Kidney Stones are Not my Friend....

About seven years ago I woke up on a Sunday at my mom's house with the most unbearable pain I have ever experienced. About fifteen minutes into the pain I had my mom take me to the emergency room where I spent the next few hours throwing up and being diagnosed with kidney stones. The doctor told me that it is as painful as having a baby and that next time I should try just having a baby. Incidentally, they did find a dermoid tumor on my ovary that had to be removed. Most of my family calls it the harry, toothy tumor, Lizzy calls it the fifteenth grandchild.  Anyways, the pain I experienced was one I never wanted to repeat ever in my entire life. 

Only I got to experience it one more time this last Monday. I woke up, had breakfast, and soon after experienced a horrible pain in my side. I went to my doctors office and he said it was either kidney stones or a bladder infection and sent me home with some painkillers. Only I kept throwing up the pain killers so they did not have time to dilute the pain. With nothing left to lose, I decided to go to the emergency room.  At least they have the pain killers injected into your system so you can forget the excruciating pain of having to birth a kidney stone. Unfortunately, I was not the only one who decided to make a trip to the emergency room. There were a number of swollen legs and a few bleeding heads, in an effort to get my mind off of the pain I tried to figure out what was wrong with everyone in the room. After quickly assessing that I did not really want to know that information on more than a few individuals. I went on relived the many times I had been to the emergency room.  I would like to say it has only been a few but that would be a false statement. Here is the more interesting of all of the stories.

The one and only time I was in an ambulance (knock on wood) occurred right after graduating from beauty school. I had just finished my state boards where you have to do pin curls and waves on a mannequin head. I passed the test and threw my work of art in the back seat of my car. Flash forward a few weeks later when I am side swiped by another car.  Imagine the surprise of the fireman who opened my back door only to see a floating head. Here is how that conversation went:

Him: "There is a head back here, there is a head back here"

Me: "Its alright I am a hair dresser"

I am not sure how me being a hairdresser would justify a decapitated head.  But I think he figured out that it was a mannequin because I heard some laughter and jibs towards the poor unsuspecting fireman. 

This little story got me through about fifteen minutes in my three hour wait to be seen by the ER doctor, that an complaining to anyone who would listen to me. I really enjoy complaining on a good day... find me on a  bad day and I can perform a cacophony of complaints to rival any symphony. Eight hours later, after drugs, cat scan, blood and urine tests and one catheter I left the hospital and passed a bouncing baby kidney stone. I think next time I will just go for having a baby...

Beauty School Mathematician

Everything I learned about geometry I learned in beauty school. I would like to justify this statement in some way but unfortunately it is completely true. When I was in high school I took geometry my sophomore year. I remember my teachers name was Mr. Miller and I sat next to the dumbest girl ever. Of course this is coming from the girl who learned geometry as a beautician so take this with the grain of salt that belongs to it.  This is going to date me a bit but I was a sophomore when the first Iraqi war occurred and the dumb girl and her mother went shopping the night before the war broke out because they knew that the price of clothing was going to go through the roof the next day and they would be forced to wear the same clothes for years or at least past one fashion season. This is really all I remember about this class.  I passed the class with a C or maybe it was a B either way I cannot tell you how to figure out the circumference of a triangle or the length of a rectangle.  I realize those examples are wrong but they give you a hint of the blindness I have where geometry is concerned. I left that class thinking I will never worry about these types of things again.
Only I decided to drop out of college after my first year and go to beauty school. This is where my hair turned every color under the rainbow and my family continuously sang 'Beauty School Dropout ' to me. As a child one of my favorite movies was Grease but I always thought of myself more as a Sandy. Anyways, what you may or may not know is that geometry plays a huge role in hairdressing. The angle you hold the hair when you cut it will determine how the hair stacks up or flips out.  Or the angle of a curling iron or hot roller will determine how curly or wavy your hair will be. Because the geometry was dumbed down that even a blond like me understood it, I thought I was an Einstein of hair angles but mostly I was just smarter than the other bleach blonds in my beauty class. By the way,  I also think I am a chemist genius because of all the chemicals I played in while doing hair. Only a few people came away with bald spots during my learning curve but that is a story for another day.

