Frankly, I knew it was coming. I’ve been a bad girl and I was due. When it came, it came and hit me horribly. Without going into all the details, life came crashing down and the effects are long-lasting and hard. Sickness and horror upon friends and acquaintances, hard times, school frustration, you name it. The business of life has been quite a lot to bear lately.

However, I’ve taken my licks like a woman and not a child and I think that I have just about had enough. Tonight, we’re in the black, karma. In. the. black.

I just went to take a shower. I was stank. Truly. My hair was greasy. I have been inside with the dogs all day due to snow and I just needed to feel clean. I leave tomorrow for a conference and if I don’t shower tonight, my long, thick, wavy hair will never dry in time for me to make my flight. It’s why I take my showers at night unless I want to have a bad 80s perm all day.

After making my way upstairs, I gathered my pajamas and went to the bathroom where I noticed that one of my two major sources of light was out. This wouldn’t be a problem but I needed to shave my legs. I know this is too much information, but bear with me. You have to know this part of the story. I’m 5’11″ and my body is all legs. I need that light to see and, quite frankly, I’d been waiting to shave until the night before the trip so I’d be silky smooth. Ladies, you know what I mean.

With a dubious look to the light, I started the water and figured I’d soldier on. How difficult could shaving be in the semi-dark? I could still see the legs, just not the hair.

This is the part where karma laughs at me loud and long.

We’re all good until the shaving part. I’ve put my conditioner in to set while I shave. With the first stroke, I know I’m in trouble. My blade is dull. It’s the last blade I have left before a trip I’m going on tomorrow and all I have is a dull blade, hairy legs and a dark bathroom. I make the unwise decision that if I shave MORE SLOWLY the blade will still do the work of a sharp blade.

I’m a smart person. This was not a smart moment.

I cannot see the leg, so I shave some areas and not others and then shave over some parts and make them sensitive and tender to touch. Nicks are everywhere.

This is when karma and I become even.

Someone in my house, either the 9-year-old or the 32-year-old, makes the unwitting decision that I need to be put in my place once and for all: They turn the water on. As I’m sliding the dull blade up my leg, yet again, the water goes from luke warm to scalding in about 2 seconds. I jump, the blade skips up my leg and…you can see where this is going.

I still have conditioner in my hair.

I’m hurt.

I’m angry.

And this is not funny.

Eventually the water turns lukewarm and I throw the razor across the bathroom and wash my hair out.

We are even, karma. Even Stevens. Do you hear me? It’s over.

It’s hard to say exactly when the “slut ‘stume” craze started or when it will end. Perhaps it started when the whole horror movie thing began, and it makes sense. The most prominent scenes in horror films usually consist of a scantily-clad women being chased by a killer who miraculously catches up by walking at a slow even pace. And why do they include these scenes in horror movies? Because Dudes like it. Women likely picked up on it and ran with it by becoming short skirted nurses, cleavage showing police officers and strangely attractive witches.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a dude and I like the “entertainment” just as much as anybody else – but seriously, the whole idea make no sense. Women are women, they are going to look good in anything. Plus, ladies shouldn’t do anything at 20 that they’ll be afraid to show their kids pictures of when they’re 30. Just sayin’.

Listening to the radio the other night I heard that Taylor Swift, the ideal woman (yes, I’m being slightly facetious here) and her friend decided in Junior High that instead of doing what all the other girls in her school did on Halloween they would take the alternative Halloween route. Instead of using Halloween as an excuse to act like a porn actress, they would dress completely opposite – as Chewbacca. Because the first thing every guy wants to see Taylor Swift in is a hairy alien Star Wars suit. Oh yeah.

But maybe it’s just another turn society is taking that is the result of peer pressure and lackluster parenting. Either way, if (when!) I have kids with Taylor Swift, they’re going to dress as Chewbacca and LIKE it.

