Kiss Me

I noticed on my way home today there is a new store opening in my neighborhood: Kiss Beauty Supply.

I can't decide what I want to buy first.

A "RastaPride" backcombing tool to get my hair at maximum altitude OR:

a Gene Simmons "Demon" make-up set.

I've been wanting to experiment with eyeliner lately. I'm glad that Kiss Beauty Supply will be here to help me out.

Rock on Tom Jones

Today kind of rocked.

I wouldn't normally say that jury duty is awesome, but it was today. I came prepared. Even the security guard laughed at me because it took two trips to get all my stuff through the x-ray machine. I told her, if nothing else, I was efficient. Staking our a chair next to a credenza so I could splay my crap, I was able to grade, scale, score, norm, and record a whole set of second grade IQ tests (which does seem oxymoronical). Following that I created spreadsheets of all my students for the next 4 weeks for accurate record keeping. Two hours later, I was ready to dig into Jen Lancaster and try not to snort in the jury room.

We we dismissed at lunch without providing any service besides getting a mo'fo' of a backache from a crappy plastic chair.

Noon and no plans to speak of? No baby? No husband? Freakin' party!

My windshield has a crack, so i decided to take care of that. But the guy is a friend of my Dad's and I didn't want to embarrass him, so I headed to the U-Do-It car wash. I run it through, only to remember I need to get my door fixed because it leaks water when it rains or in car washes. Like cars are supposed to be waterproof anyway.

I can't help but think I am the nerdiest girl at the car wash in the ghetto. While I'm going through the drive, I pull out my Windex and paper towels, climb around the car and clean all the interior windows. It is a sight to see, I'm sure. Then I pull around to the vacuums and the other two vehicles in bays have their doors open with music blasting gangsta rap. I'm not sure whether this kind sharing was intended to scare me or make me think, "Wow, he must have huge testicles to listen to that kind of music."

The culture of opening windows to blast your music is an odd one to me. I don't get it. One - I don't like loud music. Two - I don't expect others to like the music I listen to, at least at the exact same time as me. Whether it is your apartment, your car in front of your house, at a stop light, or at a car wash, turn that shit down!

With my sense of irony intact, I decide that I too have the right to play my funky music white girl. I stop vacuuming Cheerios and goldfish out of the back seat long enough to scroll through my iPod and crank my Ford factory stereo. What might my friendly new car wash neighbors like to enjoy with me? I pick the whitest music I can find that isn't country (that is too easy). Hello Tom Jones! He would like to ask you what is new, Pussycat.

Of course, the music alone isn't enough. Please imagine me with my mini-SUV with clearance rack diapers spilling out, my own bottle of Windex, in a pair of mid-thigh length khaki shorts belting along while I clean, "WHOOOOOA, WHOOOOA, WHOOOOA....Pussy cat, pussy cat, I love YOU! Yes, I do! Wooopppeee Doooooo!"

Word to your mother.

Thoughts on Sheep

Bean watches "Shaun the Sheep." A LOT of sheep. She is quite obsessed with sheep (and cows --- moooo! --- for that matter).

The sheep cartoon got me thinking: Do overweight sheep make more wool that their healthy-weighted peers?

Side A says that an overweight sheep would create more surface area and hence, more area for wool in which to grow.

Side B said that overweight sheep are set with a genetically predetermined number of hair (wool) follicles. When said sheep packs on the pounds, the skin stretches and more widely distributes the set amount of wool.

That said, if side B is correct, are fat sheep then less warm that their svelte counterparts? They have more surface area to warm, but less wool per square inch.

Oh, the things I think about. I probably could have cured cancer by now.

Pretty soon I won't say huh

Booyah, you have inspired me to write again. Sorry I couldn't give you the topic, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't apply to you.

Spring Break was two weeks ago and I'm still recovering. Leaking washing machine, exploded swimming pool, sick family, and more. It sucked. The best part was my hearing test.

Brad has been harassing me for years that I'm deaf. I know I don't hear as well as other people. So what. I'm an Eagleton. My maiden name is "huh?" I've always thought that Wierd Al was the King of Greatness because I can understand his lyrics and he hears them like I do. It took me years to realize that Eric Clapton's hit "She is Crying" (she is crying....she is crying on the floor) was actually "Jesus Christ - Jesus Christ - Jesus Christ is on the phone." But it is normal. Brad just has freak super-sonic hearing.

To humor him I made an appointment with an audiologist for a full-scale hearing assessment. I would come home, doctor's note in hand, that stated HE WAS WRONG!!! Muuhahahaha!

It didn't go exactly as I planned. During the appointment I was locked in a soundproof box and asked to perform all kind of monkey experiments including the famous push-the-button-when-you-hear-the-beep test. I've never felt more unsuccessful during a test in all my life. I knew there were supposed to be beeps in the silence. Should I just push the button? Surely there was a beep there.

Emerging from the box, defeated, I was informed I have moderate to severe hearing lose in both ears. Alas, not the result of loud Weird Al concerts or marching band competitions or elementary school field trip buses, but rather a genetic juvenile neuro hearing loss -- late onset. I know I'm always late. it sure is nice to have "juvenile" in your hearing loss diagnosis I must say.

I have developed coping mechanisms during the last years. Turns out I don't hear a lot of consonants when people speak. AEIOU (and sometimes Y) don't leave you with a lot of room for comprehension. I use what I can hear with context clues to figure things out. My brain works overtime constantly. That is why I asked the teacher in the lounge what happened to her grandmother she looked at me with a funny face and said, "These cramps hurt like a mother!" Oops. Got that context wrong.

I also read lips. Seriously! I have an undiscovered super-spy, ninja skill! When the audiologist asked me to repeat after her a list of words I did great. Then she covered her mouth with a folder and she sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. Now I notice myself doing it all the time. It is also the reason I hate cartoons. Their mouths don't match. Screw you Fraggles.

She asked me if I would like to try out some hearing aids. Oh, dear God. Hearing aids at age 29. I can have those nice beige plugs my PaPa has. But luckily the kind I need are totally different. I don't need plugs, because I can hear low frequencies pretty well, I need something amplify the high pitches. So I get a cool little do-dad's that sit behind my hear with the world's tinies ear bud that runs into my ear canal. Ok, so not cool but not to bad at all.

Once I try them on, the world is clear. I feel my whole body relax after about 30 minutes of not having to focus on every sound. Downside? They are $7000 a pair. Ouch. It takes a couple of days to figure out my insurance only covers a $1000 and I'm supposed to be thankful for that. A repeat appointment to find a cheaper pair reveals the fancy pants pair I tried the first time is the same as the cheaper $3000 pair minus blue tooth technology. So what!

At that appointment I had to take Claire with me. I was worried at first, but it was really great because I got to hear different sounds while I was trying them out. I heard the air conditioner in the building kick on. Claire grabbed some cereal from the cup in my purse -- I could hear her crunching her food! Did you know you can hear other people chew in a quiet room? I didn't.

It will take a few weeks for my insurance to cough up the cash so I can get my new ears, but pretty soon I won't say "huh?" for every other word. Hearing aids were not on my list of things to do before 30, but since I've decided against a torrid affair with the lead singer of Muse (for moral convictions only --- there is nothing wrong with Matt), I might as well make a swap out.