Roll forward to today. Recently my mother told me to put my money where my mouth is and try for my phd. Only problem is I have to pass this test called the GRE. Now I think the writing and reading portion of the project should be doable but the math required or mainly the geometry is from hell, yeah I said it. Apparently you need to know how to figure out a right triangle from a left in order to score high enough to get into a political science program. I am not sure how the two correlate but it is a hoop that I am going to attempt to jump through.  Luckily the local libraries has tutorial online courses to brush up on your math skills. I went to the college graduate level for geometry only to learn nope don't belong there, I went to the college level and they were not my friends either. I had to go to the high school level tutorial to begin the process of understanding those mysterious formulas and angles. Beauty school circles and triangles be damned. I might actually have to learn what I slept through in High School; geometry.

The Funniest Person I know...

Writing this blog has brought to surface in my family one of the great questions of the universe. I know what you are thinking, but it is not about politics, religion, or even the imaginary stirrings of global warming... sorry hippies. Those topics pale in comparison. No this question is one of such importance that the verbalization of it could prove catastrophic. But today I am going to answer the question; who is the funniest person in my family.
Now I know you all think I am wicked funny and good news is so do I... but I mostly think my comedy comes from situations that I find myself in and my ability to embrace the crazy.  But my whole family is slightly off kilter making each one of us unique in our hilariousness. Let me tell you a little bit about my family and my reasoning for who is the funniest amongst us.
My mother has always been and will always be a woman in search of a fun. The question in my moms mind was never if something was good to do or smart to do but whether it would be fun to do.  One Sunday afternoon my mom came home and hollered at us to hurry up and get in the van.  She was excited and laughing so we knew it would be a good time. It had been raining earlier and there was a huge river of water in the street and she thought it was super fun to drive through the water and making a splash and hydroplaning the van. I think we did this three times until the water hurt the engine and we walked home laughing.  Explains a lot doesn't it?
My two oldest siblings are funny in their own way, but less likely to sacrifice life or limb in an effort to create a comedic situation.  My younger brother and I are in a tie... and I only say that to be kind to him because we all know I am funnier.  Though Dave may not experience the crazy situations I find myself in, he is a lot like my mom willing to spend his life in search of a good time. Side note: Dave and I are twenty months apart and when we were young I would speak for him. The saddest day of my life is when Dave learned to speak for himself.  I think he has made up for his not talking in spades, but that does not make him the funniest in the family.
The funniest person in our family is the baby of the family. It is like the funny trickled down slowly from not funny to the ultimate in comedy. When Lizzy is funny she is the funniest person I know. Sometimes I will call her up to tell her a story just because I know she will laugh and add hilarity to the situation. There is only one draw back and she doesn't like it when I say this but truth is truth. When Lizzy is funny there is no one, not even me, funnier... but... when Lizzy is in a not funny mood there is no one not even my oldest brother who is more unfunny then she. This is why when I call Lizzy and I want a laugh I ask her if she is funny today. Here are the two responses I get, 'what do you mean funny?' this is code for I am not funny and now you are in trouble for asking or 'hehehe' which is code for I am uber funny bring it on. If Lizzy calls me up with a funny story, I drop everything to hear this story. Once she called me while I was driving in the mountains,  I pulled over before I lost cell phone coverage because when she is in full comedy swing I want to be on that train.
So there is the answer to the controversial question in my family. It is documented for future generations and the next time my mom says your blogs are funny, but I am funnier. My answer will be maybe, but your still not as funny as Lizzy.

Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire

Whenever I am in a serious situation where decorum is needed, I like to do a karate air kick just to spice up the moment. This has always proved to be a bad decision but one that makes me laugh so I keep doing it. For example, when I was an intern at the Supreme Court in Washington DC we were given strict instructions to act with dignity and respect whenever we were to meet foreign dignitaries and visiting guests.  I honestly tried but unfortunately it is hard to change your spots and sometimes I would show them my cool karate moves. This is one reason there is a picture of me in a courthouse in Kazakhstan. They thought I was funny and wanted me in their picture.... this seems to be the theme of my life. When I was a kid I went to a birthday party and I remember the dad thought I was super funny and took a picture of me. Apparently my sense of humor needs to be documented because no one is going to believe a girl that nutty actually exists.