________________________

Brandon Kiser is a teenage web and politics junkie lining in KY. He blogs at The American Kiser (americankiser.blogspot.com) and, at launch, will write for the conservative news site 73wire.com. Like every other cool cat nowadays he tweets using the shocking pseudonym @BrandonKiser .

Women wear makeup for other women. It’s true and it’s not a secret. I’ve said it before, here in this blog. Men, it may come as a surprise for you and a small blow to your ego, but we aren’t competing with you, are we? We’re competing for you and your attention. For those married folks, we’re competing to keep what we’ve got or gain something new. For those who are single, they are shopping their options and the goal is to be the prettiest peacock on the block.

Over the summer, a friend of mine in my program at school, Susan (Not her name), mentioned to me that she thinks I’m beautiful. I mentioned to her that I’d pay her to say it all day long. She laughed and said that because I’m a white woman, and a large woman, that she gets it. And I think she does. I’ll talk more about this tomorrow. She stated that she noticed that I have more confidence on the days that I wear makeup and the days that I do my hair (instead of my favored ponytails) and pop some earrings in or wear jewelry. Adorning my face gives me confidence.

“She has such a pretty face, if only she’d do something about that body.”

Fair enough. Last week, I tested it. True to form, I get a different reaction from people when I “do my face.” Either, I’m projecting more confidence or I’m looking good and it gets a different reaction. I’m assuming it’s a little of both, but more the latter. Research has shown that attractive people tend to get more favorable reviews when asked how they are viewed by observers. We like pretty people. There is a reason the cosmetics corporations make billions of dollars.

Women want to look good and they like the way people respond.

I liked the way people responded to me last week. They were quick to meet my needs. They were complimentary. They were interested. It conditioned my response. I spent a good 20 extra minutes a day on hair and make-up. What? I’m still low-maintenance. You can’t pay me to spend more time than that on looking good.

You should see the responses I get when I don’t wear my wedding rings. That’s another post for another day.

Have any of you had similar experiences?

Whoops.

Someone is in trouuuuuubleeeeeeee.

I can’t figure out if it’s because she should be scared that she has poor intellectual genes or that she is now the proud winner of a hard life at the age of 13 years for an ill-informed decision made by her hormones. Either way, she’s got her mom, smart or not, wrapped around her finger.

Sweetie, if swimming in a pool could get you pregnant, women everywhere would be using that excuse like WOAH.

I feel bad for the girl, who may honestly believe it’s true now. Yes, it’s a naive thought, but I try to see the best in people. WE KNOW something takes place to get someone pregnant. At 13, and in another, less-sexualized country, we don’t know how much SHE knows.

I DON’T feel bad for her mom, who is clearly an idiot.

I DON’T feel bad for the lawyer who is going to get smacked for a frivolous lawsuit.

Am I wrong that I’m just incredibly thankful that this story, for once, took place outside of the United States?

It started when I went to the dermatologist and she diagnosed me with…sensitive skin. Duh! I’m sorry, that wasn’t very ladylike, but really. You can’t really tell from my author picture, which my friend Natalie says makes me look like an Oompa Loompa, but I make pale look pale in comparison.

In my life, I’ve had few nicknames. I hate any of the ones that refer to Jack and Jill or putting my name with a bean near it (unless it’s been pre-approved by me). On some websites, I’m referred to as a “pale porcelain goddess” when discussing what color of makeup I should wear. A friend from right about the time before I got married called me “china doll” because my skin is light and I look like I’m porcelain. Someone else called me Lucy, but that’s another story for another time and has nothing to do with this post.

So, to say that I knew my skin would be sensitive due to its hue was an understatement. What I didn’t know was that her prescription for me would take away my bubbles. This was serious. Not serious in a terminal illness kind of way. Please. I’m a sensitive person behind that sensitive skin. No, merely an inconvenient kind of way. I live with boys. Boys who appreciate a good smelling girl. One of the ways I achieve that is with my Philosophy 3-in-1 scents. Man, do I love those things, and my boys often comment on how nice I smell. I don’t know how to cope without that self-esteem boost.

