To Chi or not to Chi

Some of you may have noticed my new ‘do. For those of you who haven’t let me bring you up to speed; I’m sporting the one-inch bangs look. I had been considering getting some bangs cut for a while now, but I have been bang free for such a long time, that I hated to go back. Well, now that decision has been made thanks to my knock-off brand straightening iron. I knew everyone talked about using a Chi, but I thought that this was just snobbiness, so I bought a cheaper brand and it worked great. For a while. I should have known better than to buck the system.
Because of the humid weather lately, I decided that I should probably go with the “really hot” setting to keep my hair from poofing (think Monica on Friends when they went to Barbados.) I swear I never smelled burning hair, but after everything was done, I noticed that the ends on my hair were that tight, curly, frizzy way that hair gets when it has been singed. Then it started breaking off. After a kind of pitiful self-hack job, I called my hairdresser and begged him to fix what he could. He took the ends off my hair and tried to shape what bangs I had left. They weren’t too bad, I thought.
So, the next time I used the straigtener, I was more careful and turned the setting down to “pretty hot.” I started with my bangs, and you guessed it. This time I could smell the burning hair and I cringed as more of it broke off. Now, my bangs are about an inch long and stick straight up most of the time. But they were are a great conversation piece at the golf tourney on Sunday. I’ve never wanted to hit someone with a golf club so bad…

Golf, anyone?

So I bit the bullet and bought a set of golf clubs. I’m not a golfer, but I sometimes play one at work. It would be much cheaper for me to borrow a set, but I seem to have a gift for breaking or loosing things that don’t belong to me. And the courses don’t want people to share clubs, but I don’t see why it is that big of a deal. Can anyone help me out with that one?
Last Friday, I called around to some of the local pro shops, and I thought about doing my standard “fake like I know what I’m talking about routine,” but instead, I just laid it on the line for each of the sales people. I told them that I didn’t golf, but I wanted a decent set that the customers would not make fun of me for having. (They will have plenty of opportunities to make fun of my game.) I chose to buy from the place with the friendliest salesman- the one that didn’t make fun of me for not knowing what a “hybrid” was. So now I am the proud owner of my very own 18 piece set of women’s graphite-shaft golf clubs.
I should be practicing like mad, since the tournament is on the 16th, but I didn’t think to buy any balls or tees, so it will take another run to the store before I can actually do anything with the clubs. I feel kind of preppy carrying them around in the back of my car. And I am ready to play a round at the drop of a hat. As long as the other person brings the balls.

Life leftovers

My niece and nephews were down this weekend, and since having all three of them is a pretty rare occurrence, Mom decided that we should clean out their dad’s storage shed. Everything he owned has been packed away in a storage building for some time now. After we transported everything home, we started going through the boxes. It was really an eerie feeling. All his stuff was there piled all around us, but he was gone. I think of his life and all the things he accomplished, and all that is left is some furniture and a few boxes. There was clothing and cookware, tools and bedding. All the things that everyday life is made of. I wanted to get something to remind me of him. When he first died, we all focused on the kids and wanted them to take anything that might make things easier on them. This time, I was looking for something special to keep to remind me of him. But there was nothing there for me.