I come by this crazy rightfully. When I was a kid we were cleaning the house and I was on my way to hang out in the bathroom when my mother said 'Becky there is something in this vacuum hose, I can't seem to see it, come look'... any other person would have picked up on the future joke heading my way and though I consider myself wicked smart, I have to admit that I am ditzy as a box of rocks. So I went over to the vacuum hose and look in, only to have my mom flip the switch. I got to keep my eye and no damage done... but this joke provided great laughs in my family for years.  This is the same mom who thought it was fun to drive up to a persons house, honk the horn and when they came outside wave and drive away.  Actually that was funny... so you see the apple does not fall far from the tree.
This brings me to my story for the day, last year I worked with individuals who not only understood but took part in my sense of humor. It started one day after a big meeting with the president of the company, he wanted more from everyone. I am not exactly sure what he meant because I was not fully paying attention to him. He tended to ramble a lot. But after the meeting everyone walked back to the cubby room feeling the weight of the arbitrary scolding. I walked into the room and felt the need to produce a couple of karate air kicks. I tried to hold it in... but this habit was hard to break. I few people stared at me, some laughed... but others took part in the joy of air kicking.  From that moment on when someone would walk through the office after dealing with stupid... they produced an air kick. It came to a point where we would judge the kicks and see who could kick the highest or produce the most movement. This culminated to the video you have before you... Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire. So next time you feel stress or you think you should behave a certain way throw in an air kick and embrace the crazy.

The Imaginary World of Online Dating

I would like to pretend I have never gone out with someone from an online dating site. I would like to pretend that I was never fooled into believing some huge lie that a person concocted on the internet. I would like to believe that I was always up front about who I was or what I looked like. Unfortunately, what I like to pretend is real and what is actually real are always two very different things.
This brings me to my topic for today; the imaginary world of online dating.
One of my first online dating "boyfriends" was a guy named Chris, I am not hiding his name to protect sources because quite frankly I am not convinced this was his real name. I was living in Nebraska at the time and attempting to scurry up a date in the middle of nowhere. Chris was from Oklahoma and according to him a very high powered IT executive. This should have been my first clue... my second clue came when he told me that he was flown in a corporate jet all the way out to Chicago on New Years Eve and given a huge promotion where he would be making millions of dollars.  The online relationship fizzled but and every now and then I would touch base with him to hear the new and unique things he was making up. For example,  he had too much money and needed to invest in a second house, oops didn't buy it but bought a condo instead, nope didn't buy the condo but went to law school, graduated law school but decided not to practice law, instead became the CEO of his own company in Arkansas.  My favorite one is that he was offered a position to teach law at Harvard law but turned it down. I mean who doesn't believe that Harvard recruits law professors from Oklahoma.
Side note: what does a divorce in Oklahoma and a tornado have in common; either way someone is going to lose a trailer house.... too much? oops my bad...
I would like to tell you that Chris was my only online mistake, but then I would miss telling you about the guy in Montana that I met online who had solved the dilemma about chewing tobacco. Apparently there is no need to worry about spitting it out and being gross when you can swallow it. After a while you stomach gets used to the chew and stops cramping.  Just to defend myself I did not learn this talent until we went out our one and only date.

Fluffy Puppy

So now I have to admit that I am scared of online dating. Last year I watched a friend take out a girl from the internet only to have her tell him at dinner of her psychotic episodes, arrests, and current outstanding warrants.  She offered him the sex only to send out the same offer to other men via text when he most emphatically declined. Don't worry the guy that responded yes to her text was considerate enough to send a cab to pick her up at the restaurant.
If this is what is out there, I am going to have to embrace being the crazy single lady with lots of cats or maybe just one really weird fluffy dog.

Middle aged Motorcycle Man

It happens every year when the sun comes up and the winter is no more...it is not the spring equinox or the sunbirds going north for the winter. It is the attack of the middle aged motorcycle man. Every year you hope, nay you pray that this year the crop of fresh recruits or old riders will think better of their decision and just stay home. But they won't. They will come out in groups or just ride alone. Shirts are optional, helmets are frowned upon. It is the beauty pageant for men having a mid-life crisis.When the sports car just simply isn't enough to show that you are still a mans man. Forget the swimsuit competition. These men are willing to show you everything, tummy (flat or round you get to see all of it in its glory), biceps with our without muscles, hair maybe on the head, mostly on the back. You will also get to look at their motorbikes which they have named hogs or cows or some other euphemism depending on the type of bike they purchased. These men come out in droves on a bright sunny day, if only to add spice to the scenic beauty around them.
I ran into one of these men yesterday at a stop light... no shirt, no helmet, just shorts and bicycle glory. I had to laugh, I had to take a picture, and I had to admit that I in the not so distant past I had taken part in this motorcycle mania. I had just moved to Kansas, don't ask... I don't want to have to admit why. But it involved a man and he had a motorcycle. For years I had told him that I would not wear leather and ride on the back of a motorcycle. I insisted that was a princess and should be driven around in a mercedes. Note to self, probably not going to be driven around in a mercedes by a man who thought I should be more country. Not that I know what that means, but I think it involves bbq's around the trailer park and cutting coupons. Nevertheless, in an effort to prove my love I rode on the back of his motorcycle.
I would like to say I was a good motorcycle partner, but I wasn't. I couldn't breathe, I was afraid of becoming close friends with the asphalt, and the seat hurt my butt.
Side note: I got no junk in my trunk... it is flat back there. So flat that the one time I was brave enough to moon someone (this was back in college) they said "Holy crap your butt is so flat"....Try to live that one down.... it is almost as bad as when my mother showed me an ad for panties that had butt pads in them.
Pain and panic aside, I persevered in my motorcycle riding until I realized, I have no tattoos, I am not middle age, I own no leather clothing, I do not blend in with this motor cycle crowd. I will motorcycle no more... well all that and he dumped me.... but nevertheless, with no dignity in tact I came to the conclusion that middle aged motorcycle men are not for me. Now where is the guy with the mercedes??

