thank heavens for little girls selling overpriced cookies

I found a girl scout!

Penny, aunt of Tami (and co-Movie Gallery worker from another store), has a daughter who's a scout. I overheard cookie talk yesterday, and managed to make it known that I was more than willing to make the acquisition of cookies worthwhile for everyone involved. I got a box each of what used to be Samoas and Tagalongs, and a box of Thin Mints (everyone likes Thin Mints!) Much to my surprise, they were delivered today. (Tami bought roughly a case of each cookie, so she's selling off her wares. The girl scouts generally make their rounds in January, I'm told). So I made a pot of coffee, and limiting myself to two of each cookie today. I pounded the "Peanut Butter Patties" (sounds stupid, doesn't it? Maybe a letter-writing campaign might convince Girl Scouts of America to change the names back?) before changing out of my work clothes, and am currently savoring my Samoas (I forget the new name...it's not worth remembering). Thin Mints, however, are an after-dinner cookie. They're for later.

After work I decided to change into a shirt I don't often wear. I spend almost all my time in a red polo shirt and khaki pants. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'll come home and change into one of two hooded sweatshirts (the green or the brown stripey) and pajama pants. Most of my clothing never gets worn. Between not fitting as well as it used to, and not being warm enough (we heat as little as possible), most of my wardrobe gets no face time. I opted for a tan and black striped turtleneck that I bought from a thrift store in Washington, and I hate it. It's a great shirt...but it doesn't silence the voice telling me that the green sweatshirt has yet to reach it's filth maximum, and is still entirely wearable.

Huh, what other girly and uninteresting things can I talk about? My hair! It's long now. Not long long, but longer than any other time in my life. I've always been a short-hair person. But right now I have a pony tail on top of my head, and most of it is still in the elastic! It's bizarre. I finally learned how to break through the awkward-length desperation trim:
Step 1: Spend the better part of the year unemployed, allowing bills to pile up. Poverty plays a key role in hair growth.
Step 2: Move to the foothills of western Maine, where you could sooner find four wheeler outfitters than hairdressers.
Step 3: Date someone who refuses to cut the back of your hair, even if you're only asking them to cut a straight line, and you'd set the length by cutting the sides in advance.
It's as easy as that, ladies (and gents...though you should know, your hair looks better short). Within six months, your hair will cease to spike when you put it up (you'll miss the spikes, as they were kind of funny, but you'll eventually move on). I might eventually cut it, but probably not before we move. The effort isn't worth the hassle, and it doesn't look awkward anymore. Not that I ever wear it down. I'm not a long-hair person. Pony tail, 24-7.