Why Should I Grow Up?

Did you know that existed? Neither did I. Kansas just sent the pic to me. I told him to buy me a six pack immediately.

Has anyone been to Goodwill lately? Those assholes want $1.00 for each ornament they sell. Ornaments so old and fugly, you couldn't give them away...they want $1.00 for them. And what's worse, they want WAY more for their tacky hand-me-down Christmas decor junkage. Keep in mind...all this shit is donated. They get it for free. If you stumbled upon some of this stuff at a garage sale, you'd maybe pay a nickel for it. Maybe a dime, but it has to really be special.

Anyway, my point is, Goodwill has become a rip off. I don't give a shit about their overhead costs...they make a crapload of money on shit they don't pay for. I bought a pair of pants not too long ago...spent $10 on them...only to get them home and discover they had a huge patch sewn onto the left ass cheek. And you can't return them! Bastards! Do gooding bastards!

I want to know where Mr. Goodwill is and what kind of rock 'n roll lifestyle he's livin' off the proceeds of me buying a pair of dress pants with a big ol' patch on the ass for $10. I bet he's rich and owns more than one car. How can he sleep at night? The evil in this world is too much to bear.

Oh Christmas. How will I inexpensively decorate my home in celebration of you? How can I deck my halls when so many forces in the world are fighting against it? We have an almost naked fake tree (yes, fake. bleh)...and there will be parties and entertaining and it simply will not do. As Kansas' brother stated (when looking at Kansas' fake tree in Christmases past), 'you could throw a bowling ball through those branches.' Blurgh.

On the upside...I'm thinking about trying to make a cocktail dress entirely out of garlands.

It's good to have goals.

Click Your Heels Three Times...

You people are pushy.

So, I'm back, but there's too much to tell, so it's going in list form with very little detail. And pictures:

This is where I was. Sadly, the water in Clearwater doesn't taste good. I have a feeling it goes from this orb on high straight to the faucets with maybe a stopover in an aquatic center.

After spending our first night in our separate rooms (well, Kansas in the living room...sucker), we got to drive two hours across a great deal of nothing to a place just outside of Sedan...where we had Thanksgiving lunch with Kansas' extended crazy country family...some of whom were missing teeth...and wearing full hunting camo.

I ate wild turkey. Couldn't taste a difference.

Friday, we went out with his friends and their family. Thankfully...they drink. A lot. They made me go to sushi despite my protests about eating raw fish in a landlocked state. Good news...I didn't die.

Then we went go-karting at this place below...that has designated smoking hours...and is called The Back Alley. I kid you not.

Then onto a redneck karaoke bar where I tried to ingratiate myself with the locals by singing What Condition My Condition Was In very poorly. Apparently I'm no Kenny Rogers. We closed the bar and wandered out into the hallway. A redneck fight broke out over how someone looked at someone else. There was shirt untucking and fist clenching...but it all came to naught. The hot-headed drunkards got behind their SUV steering wheels and sped away. People seem to have no ethical dilemmas concerning drunk driving in Kansas. Just an FYI.

Below is the empty lot by Kansas' mother's. It had snowed several inches whilst we were in the bar and at the request of his drunken friend...Kansas (who was driving non-inebriated) did a little off-roading. You know, a typical Friday night.

Saturday we went to see the sights. There are about 2,000 people in Clearwater. There are two restaurants (Pizza Hut and a burger joint), one small grocery store, a hardware store, a bar and two car washes. Yep.
Oh, and a museum...because why not.

I'm thinking of getting the angry chief tattooed on my left kidney. Well, the skin above it anyway. I'm fierce...and so is he.
Then a nighttime tour of Wichita. Below is "the keeper of the plains". He's a little ominous. Like...what if that axe falls while you're below it? His arms are going to get tired at some point. Imminent danger. That statue is flipping huge, by the way. And we went to gawk at it...in 20 degree weather. Morons. But here we're trying to appear unmiserable.

That picture is going on the Christmas card, by the way...despite my lack of make-up and Kansas' lack of expression. Lemme know if you want one sent to you.

Heh heh.

So all in all...don't go there. Ever. Not even to see the twine.

I love my boyfriend...so I'm going back.

But next time...I'm packing. (you know what I mean)

Chillax with a Tofurkey From the Tryptophan Fairies

I haven't been posting because I've been working. Nights too. Poor me. I'm so busy and integral to the future of email marketing.

I want you to take a look up at that picture above. That's the rest of my week, people. I'm fuckin' goin' to Kansas with Kansas. I'm telling you, I haven't met "the parents" of a boyfriend since the early college years. And this must be serious, because these next four days will be DRY. That's right...Kansas' people aren't drinkers. Nor do they take the Lord's name in vain. You guessed it...I'm fucked. Oh well, it must be love.

