General awkwardness and discontent

It was nearly 80 degrees in Denver today. I guess God wanted the weather to be nice for everyone to drive to the post office to send in their tax returns. The only trouble is that the wind is blowing about six hundred miles an hour. (heh heh, hyperbole RULES!) And because it was hot (comparatively) and windy (exaggeratedly) I had the worst hair day so far this year (yes, worse than the 2 humid days in New Orleans, although I would point out to you that there was a common factor, that being WIND). So I finally forced myself to go get a haircut.

Now, I don't really know WHY it is so hard to force myself to get a haircut. Part of the reason is, admittedly, making a decision. Should I do something different? Should I do something the same? How short? How Long? Should I get it highlighted? Should I get a perm? Should I put it off? Somehow the only question that gets answered is the last one, and it's answered by default, because I just DON'T DO ANYTHING.

So today I was driving past Cost Cutters and fresh from a glimpse of myself as I had gotten in the car, I just turned in. After all, the very least I can do is a hair cut, I can decide the rest of that stuff later. I march in, and give my orders (truthfully, trying to DESCRIBE what I want is almost worse than DECIDING what I want) and sit with the clear conscience of a woman who has finally Done Something.

There is the de rigeur joshing about the bangs... I may procrastinate about having a trained person cut my hair, but there is no limit to the ravages I am willing to wreak on my own bangs. And as I pointed out to the gal, I really had been quite noble, because I had used my husband's mustache scissors to cut them instead of the cuticle scissors, which was my weapon of choice before David accidentally grew a goatee this last Christmas. So, yeah, the bangs need to be "adjusted" and the cut should be chin length bob, and we're off.

So how unreasonable is it of me to be disappointed? This was the most concise set of directions I've ever given, and yet I am not happy. What should have come off was 2+ inches, instead it was about an inch (although I will be the first to admit that the bangs are much tidier). Am I disappointed because it doesn't look the way I hoped? or because it isn't "dramatic" enough? or because it won't last as long in the procrastination arena, lol?

I have to admit: I am THIS CLOSE to calling and making an appointment for a highlight on Saturday. And because I'm a total wuss and won't go back for a fix to the gal that under "cut" it, you KNOW I'll probably end up... getting a haircut... ::sigh::

Airport meanderings...

Took DH to the airport this morning. By "take," I mean he drove to the airport, and I rode along to bring the truck back. Unwashed, LOL, but at least dressed ;) Our airport is just right at 30 minutes away, but fortunately for me the route is on the toll road, so it's nearly as blessedly quiet as a Montana freeway. And as it skirts the "city" pretty widely, I can fool myself into thinking I AM in Montana and that traffic is not the bugaboo that I think it really is down here where they have actual people livin' and such. I remember the first couple of years we lived in Denver, I was petrified of the airport. I was pretty much petrified of everything, now that I think about it. You just can't pry the small town girl out of me without a lot of whining and clinging to the doorframe with all appendages to keep from hurtling into the great unknown (and likely the Wrong Lane).

Airports are pretty intriguing to me, still. David is traveling at a furious rate this year, what with promoting his new cathodic protection product. So the opportunity to "take" him to the airport has been frequent and almost always interesting. I can remember reading novels written in the 40's & 50's (dear me, I actually almost called it "mid-century" out loud, how revolting) and the heroine was always dressing up to travel by air. Why on earth would you DRESS UP to fly on a plane? I want to know. As far as I am concerned, pajamas should be mandatory on a flight because doggone it, then at least ONE aspect of your life would actually be comfortable that way. It sure as heck (tsk tsk, my language) isn't going to be your seat that's comfy, and you KNOW you're going to get stuck in the middle seat with an armrest hogger on one side and an air vent that mysteriously doesn't work. The sun will probably be rising/setting and will be shining directly through the nasty little window whose shade refuses to come more than 1/3 of the way down, and the waitress... er, stewardess will mysteriously run out of your favorite beverage just one row away from your turn to order... and that doesn't even address the curiously concave shape of your seat or the issue of overhead baggage compartments.

So I'm more than content to remain on the ground and watch the personalities at the airport. The Denver Airport ( good ole DIA - I remember when it opened more than a decade ago with the newspaper heading "DOA" - LOL, we've come a long way, baby, and the luggage system actually works, now) is really quite beautiful, with lots of inlaid granite and our crazy mountain/tent roof to the main terminal. So just trudging along behind my world traveler with the flotsam and jetsam of his luggage is a feast for the senses... well, it's usually early so maybe using the plural there isn't such a good idea, but I can usually scrape up at least one sense (which is good, for as you remember, I'm the one driving the truck home). Add to that the various passengers in parade - there's always one or two fashion-forward gals who wouldn't look out of place in my midcentury modern (ew, I did say it out loud) novels - nary a hair out of place, and click-clacking importantly along the aforementioned inlaid granite hallways in their ridiculously high heeled shoes that make my pinky toe gasp for air just looking at them.

