The Best Laid Plans

I had such great plans for today. I was going to Get. Stuff. Done! I was going to start out the day right with an awesome workout, and go from there.

I was three minutes too late for an awesome workout. I arrived at the gym entrance intersection just in time to have the whole street blocked off by fire trucks and an ambulance responding to a huge crash in the intersection. The people all looked ok, but their cars did not. I could tell it was going to be a long time before the intersection was cleared.

The road system here is extremely convoluted. It doesn’t go in a grid pattern. Instead, it is made up of all kinds of swirly bits that don’t meet up with each other. With the intersection blocked there was literally no way for me to get to the gym. There was also no easy way for me to get home! I had to take a 15 minute jaunt into the next town over to loop around to my house. So crazy.

I really shouldn’t complain. My day had an unexpected turn, but at least my car wasn’t totaled in the middle of an intersection. I came home and started crossing other exciting items off my list, like scheduling a mammogram and a haircut.

I have been desperate for a haircut for several weeks, but I have hair cut anxiety. I knew I wasn’t going to my normal stylist. She keeps moving around and her prices keep going up. I went to her new, fancy Paul Mitchel spa/salon last time and was incredibly uncomfortable. To avoid finding a new stylist, I took a whack at my bangs (not the biggest disaster in the world. It all just blended into a big mess) about a month ago. However, an adult woman with short hair can only take so many whacks at their own bangs before looking like a clown. It was time to get serious.
I finally found someone and went in for my typical razor cut. My last gal would never cut my hair short enough to suit me, so I tried to make it clear that it was ok to be short. Well this new girl took that super seriously and now I’m bald. Erik’s hair is longer than mine. I want to curl up in a ball and cry. I had to run into the school and everyone’s eyes about popped out of their head when they saw me. I was dying inside.

When Elsa got home she was not pleased with the new ‘do. “But why would you DO THAT?” I don’t know, child. I really don’t know. I feel despair.

How about an unrelated rant before I have a mental breakdown about the hair?

It’s the end of the year, so time to gather up volunteers for the fifth grade recognition ceremony. It is traditional for fourth grade parents to help serve snacks so fifth grade parents can just sit back and enjoy the ceremony. I think that’s a great idea and am happy to help in that way. They are also doing a fifth grade Olympic Day as their big fun celebration. There are 65 fifth grade students. That’s a whole lot of parents. How many do you think have volunteered to help with the activities? Two. TWO. Now I am being badgered to go help and you know what? I don’t wanna. Pure and simple, I don’t want anything to do with it. I work my ass off at the school in many ways and I usually don’t even mind. But there has to be a limit. The parents of these particular children simply must step up. Why is it my responsibility make sure they have fun, when there are well over 100 parents who could give up their morning to go and help with the activities? I basically am refusing to do it. I can’t care more than the parents of the actual children. And yes, I understand a lot of parents work. However, I also understand that the majority of parents will be taking that day off for the graduation ceremony, so there are many parents that can be available if they so choose. It is up to them to celebrate their own children.

Whew! Felt good to get that off my chest!

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