Honey Boo Boo Hangover

She's much cuter in a still photo.  I can look at her photo and then go on my way and I'm fine.  It's when I flip through the channels and stop on TLC that I'm in trouble because I will find myself mesmerized for hours.  Just like last night.

I was fairly productive yesterday morning:  took out the garbage and recycling, did the laundry and folded it (didn't put it away, mind you -- no need to go crazy), cleaned the  junk off my kitchen table that landed there from weeks of walking in the door and just dropping it there (no need to have it clean for meals or anything), did hair removal, packed up my Christmas presents for RLF and her family (then realized the post office would be closed today and got annoyed), clipped and organized my coupons, wrote a thank you note to my sister for her Christmas presents to me, actually loaded the dishwasher and turned it on (I didn't unload it until this morning)...  You get the picture, I was doing all those little annoying things that don't take a lot of time but always get put off because they don't take a lot of time so you can do it "anytime".

I'm starting...

Wooohooo!  Because I've been procrastinating and rationalizing not starting my New Year's resolutions, I decided today would be the day that I would start living that healthier, more organized life.  That started with hopping on the scale first thing this morning -- you know, that naked, haven't even had anything to drink yet weigh in.  I decided I needed to do that because I need to have a starting point.

With dread, I got on the scale and ... woah.  I weighed eleven pounds less than I thought I would!

Hot diggity!  That should have inspired me to slip on my sneakers and get over to the apartment complex workout room which was also part of my resolution, but it didn't.  While I stood on my patio having my morning cigarette in the freezing cold, I looked across the lawn to the management office and saw some schlub on the treadmill already and I thought, "Nah, I'm already eleven pounds ahead of the game."

I'll admit my discipline needs some work ...

Being Beautiful is a First World Problem

Today I have three hours scheduled at the salon.  This trip will include, hair cut, coloring, styling, waxing (lip and brows), and a manicure.  All of it except the manicure are a necessity.  The lip wax is definitely overdue. I look okay in the mirror in the bathroom, but then I get in the car and look in the rear view mirror and go, "Eesh."  I do the manicure only because I have so much hair that it takes forever for the color to process, so the manicure is something to do while I wait for that.

After all of these years, I should understand the necessity of the time required for "maintenance."  It only gets longer.  It's one of those things that women's magazines and style shows say, "This is good for you -- spending time on yourself is important."  Bleah.  I would rather lay around in my pjs all morning.  I could lay around in my pjs all morning and make the appointment for the afternoon, but then that would cut into my afternoon nap...

In fact, I feel guilty spending so much time on myself.  I feel like I should be doing something more "productive" even though the beauty maintenance is, technically, productive.  Or rather, more productive than playing a computer game, watching videos and Packers.com, surfing the internet, or watching the avalanche of crap on TLC.

And all of this whining reminds me that being beautiful is a First World Problem:

Dear Taylor Swift...

When this rant began in my head, I was surprised at myself.  I was surprised because my original premise was, "Girl you are bringing all women down!"  That surprised me because my college years happened at the beginning of the very politically correct nineties and I had so much crap pushed on me about what a woman should be that I almost became an anti-feminist.  I believed that the "ideal" was pushing women toward forgetting their femininity and abandoning their individual identities.

In fact, my definition of "equal rights" was best summed up by the Golden Girls character, Blanche Devereaux, "Oh honey!  We don't want to be treated the same as men, we want to be treated better!"

Yet ... I found myself still annoyed.