Then you have the family unit. Ma & Pa and one or two kids, aging anywhere from the bright eyed and incredulous primary age up through the blase' jeans-clad teens complete with ipod and disinterested expression. Not sure whether primary Ma & Pa or Teen Ma & Pa looks more rattled and hassled, or maybe just tired. All are wheeling massive suitcases and looking as if they'd rather be alone with their spouse with the deliciously small luggage that betokens scanty outfits and silvery beaches, all-inclusive meals and drinks on the cabana...

Finally DH is through the ticketing and checking in of baggage (demo equipment is a difficult piece, as it is packed in what most closely resembles a gun case, and if you think that doesn't get raised eyebrows at an airport in this day and age, then you haven't been breathing the same air that the rest of us have...) and tucked safely into the security check line with a kiss and a hug and a promise to remember to pick him up. I wend my way back to the parking area and spend a few minutes completely destroying his arrangement of seat position, steering wheel tilt, and mirror placement, and then I'm off through the beautifully silent prairie vista, and homeward bound .

Doodle-y Philosophy with a strong hint of self-justification...

Why is it I can never think of the right thing to say at the time I need to say it in a heated conversation, but after the moment has passed, I'm an absolute hindsight genius???

Fortunately with scrapping, you can just Add On. I'm not sure, but in the general scheme of things you might even get extra credit. Especially if stuff gets a teensy bit better. So this is pretty much Mandatory, now:


And thank you all for your kind comments on the part that I already remembered ;)

Doodle-y Doo Add on

Colors and elements and papers.. oh my!

Blog entry so named because this whole designing thing feels a bit like a trip down the yellow brick road -fraught with peril. LOL, the biggest threat is forgetting everything else I'm supposed to be doing in favor of playing in front of the computer ;) However, there comes a point where it's not a bad thing to have done with it and move on, and I'm there. Here 'tis, with all its freckles and warts:



Thanks to everyone at Hummie's World for their help and encouragement!

Download elements
Download papers

My friends Dani and Chris have their new kits up on their blogs, too, make sure to visit and download them!

Observations on culture and civilization...or, "Out to Lunch."

Our lovely daughter, beloved firstborn child, invited us to lunch yesterday. She works in Denver's Tech Center, a veritable beehive of brainwaves gathered in one district for the good of commerce and mankind in general, not to mention confusion of the highways and byways as suburbanites the city over bustle in and out to transact their business. We met at one of the trendy fresh-mex type restaurants our fair city offers. The interior is sort of grungy-loft meets sophisticated bistro and the general experience is a good one, overall.

As I sat staking our claim at the tall table waiting to have my food brought to me by my faithful husband/slave (can you tell who's pretty confident that her spouse doesn't read her blog?) I watched with amusement as an onslaught of high schoolers filed in for their lunch break. High school students anywhere make for interesting observation, but this particular school is the cherry on top of the metro area's educational offerings, drawing as it does from some pretty exclusive housing areas. And I made some interesting discoveries:

1. UGG slippers aren't just for the house anymore. I'm a bit chagrined that I had confined wearing mine to my home-on-the-couch days when I could have been wearing them out to lunch. Of the dozen or so teenage girls present, four were wearing slippers, and three of them were UGG's. (and for the curious among us, the remainder was divided between athletic sneakers, fashion sneakers, and one pair of flip flops (kindly appreciate the effort it took not to call them thongs, because that is what they were when I wore them, somewhere between the dark ages and Y2K). ::sigh::
2. T shirts, in order to be modish, must reach from shoulders to the region somewhere between thigh to above the knees, with no extraneous material from shoulders to hem. Clingier? Better. Extra points if cleavage shows (several girls demonstrated distinct desire to overachieve in this area). Truthfully I'm fairly comfortable with the length, as I can remember (not so very long ago) when "baby" T's were all the rage and while the cleavage and clinging points were somewhat the same, the hemline rule was pretty much the opposite, requiring the greatest distance possible between the top of the pants and the bottom of the top. Notice my omission of the term "waistband" in regards to the pants, as the waist no long has anything to do with any sort of trouser manufactured in recent memory. It's like the dread fear of momjeanitis has infected the very denim of the junior set and threads instinctively lurch away from the body center until brought short by sudden realization that plunging a centimeter further will condemn them for a whole other reason. Maybe I exaggerate. It's more like a half a centimeter. Which leads me to number...3.
3. When was velour accepted back into the fashion fold? Last I heard it was hanging next to MomJeans, and now it is suddenly au courant, admittedly with a tweak or two. Most noticeably a derivative of #2's pants analysis, although the top of the pants seems to have owner assistance in the southern migration, as folding it over seems to be the preferred arangement. This facilitates display of the tags at the rear, which not really THAT long ago was a social solecism reserved for those on the farthest edges of high school popularity rankings. The subset of the overfolded top band contains garden variety sweat pants, although admittedly unlike any sweat pants I own. I'm guessing that is probably a good thing, however. Me not owning the skimpy version, I mean.

