included a telephone number, we could have saved ourselves a quarter tank of gas and the disappointment of driving home sans tickets.  My grandfathers would tell me it served me right for voting for the enemy.  :  )

I’m something of an anomaly in my family when it comes to politics.  I come from a long line of ardent Republicans, especially when it comes to both of my grandfathers.  My Grandpa Rupert couldn’t be more of a Republican if he had a trunk and an impeccable memory.  My political leanings were outed shortly after I graduated from college when I started working as an agency spokesperson for a Democratic administration and then followed that gig up working for a Democratic mayor.  Knowing this, I totally threw SpiderHusband under the bus on our last visit to Grandpa Rupert’s house when I told him that SpiderHusband was rooting for Obama.  As a Romney man at the time, poor Grandpa was horrified, but managed to recover quickly enough to blow a raspberry at us both before shaking his head in disbelief.  He still loves us, though.  He even bought us Villa Pizza (the greatest pizza in the world) that night.  Although, he did make us eat it with green peppers on it. 

But, back to the story at hand…

So on Saturday afternoon, while hundreds of other Hoosiers were listening to Obama speak at Anderson High School, SpiderHusband and I headed downtown so that I could vote via absentee ballot since I’ll be out of state traveling for work on Primary Election Day this year.  A quick look at the Town Square gave us some insight into the confusion caused by the local paper - there was an Obama rally downtown, there was just no Obama.

He got my vote anyway.  Sorry, Rupe.

Last week I discovered that I’d reached a whole new level of desperation involving my wardrobe (or lack thereof) when I accidentally tore a hole in my last remaining pair of black tights and actually considered coloring in the exposed flesh of my leg with a black Sharpie so I could continue wearing them to work.

I hate shopping for clothes that much.

I’ve reached a point where the clothes I purchased most likely back in 1999 have become so tattered and ragged that no amount of sweaters, t-shirts or cleverly-placed jewelry will conceal the signs of the past nine years of wear and tear.  So, after work on Monday I headed to a new shopping destination, Avenue, after a friend mentioned that her sister had found some nice clothes in her size there.  She was right.  There were nice clothes there…some that I would even wear.  The prices were reasonable.  They had a variety of sizes and colors in stock.  Still, I walked out of the store with nothing.

As someone who has struggled with her weight for years, I’m particularly sensitive to the stereotype that overweight people are fat, unmotivated, slow and lazy slobs.  And, nothing sends me into a blind rage faster than when I witness my chunky sisters and brothers behave in such a manner.  Help me out here folks, you’re ruining it for the rest of us.

I walked into the store not to be pleasantly greeted by Avenue staff, but instead to overhear two employees moaning and groaning about having to fold a stack of t-shirts for a table display.  SpiderHusband and I browsed through the racks selecting about dozen items for me to try on without either of them so much as turning their head in our direction.  When I was ready for a fitting room, I moved toward the not-so-dynamic duo thinking they’d get the hint, but no, the chatter just continued until I finally asked if the fitting rooms were unlocked.

To which one of my worst stereotypes imagined huffed and muttered “Ummmphhh.  I’ll take this one.” before shuffling her way back to the fitting room area.  I became increasingly irritated as I tried on the clothes and found that I needed smaller sizes in several of the dresses.  But, even my passive-aggressive super loud talking voice couldn’t woo either employee away from their station.

So, I got dressed, hung all the clothes I’d tried on on a rack by the register, and walked out empty-handed cursing and ranting to SpiderHusband…something about liking the clothes but being damned if I was giving one dollar of commission to Bertha and Bessie inside.

Did I mention that I have a problem with passive-aggressiveness?

When I got home, I found a coupon in my email from Avenue.com offering 31% off and free shipping for a limited time on online orders, so all was not lost.

Well, except Bertha and Bessie’s commission.

After weeks of driving Spider-Husband bat shit crazy griping about the state of my hair, I finally made an appointment to get a haircut yesterday after work.  I love getting my haircut since discovering what was once the best kept secret in Indianapolis…the Aveda Frederic’s Institute.

