Highlights Badge of Shame

Tomorrow is the first day on the new job, or, as I like to call it, The Inevitable March Toward My Unveiling As A Complete Fraud.

I don’t know about all of you, but I feel like every job I’ve ever accepted was something I talked people into during the interview. Because let’s be honest – I can talk a good game. But when push comes to shove, I’m not always certain I have the follow-through. These people really think I can do what I say I can do. When my new boss sent me a congratulatory email, I responded by saying “I hope to live up to my self-promotion.” At least I’m not without honor.

One thing that’s weighing on my for tomorrow is my hair. I’m pretty low-maintenance looks-wise, and my role in this world is to set the bar low for myself so that others may feel more stylish and put together. YOU’RE WELCOME, WORLD. But it was with joy that I pulled up to the salon on Friday evening to get my grays covered. The night before, I was talking at dinner about how excited I was to get my hairs did, and The Son chimed in with “Yeah, Mom, I hate to say it, but I was walking behind you the other day and man, you really have a lot of gray hair.”

Current Husband looked at him and said, “Son, I need to teach you how to talk to women. And that is not it.”

But alas, he’s right. So I walked into the hair place and said, “I’m here to see Jaimie!” and the receptionist looked at me blank-faced and said, “Um, she’s in her last appointment for the night.” Oh no she’s not! She has to make my hair First Day Ready! And then she dropped the bomb. “Your appointment was last night. We tried to call you and nothing picked up.”

DAMN. IT. ALL. TO. HELL.

I put it in my calendar wrong. (Not so detail-oriented, new boss! Please make a note of it!) And now I have Neapolitan hair with a nice watermark running through it. UGH.

hair diagram

Color grow-out mark indicated by red lines, patches of renegade gray hairs in the blue circles.
It’s everywhere, people.

 

What this hair says to people is: “I’m too cheap to schedule my color every six weeks, and instead push it to 10-12 weeks, thus growing out my color to a Madonna-like level.” I am wearing my badge of highlighting shame.

Also? My daughters each told me tonight that my breath smells bad. Youngest Daughter said she couldn’t decide if it was my sweater or my breath that reeked during Mass, but then I started singing and apparently the breath won. Freaking kids.

I also ate my way through the weekend, so when I take my new security badge photo tomorrow, which will be with me for THE DURATION OF MY CAREER WITH THIS COMPANY, it will be with me busting out of my pants and Patch Adams grown-out highlights Badge of Shame hair. I can only hope it’s from a such as distance you can’t see my hair, because the photographer will be avoiding my Roadkill Breath.

Little blessings, People. Little blessings.

Hope you have an awesome week, Wifers.

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Where’s Julie?

DAYUM.

It’s really been since June 28 since I posted last? But wait, I can explain! It’s been one of three things:

1. A Nigerian prince contacted me. He had a large inheritance coming to him, but needed a U.S. account to launder his money. I said that I’d do it, on the condition that he give me 25 uncut diamonds from unregulated mines. He doubled down, and said he could meet my terms, but only if I opened a link to a virus-ridden video of Kim Kardashian apologizing to the universe. I told him I would click on the link if he would acknowledge that he won the Facebook lottery and claim his prize. We ended up meeting at a Holiday Inn in New Jersey to work out the details and spent the last month hitting local buffets, watching “Lost” (the entire series) and shopping for Crocs. I’ve adopted him.

2. I took the tags off of mattresses while I was in college, and was arrested  just a few months from the statute of limitations expiring. I finally have my life straightened out, but had to leave Current Husband to serve my time. One woman called Crazy Ears who can hear everything tried to make me her bitch, but I resisted her and won everyone over with my prison-brewed gin and tonics. I’m writing a book on my experience called “Really, Really Dark Charcoal Gray Is The New Black, or How I Can’t Wash Clothes Properly.” The sequel will be ”Light Gray With Yellowed Pits Is The New White.”