About the time the High School crowd is scooping up their belongings to exit, another wave of diners begins to appear. This can best be described as Young Professional, and it's an interesting comparison to the previous group. Gone are the slippers and the tags, to be replaced with ultra slim dress boots (extra credit the higher and skinnier the heel and the pointier the toe, it would seem. Again, a few overachievers) and slender skirts. One must hope that the boots are hollow, because the slenderness of the skirts doesn't bode well for the consumption of the large burritos our fresh-mex vendors have to offer.

The most disturbing trend amongst the Young Professional women, however, isn't clothing at all, but rather an alarming issue with their hair. The first time I noticed I figured it was an anomaly, perhaps the young lady had a pet rat that slept with her, and while she was sleeping chewed off the back of her hair up past the nape of her neck, but leaving the front (wanting to avoid discovery, I guessed). Before we left, though, I counted three other Young Professional women with similar issues, so I can only surmise that a rogue hairstylist has such a pet rat, and determined to pass off her shorn locks as the "latest thing."

She has some incredible influence, too, as I noticed (while enduring bits of Idol-meets- Jerry-Lewis-only-they're-even-MORE-annoying-and-less- beloved-of-the-French) that Mrs. David Beckham fell for the hairdresser's ruse, too. Tsk tsk. What's next, Posh? Velour Mom Jeans?

Oh, the Irony.

**It just occured to me (Ocurred? Occurred?) ...**

It just struck me that I posted about my new computer...on my old computer.

Overstimulification.

I think I finally figured out why I've been such a dull girl this last week or so. I'm still processing everything we did in New Orleans. Turns out that trying to cram every experience you can into a week in a strange city catches up with you when you get home (at least it does if you're an introvert and a slow thinker, lol) Alternatively, it could be that I am just lazy and boring, but as I also work pretty hard to avoid responsibility, I'm going to go with Door Number One.

In an effort to kickstart some brainwaves (other than participating in commerce on the inernet - turns out overstimulification doesn't provide much of a damper on hitting the "Buy" button on agreeable websites) I'm going to dip into Random Thoughts mode and jot some stuff down. Maybe the release of pressure of all the gurgling jumbled thought fragments will give me room for focused, pithy, and well-reasoned... or maybe not, as I don't even seem to be able to end that sentence intelligently (where do "they" hide the words that perimenopausal women are trying to think of? Because I'd seriously like to dig through that warehouse and see if I can find the other half of my vocabulary).

So.

I got a new computer for my birthday (please note aforementioned reference to internet commerce, 'cause this was one BIG button and pretty darned fun to push). My husband actually challenged me to buy the coolest thing I could configure, and doggone it I love my husband and want to please him with every fiber of my being! (particularly in regards to aforementioned internet commerce, although I'm not sure he intended this every fiber of my being thing to extend out quite so many days), so I did. It's bee-yoo-tee-ful.

And as you can see, I DID ACTUAL PHYSICAL LABOR to set it up. (please note aforementioned reference to not being lazy and boring. While no actual refutation of boringness, I think we can lay LAZY to rest, at least for an hour or two). As you can also see in picture number 2, Actual Physical Labor was content to rest after computer was assembled and before boxes were put away. No actual surprise there, as you cannot participate in internet commerce with empty boxes. And yes, I know they weren't technically empty, being full of packing materials (and a few shreds of my hair and self-dignity from the assemblage process).

I'm feeling all kinds of better about myself, now. Just seeing in print that I'm not a total slug (and pictoral evidence, too! True, both print and picture have been manufactured by me, but y'know, I think I'm okay with that) gives me new hope and verve.

I think I need to go shopping.