Good Hair, Bad Hair

Miami Herald columnist Dave Barry once described his hair using the adjective "free-range."

I can relate.

This hair thing is spiraling out of control, rapidly becoming a shine-serum-coated juggernaut that's draining my time and my savings account. It all started when my husband was vacuuming one day, and the vacuum cleaner was refusing to pick up even the smallest pieces of debris—fish flakes, cockatiel feathers, human toenail shards, that kind of thing. (We're an eclectic little family/school/flock, depending on your perspective as a species.) Anyway, an investigation of the contents of the vacuum bag showed us two things: 1) our cockatiel eats very few of the sunflower seeds that are included in large quantities in the more expensive bird food; and 2) my hair. A lot of my hair. There was enough in the bag to populate a whole new head. Then he flipped the vacuum over and inspected the brushes and other moving parts...and discovered they, too, were clogged with hair.

At the time, I had very long, thick hair, that apparently fell out a rate equal to the rate of re-growth, since with the amount of hair in that vacuum cleaner, it should have been way easier to pull a brush through what was left. Shopping for barrettes and cute clips and scrunchies that would hold it all without exploding into plastic shrapnel was a challenge. Something had to change.

"You should get your hair cut," my husband said.

I did. Not right away, and not because he said so. (Well, kind of because he said so.) Short, but not too short. And then my stylist said, "You could use some highlights..."

And so the obsession began.

The First Post

As the title of this blog indicates, my plan is to use this space to vent a little about some of the stupidity in my world. (I promise not to go on and on about Survivor, even though I was yelling at the TV last night!) The title is also an homage to the ill-fated character Mr. Heckles on Friends, whose "Big Book of Grievances" was my inspiration.

The most obvious subject for my first gripe-fest would be:

WEDDINGS.

Not "getting married," but having a wedding. It happened two months ago, but I'm still having nightmares. Not that the ceremony and reception didn't go smoothly (they were perfect, in fact). The planning process, on the other hand, was...well, not all fun. Some parts even approached horrifying. From the time we got engaged to the actual wedding, a year elapsed, and at 11:30 PM on the night before the wedding, my mom and I were frantically winding tulle around columns in the hall we'd rented.

But anyway, this subject is kind of obvious, and many people have written many helpful books on the subject. I highly recommend the book Bridal Bargains for any female person who's thinking about getting married, even if she has not technically chosen a groom yet.

So...what has annoyed me today. Let me think. Hmmm...another obvious one, but: TRAINS.

My new husband is a toy train freak. Actually, his whole family loves trains. He is currently using one entire bedroom of his mom's apartment to construct this giant toy train layout. If it's not done by Christmas, to hear him tell it, then grave consequences will ensue. I know this because last year, he stayed up for at least 48 hours straight finishing Christmas Train Extravaganza 2003. Children and adults from all over the building came over and stood near it while he ran the trains. So this is important. Tradition. If he doesn't finish it, his whole family will probably think that I am trying to stop him from liking trains, and before they know it I'll have him doing things like eating sushi and selling his motorcycle so we can buy attractive, matching furniture. But I actually have nothing against the train thing. In fact, in some ways it is fascinating. We go to this train show in Chicago periodically, and it's oddly interesting to peruse all the tiny houses, vehicles, and naked O-scale human figurines (yes, they DO make these...haven't figured out why). What I do have a problem with is REAL trains.

I have this friend in Florida who LOVES trains—real ones. He's the only human being I've ever met who is happy when his simple trip to the mini mart is interrupted by flashing lights and train gates. He'll drive great distances to exotic places like Waycross, Georgia, to view trains. And take notes. But anyway, he's not the annoying thing. The annoying thing is the reason that he thinks my town is his idea of heaven. He loves visiting me because we have a lot of trains. Constantly.

Yesterday, for example, I left for the office 10 minutes before work. Didn't get there till 5 after 9, even though it's only a two-mile commute. A train was coming through town (slowly), and I had to sit there. Since it's not a big town, the train temporarily divides it in half like a wall. No one goes anywhere. So you can either accept your fate and sit there, or you can race to the next intersection and try to shoot across before those gates start flashing and descending. (Obligatory public service message: NEVER drive around the gates. This is illegal and dangerous.)

So the point is, sometimes the earlier I leave for work, the later I get there. How irritating.

Reading this over, I'm struck by the lameness of this rant. Maybe by tomorrow I'll have a better subject. (If not, I'm stuck with either the election or Rory from Survivor.)