Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Blowing smoke.

Haven't we been here before, you and I?  I was just about to tell you that I'm filling out a scholarship application--the one where I need a nomination, a few letters of recommendation, and a few completed essays where I tell you all about how terrific and deserving I am of the Outstanding Graduate award.  Weren't we here at another time, in another place?

Maybe it's just deja vu blatantly lurking around every corner.

I'm not sure, but I hate the idea of talking about my "greatest accomplishment," or my advice to new students to help them be successful.  I feel like I'm selling a used car.  I'm not sure if that analogy makes me the salesperson or the car, but neither is good.

(Not saying anything about used-car salesmen that hasn't already been said, mind you.)

Anyway, it's been a few days.  Things are good, minus all the rain.  The backyard, again, has turned into a bayou.  I wouldn't be surprised if we had gators.  We've got a ton of frogs and mosquitoes, and with the few coyotes we've seen around the neighborhood, an alligator would be the least of our worries.  It's getting all "National Geographic" up in here, and I'm not talking about the topless ladies with the plates in their lips, either.

Yesterday evening, I decided to dye my hair to hide my roots and greys, and I'm not sure what's been going on with my selection in boxed haircolor lately but somehow "light brown" on me translates to "half-shade above black with non-subtle green undertones."  To celebrate my ugly locks, I decided to chop about a third of it right off.  I know that pisses my husband off because I happen to be an "over the sink" hair-cutter, and he's a former plumber.  There are so many things I've been doing wrong all these years and he never fails to make me feel a wee bit guilty about them.  Did you know, for example, that despite the "Septic Safe!" rating on Quilted Northern, plumbers actually do not recommend that particular toilet paper for your septic tank?  It's true.  My husband tells me to use Charmin, which we all know leaves a ton of lint despite what the talking bears will tell you.

Bears lie.  Enough said.

On that note, I guess it's time for me to go blow some more smoke up my own ass and try to earn this scholarship.  Ohhh, a woman's work is never done.

Til next time,
Cherstin, out.