Held Hostage by a Cell Phone

The scariest words you will ever hear in the bathroom is the person in the stall next to you saying "Hello" especially if your stomach is not feeling well and you want to pretend that you are alone. This is what happened to me yesterday. I had been at the library attempting to study for the GRE but mostly emailing friends, reading blogs, and creating playlists for when I actually start the studying process.  But before I get into this story let me tell you a few things...
A couple of weeks ago I had my gall bladder removed, the recovery has not been bad and I have not even missed the organ. That being said, it takes about two months before your digestive system is in tip top working order. This means that at any point in your day you may get hit with the bubble. Nobody dislikes the bubble more than I do. Keep this next informations secret, but I have bathroom issues. I do not like using public bathrooms and if I can avoid it I will.  When I was in high school I used to beg my older sister to take me home so I could use the bathroom in the comfort of my own home. The last few years I have worked in an office building which means no going home when you feel the bubble start to rumble.  I would try to time it right so that the bathroom would be empty, but if it wasn't I had perfected the courtesy flush, to sound out the noise and minimize the air pollution. Now I know you are thinking you need to read another potty story like you need a hole in the head but keep reading because yesterday my stall associate broke all unwritten bathroom rules.

The hostage bathroom

I went into the library bathroom where there were only two stalls and a person was in the one of them. I went into my stall and thought, can I wait this woman out?? Tummy said I couldn't, so I faced the facts that I would have to try for the courtesy flush. No sooner had a finished the first  flush when I heard the words "Hello" from the woman in the other stall. My heart stopped, my mind went all over the place... did this woman just acknowledge my courtesy flush? was she going to try to have a conversation with me? I thought the rule was don't speak and pretend it isn't happening? And then... I heard her start a conversation on the toilet in a public restroom. She was not acknowledging my flushing capabilities, she was answering her cell phone.
Side note: I am not all that sure talking on the phone while on the toilet is a good idea. That being said in a public restroom I am absolutely, one hundred percent against it. You are not that important, hang up the phone.
Once I realized that this woman had decided to catch up with an old friend while on the toilet, I was faced with the an issue I never thought imaginable. Do I continue with my flushing ways? Or wait for her to get off the phone and out of the bathroom. Three minutes of waiting later, I did another flush. My tummy wasn't waiting to find out if cousin Rhonda solved her issues with her man and is going to come to the family party. Yes I listened in... wouldn't you?  Two minutes after that, she flushed, left the stall, and washed her hands. I thought my hostage situation was over. Oh how wrong I was! She continued to talk on her cell phone right there in the bathroom., she was not going to leave.  It was then I knew I had to take drastic measures to free myself from my captor. I am not sure if it was the noise or the air pollution but she finally left the bathroom.... I was relieved, I was happy, I had privacy... but then I was a little sad, how was I ever going to find out what happened with cousin Rhonda? Maybe I shouldn't have bombed her out so soon...
I think I might have stockholm syndrome.

Truck Stop Kind of Love....

I was sitting in Crystal's office complaining about been dumped by the trucker.  For those of you who don't know the last 8 years of my life has been spent dating only two men, both of whom were truck drivers. Yep they drove down the highway with the CB radio and the 10-4... apparently you aren't supposed to say good buddy because that is a call signal for man on man action.

