Mixed grill

No, I didn't grill the apple. and no, it wasn't rotten. It was actually pretty good -- it just browned quickly because it was hot that day.

The post title, if you hadn't got it yet, just means that I have a few small things to talk about that have nothing to do with each other but are going to be served together anyway. A chacun son goût, as they say.

Well, as some say.

The French, mostly.

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First, then, I wanted to let you know that I'm not going to complain about working the late shift again because I'm not. I'm working a late meeting. Working late at all puts me in a bit of a mood no matter why I'm doing it, though. Probably goes back to working at some subway shop.  Late shifts there were brutal, and they generally only scheduled one person to close (I'd imagine that newer OH&S regs mean that they can't do that anymore. What a pity). Close the storefront, put all the food away, clean up everything... all by yourself. When you left depended on how much of a mess there was; not just from your shift, but from the whole day. It was just after university and I'd moved back in with my parents temporarily. After the first night that I didn't get in until two in the morning, they refused to let me drive myself home. Yep, I had to phone mommy and daddy for a ride, no matter how late it was, so that I wasn't walking down the alley to the parking lot alone. Thanks, both of you. I actually really appreciated that.

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Next, and probably should have been first, I have over a foot less hair than I did when I got up this morning. Yep, finally had it with the whole having to tie it back even at night thing. Erm, because otherwise it was so long that it would get caught under my armpits and wake me up when I rolled over. Seriously. So now I have a hairdo for the first time in well over two years. Possibly over three years. I can't really remember.

Speaking of remember, I'll have to remember how to use hair products again. And do something with my hair besides a ponytail (because I can't anymore. Yes, I really did get that much cut off). I always make myself a deal when I get my hair cut: it has to be down for at least two days. After two days it's usually driving me so bonkers that I have to pin it back, but two days starts... now.

Ok, maybe more like tomorrow morning.

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Last, I've (finally) finished up the 2% milk I had in the fridge. Good. I know that some of you are wondering why the finally and the good, but let me tell you, when you're not used to 2% it feels pretty much like you're drinking butterfat. I used to drink 2% as a kid, but then at some point -- I can't remember why now -- the doctor put me on skim instead.

And as soon as I said skim a lot of you went ewwww. I likely did at first too, but once you drink it for a while you find it way more refreshing and far less... coating, I guess. I genuinely like skim milk now. Dad usually buys 1% and obviously I'll drink that, but for myself it's skim all the way.

Until your neighbourhood grocery store decides to switch allegiances and suffers some unexpected supply shortages as a result. What do you do? Well, if you're me and you need milk for the meal you're making that night, you suck it up and buy the 2% that's about the only thing staring up at you from the milk aisle (I'm not counting the homo. And for those of you not Canadian, that's just short for homogenised whole milk. Doesn't stop the Americans from laughing at pictures of Canadian dairy sections, however. And don't get me started on Regina...).

The 2% is gone now.

Good.

Bedraggled

The cob in today's pointless photo is convenient for the post title, no? Although he looks jauntily unconcerned about the state of his hair, you must admit. This corn, by the way, was local. As in out of the garden local. We're not in a real corn area here, so for Dad to have corn at all is something, even if the cobs are small.

Anyway.

The hair that the title really refers to is mine. I spent the morning outside in the rain with a bunch of kids, and when I got back my hair was wet enough that I took off my barrette and combed the hair out to give it a chance to dry.

I never wear my hair loose at work. Ever. To the point where people were doing double-takes as they passed the office because they didn't recognise me.

I don't wear my hair loose (it's tied up again now, by the way) because it would drive me nuts. I don't even wear my hair loose at home. The minute it's dry enough after a shower, it gets barretted or elasticked. I even wear it that way at night, because if I don't it gets tangled under my armpit and wakes me up because I can't move my head.

That's true, you know. Not even an exaggeration.

Let's face it; my hair's too damned long. I never meant for it to be this long. I've never had it this long. My once-a-year haircut was forgotten a couple of years ago, though, and now I have way too much hair. It's easy to have that happen when you tie your hair back every day, however. Out of sight really does equal out of mind, and all of a sudden your stupid hair is past the midway point on your back.

It needs to come off.

It needs to come off, and the funny thing is that when I get around to do anything about it I can just hear the panicked are you suuure? that I'll get from the stylist. Look, I know some people prize their hair like they were Samson or something. I know it, but it doesn't mean that I get it. It's hair. It grows. Mine grows fast. Cut it off, please.

The sad thing is, I can't even really donate it or anything. No one wants to try to make a wig out of baby fine, greying hair. Or at least no one should want to...



Back to work for me now. It's a busy rest of the week, so there may or may not be posts.

Later.