A few years back, this Aveda store/salon training center in Castleton Square Mall.  I’m a huge fan of Aveda products - they’re the one luxury that I splurge on - and was eager to check out what services the offered as soon as the store opened.  It was fantastic - I got a professional cut that I loved, a mini facial, and a back rub from one of the student stylists for…are you ready???  $15 bucks!  That so rocks!

My only complaint is the insistence of both the instructors and students of using the term “fringe” to describe what is commonly known to the rest of society as bangs.  Now, I’ll freely admit that I don’t make a point to stay hip to the latest hair lexicon, but come on, fringe.  Fringe makes me think of suede chaps and cowboys or something my mother might have worn in the 60s to a peace rally.  Trust me…they’re bangs.  I spent the better portion of my teen years with a can of AquaNet teasing them to amazing heights.

Be forewarned…Aveda Frederic’s is not for the high maintenance hair hopper.  After all, these are stylists who are learning, and results aren’t always exactly what you envisioned.  But, if you’re willing to take a chance for the right price, it’s totally worth the wait for an appointment.

Imagine my glee when I opened up a package from my coworker, IT Girl, today filled with my highly anticipated Girl Scout Cookie order courtesy of her daughter, Little IT.  

Girl Scout Cookie season is perfectly timed each year to coincide with my annual pledge to eat healthy and exercise every day.  It doesn’t attack in January when you still have the willpower and determination to stick to any New Year’s resolutions you may have made.  Instead, it pops up three to four months in when your three-pound a week weight loss goal has been edged out by the “please just let me not have gained anything this week even though I ate half of a large pizza all by myself” mode.

In all fairness, IT Girl does offer us the opportunity to support the Girl Scouts by purchasing cookies that are sent overseas to the troops as part of Operation Thin Mint, a great idea for sure.  But, like Christmas, it does only come once a year.  And, thus, I vow to be strong. I will order a few boxes of Girl Scout cookies, and I’ll freeze them, and they’ll last for several months.  I’ll have my cookies and eat them, too!

And, apparently all at one time…since I managed to mow my way through an entire sleeve of cookies within an hour of opening the box.

Thin Mints my ass.

I’m what you call a late bloomer. It’s not like I’m oblivious to the world around me.  I’m aware.  I check out the latest gadgets. I’m hip to the trends. Sometimes I even embrace them from time to time.  It’s just making that initial leap that seems to throw me.  A little ironic for someone who makes her living marketing books on high-end graphics and emerging technologies, eh?  

My very Web 2.0 friends and coworkers have been pestering me for years to join the blogosphere, and I headed into 2007 confident that it would be the year I finally took the plunge.  It was also going to be the year that I slimmed down to the body of my dreams, found the perfect haircut to transform my stringy do to a rockin’ coif, replace my dingy and more-than-a-little worn out wardrobe,and, oh yeah, I was going to pay down my debt, become fiscally-sound, and dare I say, even have extra cash to divert to a very adult retirement plan, so I don’t have to spend my golden years as a grocery bagger…with bad hair and holes in my sweaters. I don’t think I need to tell you how that all turned out.  Stupid New Year’s resolutions.

How could I have known that all it would take was a simple phone call from one of my oldest and not-at-all tech savvy friends to shame me…er, spur me…into action?  It seems she had started her own blog, Two Zany Zebras, at the end of March to sell homemade baby items like bibs and blankets.  How could this have happened?  How did she even find out what a blog was?  I’d been trumped by my best friend, Jill, a complete technophobe!  :  )

And, thus The Blonde Leading the Blind was born…

Here you’ll learn more about my superhero husband and our wonderdogs (Halas and Lombardi), get a look at the world through the eyes of a babbling blonde, and be treated to a snarky rant or two…or three or four, for those of you who’ve actually met me.  

I hope you enjoy The Blonde Leading the Blind, and if you don’t, you have no one to blame but yourself…well, and maybe Jill.  Stay tuned…