The first one was from Alabama and I met him on Eharmony. At the time I had decided I needed to put a little effort into dating, previously I really only went out on dates because it was sure to be a funny story I could tell people about.  I am willing to put myself in awkward situations for a good laugh. Like one time when my sister set me up on a blind date and he had a friend who couldn't get a date, so I dragged my roommate Melissa along. Melissa's date was special, short bus special. We were all leaving the concert and he told us he wanted to have a gun on the top of his truck to shoot people out of his way, here is how one of the funniest conversation I ever had went:

Him: "I could break every bone in my body and not be destroyed" 

Me: "Every bone? that is a lot, this one time I dislocated my thumb and it hurt really bad"

Him: "That would hurt but not as much as breaking every bone in your body"

Me: "That is true, but this one time I had to get stitches in my leg and it made me cry"

Him: "Huh?"

Me: "But the worst was, this one time I chipped a nail and it ruined my nail polish and hurt my feelings"

Him: "Are you making fun of me?"

Me: "Yes, yes I am"

We made it home and I still owe Melissa for putting her through the torture of that date... but the story is the gift that keeps on giving.

Anyways, back to truck driver number one, the relationship did not work out but I really liked dating a truck driver. There were advantages I enjoyed, first I only had to talk to him when I wanted to, second, I could tell people I was in a relationship so I didn't have to hear the you will find him conversation, (I hate that conversation, I didn't know that dating was an easter egg hunt running around trying to find the ultimate egg) and third I only saw him when he was in town and other than that I had my own freedom.

The first truck driver and I broke up and I moved on to the next truck driver and since remembering names are a pain, I just called him trucker. 

Going back to me sitting in Crystals office, here is how the end of that conversation went:

Crystal: "I don't know but I think you should move on"

Me: "Yep your right, he is a butthead"

Crystal" "Let's get you to a truck stop so you can find a new boyfriend"

Me: "That is wicked funny, how about Friday night?"

The Scariest Day of My Life...

It was a rainy and stormy Saturday, which I did not mind because I had finally broken down and decided to clean my apartment. The mold in the sink and fridge had gotten past the point of experimental and was looking for a showdown to take me out. This is my signal that I need to fight back or succumb to the toxins wishes.  That day I had chosen to fight back and clean.
Side note: if you did not decipher from the above that I am not a cleaner, here it is in more simpler terms; I am not a cleaner. As a child when my family would clean the house I would start working with them and five minutes into the project tell them I have to go to the bathroom. This is where I would remain for the rest of cleaning day. Hanging out, brushing my hair, pretending to be a princess with a toilet paper tiara.  There were five children in the family so if one of them was missing who was going to know?? They all knew. Years of torturous teasing has been the payback for my bathroom frolics. If given the chance though, I would do it all again... don't tell anyone.
Back to my original story, this day I had cleaned or what could be construed as my version of cleaning. I clean for 15 minutes straight, no stopping. Then I stop for a break... supposed to be 15 minutes sometimes longer... then clean for another 15 minutes, no stopping. Take another break, those 15 minutes of cleaning are hard. At some point I realize I need groceries, this happened when I discarded the moldy food projects I had festering in my fridge. With them out of the picture it was time to get some new vegetables to start mold battle again.  It would have been smart before going to the grocery store to take a shower and put on clean clothes. It would have been wise to brush my hair and my teeth. But I was headed to the local Walmart, I was not concerned about what I looked like I thought there was no way I looked as bad as the pictures I see in the Walmart emails. Oh how wrong I was.
I had been shopping for 20 minutes or so, long enough to realize my fatal mistake would not go unnoticed to the other shoppers, when I came upon a display of mirrors.  It was then I saw who I was in this moment, hair standing straight up, cheerio stuck to my cheek, shirt riding too high, shorts riding too low, granny panties showing for the world to see, and black sparkly mary jane shoes on my feet with white socks, I had become the ultimate Walmart shopper. If someone had taken my picture I would have belonged on the email.  I would like to say I ran screaming from the building, I would like to say that I scraped the cheerio off of my cheek, but all I did was pull my shirt down and pull up my big girl shorts up and continue to shop. There comes a point in time when everyone must admit we belong at the Walmart.

Use your Brain Child

When I was a teenager my mother put on a play for the young women in our church. It was based on four girls who each had a dream, one was to be a mother (this was played by my mother) one was to marry a star, one was to be a star....and the last one was to be smart. She sang a song that said "Use your brain child, use your brain child, go to college if you can... Use your brain, child use your brain child for you may not get a man." This has been the theme of my life. 