I'm trying to get rid of all the open containers of things in my fridge so they don't go bad while I'm gone. That means the spendy ($7.50...I KNOW) bottle of white wine that's still 2/3 of the way full has to GO. It doesn't help that I've already gone out with the peeps for a "oh god, you're going to meet the parents and you won't be allowed to drink or swear" round of drinks. I'll be packing practically blind. Or at least with a severe case of the hiccups. The things I do for this world...I expect the canonization proceedings to begin at any moment. Or do you have to be Catholic for such things to apply? Phooey. I say phooey!

December happens next week. What the eff? How did I get here? What in my life altered so much that I think it's normal for Kansas to be making me Rice a Roni at 10:40 on a Tuesday night for dinner? That's a rhetorical question, though I welcome all hypotheses. What is a blog for but to entertain your readers' ridiculous ideas. That was also rhetorical.

So I have opinions on things, but they're going to have to wait til I'm back from the land of the world's biggest ball of twine...which I will be taken to see if someone knows what's good for him. So until then...have a happy holiday filled with turkey and tryptophan and little maids all in a row.

So I've been drinking. Shut up.

GET A ROOM! Oh.

My upstairs neighbors have the loudest sex in the whole world. I'm convinced of it. I'm also convinced that she's faking it. More on that later.

Like clockwork, they go at it at 10:00 PM, every (almost) night. First we hear the bed bouncing and then the moans start and then...anywhere between 10:20 and 10:45 there's the ol' engine whistle. You know what I'm talking about. It oogs me out. I try not to go into the room til after the witching hour, but damnit...sometimes I'm really tired and just want to go to sleep...sometimes we're trying to watch a movie...I mean...it's our BEDROOM, for chrissakes! They shouldn't get to have two!

So how do I know she's faking it? Well, I don't know if any of you out there have ever had sex...but let me just say, it's rarely the EXACT same experience every time. I mean, I understand that they have a system all worked out...timing...length...locale, etc...but her noises. Frequency, volume...all of it; she sounds like a howling coyote every single time. It's just unrealistic. Anyway. It's 10:50, so I think it's probably safe...and I'm toast. If they aren't done yet, I'll at least be able to tell how much longer it's going to take by counting the nanoseconds in between her yelps.

Michael Clayton Owes Me $2

What makes a person walk into the kitchen to make tea and instead, walk to the fridge and pull out a beer? The two are opposites. One should not be inspired or, indeed, replaced by the other. If anything...the first should over shadow the need for the latter if its intent was to soothe or calm...which is, I believe, tea's main function. It sure as hell doesn't quench thirst. But then, neither does a beer really. Especially not a dark one. Oregon has a crapload of beer...just leaping and frolicking about all over the place. You can't throw a stick without hitting a microbrewery in this town. So, it's kind of a shame that I drink Pabst. Or worse...Rolling Rock. It's almost as bad as refusing to shop at Powell's.

But Kansas likes the local brew, which is how I came to be sitting at the kitchen table, listening to Nighthawks at the Diner and drinking a Snow Cap seasonal ale. I just thought you'd all like an establishing shot.

Speaking of banal film terminology...I had a movie date with my mum today. We went to see Michael Clayton. It was fantastic. It was also EIGHT FUCKING DOLLARS for a MATINEE showing. As I was sitting there, waiting for the movie to start and hoping I wouldn't have to pee five minutes into the first act, it occurred to me. My children will never set foot in a movie theater.

By the time they're old enough to go see whatever computer animated vermin with a penchant for flower arranging Disney's decided to make their latest protagonist, a daytime movie will cost $15 and I'll have become my grandmother who refuses to pay more than a dollar for anything. No more getting dropped off at the theater at noon and picked up at 5. No more shelling out for whatever chuckles the current Saturday Night Live actor's latest skit-inspired flick might bring to the drudgery of a pre-drinking age weekend night. Those days are gone. My kids are going to know the word "netflix" before the word "mommy". And that's the way it'll just have to be.

Sucks.

Hope there'll at least be flying cars or something cool by that time to make it all worthwhile. Otherwise I might just end it now. Or after I finish this beer.