Now, I’m down to using Aveeno body wash for sensitive skin. It does its thing, I think. It doesn’t strip my skin, so I don’t have that super clean feeling, but my body isn’t flaking like a snake shedding it’s skin. It has no scent, however, so I suppose I’ll have to rely on perfume. I feel like a petulant child and it’s making me unhappy with my body makeup only because I really like the way Philosophy smells. It’s immature, but it’s a sad, sad state of affairs….

Without the bubbles.

It’s a life change, to be sure. If you still have your bubbles, enjoy them and remember that there are people in the world, not just in 3rd world countries, who do without bubbles! Be thankful for your capability to bathe in bubbles! Revel in your bubble bathing abilities and be confident that you will come out of your bath smelling great!

This has led to almost a fanatic obsession with the online website The Consumerist. It not only informs me of anything shady that is going down, it gives me a healthy dose of anger and “holding the man down” mentality. I like it.

I was looking for a nice anger rush when I saw this post. It includes this quote:

Speaking to analysts during US Airways Group Inc.’s earnings call last week, president Scott Kirby said that airline clearly has made a lot of money by charging for checked bags.

But that doesn’t mean that Southwest isn’t benefiting from not charging the fees, he said.

“It’s possible that Southwest receives a very small market share from a number of carriers,” Kirby said.

Yep, that did it.

I don’t fly often, but I’m fixin’ to start. For those of you that don’t live in the South, that means I’m preparing myself to begin. I have to attend several conferences in the next year and this will require copious amounts of travel. I pack fairly light, but I know for sure that I am absolutely not paying for my bags. I’m just not. I already pay far too much for the convenience of going places and then get “fee’d” out the wazoo.

So, what I’m telling US Airways and all those other punks who think they are getting my cash and can charge me extra for stuff that they should be providing as part of what I’m already paying for: Forget it. I’ll take my business elsewhere and I’m not the only one. I will drive before I’ll pay you my money because I think that business ethics count. Some things are just the cost of doing business.

In the South, people say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And, Honey, you sure did miss the point.

All of that changed yesterday and turned into this.

Artist rendition of the tragedy

While I sat there waiting for the stylist, AJ was hitting my last nerve. I examined my greasy hair and hugely split ends and became even more resolved to do something about my current hair state, if for no other reason than I needed a break from the constant chatter of a hyper 8-year old. Nothing exotic or large was going to happen. I just wanted the split ends removed and no layers. I’ve been growing my hair out for over a year.

What my stylist heard, her of the 1993 Meg-Ryan-duck-butt-blonde-hair-flare that had grown to her shoulders, was that I wanted 4 INCHES OFF OF MY LENGTH AND A FULL SET OF LAYERS. I think my first inclination that something was wrong was when I asked her how much she’d need to take and how bad my split ends were was that she giggled nervously and replied, “Oh, I can’t really tell how split they are when your hair is wet. The water mends your ends so unless it’s dry, I won’t know.” She said this while cutting. I started to fidget nervously and watched a hunk of hair fall off the scissors.

Your author with the infamous hair cut

That was the end. She started cutting like a madwoman. I’ve never seen anything like it. Her already squinty eyes became irrationally beady to me. I started to sweat. She kept trying to talk to me about AJ, but all I wanted to do was leave. When she was done, I threw my hair back into a ponytail and jetted. I got home and stewed. That Delilah! How dare she cut my hair like that? It was specifically what I said I DIDN’T want. Cutting a woman’s hair is like cutting off a man’s penis. Ok, maybe not that bad.

When I finally had the courage to take it down and look at it, I winced and slowly turned to Leon. His response, “It looks great!” The response of my friends, “It’s hot. I love it! I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted, but I really like it. It brings out your natural curl.”

Hrmph. But like a petulant child, I want what I want, dang it! Don’t do what I don’t want, even if I look better. I look hot? I look great?

Ok. Maybe it’s growing on me. I might go back.