I have a bachelor's degree in political science, a MBA in marketing and now I am working on getting back into school in a PHD program in political science. Which means I should be studying for the GRE instead of blogging...oops my bad. It has taken me a while but I have come to terms with being a straight out nerd.  I think they need to make a website where other nerds can congregate and talk in our nerdy talk. 

Let me show you an example of my nerdiness. On Valentines day I as a woman without a mate/date celebrate Single awareness day. My friend Crystal was kind enough to celebrate this with me and last year we decided we should wear ribbons to bring awareness to the plight of the single individual. So we wore our neon green ribbons and I told everyone what awareness we were working towards. Only a few people saw the conundrum that existed in this little joke. Most everyone is a single individual, you have no other individual attached to you, I am speaking physically and not metaphorically. I know, I know... I am a nerd. Even typing this out I think it is wicked funny. So maybe next Valentines day you can wear your ribbon and bring awareness to the plight of the single individual, ie. you. 

This might be reason number 567 that I am single and I need to 'use my brain child, use my brain child' and go back to college if I can... because I do not get a man...   :)

Mostly farting is funny....

I have to admit that I have the sense of humor of a twelve year old.  I think gas  (or as my mother made us call it fluffers) is funny, wicked funny. I used to say to my ex boyfriend pull my finger... and if he had pulled my finger I was going to gift him with some special air. He never pulled my finger... sad face. This might be reason number 256 of why I am single.
I am saying this because my life is in the bell jar of crazy and I need laughter to get me through it.  The thing that makes me laugh the most is good old "fluffer" stories.  Like when you walk down a hall or an aisle in the supermarket letting out the silent killer gas and then turn around inconspicuously to see how everyone is reacting to the stink bomb you just dropped. I can say this because I have dropped the bomb and had someone else's bomb dropped on me.  It is mean and wrong but oh so funny.
This is the point in the blog where I am sure I will have lost some of you... but if you are laughing read on to my next story.
I was a cook at a boy scout camp... this was back in the day when I was 18. (like three years ago if I am lying about my age) There was a night when we had to cook the boy scouts meatloaf. Whoever created the menu wasn't the brightest cook in the kitchen. Needless to say the meatloaf did not go over well and we had a lot of it left. (Note to self; if the cook staff is eating cereal while serving you meatloaf... go home hungry) I worked with other people who had the same base humor as myself and we decided that it would be super funny to get rid of the meatloaf in a unique way.  We took our tray of meatloaf and headed for the outhouse. We thought it would be funny if Bryce dumped the meatloaf into the outhouse, while making funny noises.  So when people walked by they heard it. This would be the ultimate gas story.  What we didn't expect is that the head of the camp would come up and use the stall next to Bryce.  This posed an interesting dilemma to continue or not continue in our meatloaf dumping ways. We chose to continue.  I am not sure what the mayor of our camp thought was going on next to him in the outhouse or why the whole kitchen staff was standing by laughing.  But from that night on meatloaf had been taken of the menu indefinitely.

It's no secret... Just false advertising

Back in the day I was having a conversations with two men they were complaining about how they had to pay over ten dollars to get a haircut. I had just dropped over a hundred to get a cut and color and I let them know that information. They looked shocked and could not figure out why I would spend that kind of money on hair. I told them that was easy because  men looked more than they thought. At the time I believed women thought more than they looked.... but...

I have spent my life working in the beauty industry, I was a hairdresser for 8 years where I plucked and pulled and stained and bleached waxed and tanned all in the name of looking good. I have now spent over 9 years working in retail where I have sold and bought make up to clothing to lingerie to jewelry. I am have been in search of being and selling the fountain of false beauty.

I have had the opportunity to work with some of the brightest women in the industry. Unfortunately, meaningful conversation with them usually revolves around who the bachelor will make out with or ultimately fake engage themselves to or what new and unique way the real housewives are fighting. These women make a puddle look deep. It is kind of like when a famous celebrity comes out and tells people how to vote or a something else they know nothing about and I think 'no, no just be pretty don't speak'... Except for the lines the smart people wrote for you.  

So when did actually using your brain and having an in depth conversation become taboo?? I am in search of the conversation that challenges me, that isn't political correct, that isn't with crazy people who buy into multiple conspiracy theories, or even crazier people who think global warming is real and not the greatest marketing ploy ever known to mankind.  

I am not sure I can find this conversation.... this will be a blog about that search .... based on the observational ramblings of a 36 year old single woman who has nothing to left to lose.