Drowning Dogs, Hair Drama, Car Dealerships, Golf Magazine, Direct TV and Chocolate Chip Cookies

If the title of this blog doesn’t explain the chocolate chip cookies at the end of it, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t eaten a carb in weeks. Here’s why.

Pictures.

Permanent pictures.

My son is getting married to my (already) Bonus Daughter, and I expect to be in a picture or two, hence the forgoing of carbs. Wedding pictures are permanent, even if wedded bliss isn’t, hence the need to look good for generations to come in the photogs.

Say what you like, but I cut out the carbs, and the weight literally peels off. So, I’m a bit grumpy due to the lack of carbs, and then the dog decided to dive right into the deepest part of the Davidson River this morning. With me holding the leash. Guess who found out she couldn’t swim as well as she thought?

No, not me. I’m an awesome swimmer, even at the old age of 50+. The dog discovered she wasn’t the best swimmer. She liked to drown. Guess who got her out?

We were up early to do a two mile hike along the river. A place Aggie gets so excited about that the minute we turn into Pisgah National Forest, she starts whimpering.  I don’t have a picture of her drowning this morning, but here she is in the river.

Image

Not the best picture, but the phone went into the river too.

We were wet, wet. Dirty wet. Icky wet. All the way home in the car wet. Peeling wet clothes off that get stuck on you wet.

But, my hairdresser (the best ever) was coming to my house at 10 to do my highlights, so it was okay. I could live through hiking 2 miles back to the car in dripping wet jeans because I was getting my highlights done. (You women know exactly what I mean.)

It is fortunate that there are no pictures of me with my lack of highlights, because it was sad how sad my hair was looking.

My hairdresser recently had a baby (8 weeks old), and I’ve been working 24/7, so the last highlights were down to the tips of my hair. Finally, today, we were going to get it done. She came to my house with kids in tow. I know what you’re thinking. Geez. Give her a break. She just had a baby. But, need I remind you what it was like with two small children at home? Remember those days? Anything for an outing.

After she left, and I blew out my hair (if you’re a guy you did not understand that comment, if you’re a woman you know what I meant), I freaked.

To quote my son, “Mom you look like Mila Kunis after she turned into the Wicked Witch of the East in the Oz movie.” Or is it the Wicked Witch of the West? Either way, while he exaggerated a bit, I suddenly had gray (or is it grey?) hair. Something I don’t have despite being 54 and blind as a bat (a direct result of aging).

Being the true hairdresser she is, and dealing with hair drama regularly, she came back (I called her slightly, only slightly, panicked), calmed me down, fixed my hair and we had a lovely visit. Whew. Hair drama is serious business.

Okay so by then, it was time to get my car serviced. I know, this day just keeps getting better, right? But, the stupid voice thing says “oil change” every time I start my car, so, off I went. To my appointment. MY APPOINTMENT. I’ll repeat that. MY APPOINTMENT TO GET MY CAR SERVICED AT THE DEALERSHIP.

The dealership did not have my appointment down for today. They did not have my appointment down for any day. I could wait, they suggested. I considered it. I studied their waiting room. Not a single People magazine or US or Better Homes and Garden, nothing but Golf Magazine. Golf. (I live in a retirement city and everyone plays golf. I suppose it is to be expected.) And, the walls of the waiting room were tan. And, they had none of the goodies some dealerships provide, such as free popcorn (yes, I remember the no-carb diet, but I was desperate).

I left. I couldn’t handle tan walls, Golf Magazine, and no popcorn, after a day of drowning dogs and hair drama.

I was going to finish my evening watching tv while working on a plant list for a client. Did I mention that a lightening storm killed the tv, and the new one doesn’t work with Direct TV’s remote, and so I have to get a universal remote? Whatever that is. And, that I just found that out? About 20 minutes ago? About the remote that is? Because the Direct TV girl said, “Your tv is not on our list, you’ll need to get a universal remote.”

I don’t know what that means.

But, for crying out loud they are Direct TV. Every tv that has ever been made or thought of being made should be on their list. Whatever list that is. Call the NSA. They probably have my tv on their list. Perhaps they have the remote I need. (I’m starting to get a little hysterical, I realize.)

It is now 8:28 p.m. There are two choices in front of me. Bake the chocolate chip cookies my son brought home, or go to Walmart in search of a universal remote (again, whatever that is).

Read the last thing in the title of this post, and you’ll know how the day ended.

Cookies and carb-loaded Snapple tea while admiring my new highlights in the bathroom mirror. They do look awesome.

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