3. I applied for the job of my dreams as a writer for the corporate communications department of a Fortune 500 company in mid-May. It was absolutely all I could think about for weeks and weeks, and I grew old waiting, and then I interviewed in early July, which blew my mind because seriously, I think everyone in a 100-mile radius applied for it. It was a FOUR HOUR interview with five different people, and I had to produce a new set of writing samples four different times, and when it was over my frontal lobe literally exploded all over my navy suit. I delivered my hand-written thank yous. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Paralyzed with the fear of not getting it, and then of actually getting it, last week I found out I got it. WHAT THE WHAT!?!? So I wanted to be all yelly about it, but had to keep it on the DL until this week, but the announcement finally went out today, so WOOT-EFFING-WOOT. I will hopefully work at this company until the day I retire. I love it there that much.

So obviously it was option #2.

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Thanks for your patience, Wifers. I hope your summer was full of kick-assery-ness.

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Foot In Mouth Hall of Fame

Recently, a co-worker was putting together a directory of our department, and we were supposed to give one word to describe ourselves. I’m always tempted in these situations to give a word that makes people think, like “Wizard” or “Badmintonress”, but I like my job so I refrain. I gave her the word “Unfiltered,” and then realized how very unfiltered that is, so I asked my boss what word I should use. He said “Team-Builder,” which is actually more like two words saved by the hyphen, so I told him his word should be “Rule-Breaker.” Which was a little unfiltered of me.

In another example of unfiltered behavior, we had a couple over last night. They’re the parents of a new good friend of Youngest Daughter, so the girls wanted to keep hanging out and Current Husband had just opened a bottle of white wine, so they parked for a bit. Are you cringing yet? Because I already am.

They are both incredibly lovely people, which means they probably won’t be hanging out with us long. The husband played college basketball for a rival team to mine, so I like to razz him a bit about the rivalry. The NBA Draft was the night before, and I was still worked up about the Iowa State players getting passed over, so while CH and the wife talked about skiing, the husband and I talked basketball.

After about 15 minutes of basketball talk, I said to him, “Have you ever thought about coaching?”

He looked at me for a minute, kind of confused, and said, “Do you mean on the college or professional level?”

I said, “Yeah. I mean anywhere. After you finished college ball.”

He said “Not really, I like what I’m doing now.”

Oh. Okay. That’s neat.

We chatted a bit more and then they gathered up their daughter and they left. As the door shut, Oldest Daughter looked at me, HUGE grin on her face, and said,

“Mom? FYI, he was the boys basketball coach at our school for 12 years and won a state championship. Just so you know for next time you ask him if he’s thought about coaching.”

What. TheHeck. Have I Done?

So I Google him, like any respectable person does in a time of panic.

Oh Holy Shit.

He coached the boys tennis team for four or five years and  won a state title there. Then he coached girls basketball. Then he coached the boys team, won a state title for our school, and then just a few years ago became Activities Director, which is when I started working with him.

So I basically said to a guy who played Big Ten basketball, coached three sports and won two state titles, “Hey Buddy, ever thought about coaching? And by the way, I’m a complete dumbass. For the record.” This is a bit like running into Obama and saying, “Hey, you should think about getting into politics!” but on a more local level. I’m sure he’s incredibly grateful for my career advice.

Seriously. Foot in Mouth Disease. It’s real. I hope it’s curable. Does anyone know where I can buy a filter?

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Father’s Day, Stereotyped Through Cards

This morning as I left for work, I realized the kids hadn’t signed the Father’s Day cards yet, so I laid them out on the table. Then I realized I didn’t need to leave a note, because based on the front of the card only, they’d be able to tell which card belongs to which of their three grandfathers.

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I’ve type-casted the dads.

I don’t make the stereotypes, I just adhere to them.

Hope all of you dads have a great weekend, getting waited on and having people make you meals and treating you like a king.

It’s what the rest of us call “Being a dad every day of the year.”

As a side bit of entertainment, here is a Father’s Day card piece that re-ran on In the Powder Room. It was not written by me.

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