Condi Knows What You Need

Dear Condi:
I am at my wits end! A situation of catastrophic proportions has arisen between two of my dearest family members, and all attempts on my part to make amends between them has failed. I fear I need the assistance that only you, the U.S. Secretary of State, Chief of the World Police, and Architect of Truce between Israel and Palestine, can give me! How can I make my two darling fuzzy kitties get along? Persi, the queen female will randomly whack Cosmo, the male, soundly on the head for deigning to cross her path on the way to the litter box. In retaliation, Cosmo will casually piss on her favorite napping spot (which thankfully, is the bathtub.) Persi retaliates by shoving him away from his food plate at dinner time, and Cosmo refuses to eat from her plate. As a consequence, Persi is getting fat, and Cosmo is strung out. Last weekend, he spent an hour leaping, running, and pouncing all over the furniture, presumably chasing minature Persi-figments from his imagination. SHE, elderly lump that she is, slept through it all. So, dearest Condi, what should I do? How can I get these two adorable, darling, lovable animals to cuddle and lick each other's heads?
Sincerely,
Clinging to sanity (Rachel)

First of all, CTS...or "Rachel", as I like to call you...I need to know exactly how one ('one' being either cat or human) casually pisses. And furthermore...what is the difference between a casual piss and a formal piss?

But seriously, girl...here's what needs to happen:
You need to send Cosmo to rehab to thwart the strung-outness...preferably the one that Lohan went to...or maybe the one that worked so well for Pete Doherty?

Persi needs to go on Celebrity Fit Club. Nevermind the fact that she is A. Not a celebrity and B. A cat. The other cast members are so high on endorphins that they won't even notice. Besides...maybe through her you'll get to meet stars like that dude who played Screech on Saved By The Bell. One can dream.

While both of them are out of the house...take a vacation. Preferably somewhere like Kansas where I hear they have the world's biggest ball of twine. You'll all be fresh and ready to give cohabitation another go within a month or so. If this doesn't work...send one cat to Palestine and one cat to Israel and let them duke it out the old fashioned way. With muskets at dawn.

Your welcome.

*********

Now, I know this is in no way related...and it's totally and completely old news, but the enormity of it just hit me today. Mariska Hargitay...an actress on one of the 8 million Law and Order shows is the daughter of Jayne Mansfield, famous pin-up of the 1940s. Yes, we all knew that. Ok. But looking at her (here she is), it's impossible to tell. She doesn't even look that much like her father...who I had to google to see what he looked like. And that's when I found this:

If there ever existed a THE MOST embarrassing picture of one's parents...this would be it. Between his pose (not to mention his package) and her tan line...well, let's just say that I'm at a loss for words. It's fantastic. And so is the fact that I used the word "enormity" up there.

I Have Too Much Perfume On And I'm Choking Myself

Is that too long of a title? Well it's TRUE. And truth is what we're all about here at Condi's Hair.

Posting is becoming a hassle. I've got all my best ideas during the work day (what can I say, I'm inspired by monotony) and lately there's too much work to do, so i can't write. Then you all have to settle for two paragraphs of word blarf written on my lunch hour ("hour"...funny) that isn't even funny. or whatever I happen to churn out at night in between trying to bake a casserole and watching the latest episode of Tell Me You Love Me (HBO, bitches). It's not quality work and I'm sick of it.

Wait. When did it become all about you? Since when do I have to please YOU? Ungrateful! I work so hard!

Anyway...I was away from my computer ALL weekend. Yes! I went to the beach. I saw sky. And food. And I went on a 4 mile moderate/difficult (labeled) hike. And I didn't even DIE of exposure. I know.

I also took pictures of a lighthouse. No, I don't know why. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

Normally by now Oregon is in full "sucketh" mode. Towards the end of September, the rain begins and then doesn't end until July of the following year. Yes, things are green. It's not worth it.

This year, it's been eerily beautiful. Every day has been near 60 (fahrenheit)...the sun has been shining. It didn't rain on Halloween. I don't know if it's global warming or some kind of gypsy hoodoo...but it gives me the creeps. In a good way.

Look at that. I've just reduced this blog to chitchat about the weather. Oh well...no refunds!






Tomorrow I'll do another advice column. I like doing them. They make me feel useful...like bathroom cleaner. The kind that clears the scum from your shower tiles.

So Last Week, But Whatevs.

Some psycho wench against the war in Iraq tried to go at Condi with blood (paint) on her hands at a House of Rep. foreign relations committee hearing. What was she thinking? Bitch could've fucked up Condi's hair! Notice I said "could've". Condi was all, "Oh no you didn't".



The only thing missing from this moment is...well...excitement. I'll admit it, I'm a little disappointed. No claws, no backhanding, no clever rhyming chants...just a dull drone of "war criminal" on repeat. If you're going to bother with special effects and a costume to protest...at least add a little pizazz to your message. Honestly, I'm disappointed.

This is why I'm a registered Independent. We know we're too lazy to physically protest what we don't agree with.