Creepy Vans & Perfect Hair

Now that I'm older and wiser, I am the big FOUR-OH, I thought I'd share a couple of the rules I live by.  I'm going to share them because I think they are incredibly observant and important. And finally, I know these are sound rules simply because I know of one exception to each, and of course an exception proves the rule.

The first rule is...

Anyone who drives a full size van is a potential serial killer.
I know. It sounds radical right? But I totally believe it. The probability of it being true goes up, the fewer the windows in the van. I'll say this again, the fewer the windows, the more likely the driver is a serial killer... or has the potential to be. Unless the van has lots of windows and accompanying window shades or blinds. Window shades = "danger Will Robinson".  Don't you watch TV? This is always true. It's the perfect vehicle for n'er do wells. For instance, I have some neighbors, the creepy McCreepersons, have 2 full size vans in their driveway. They also give me the willies like you can't believe. Not even my dog trusts them. I'm thoroughly convinced that there may be bodies in their backyard already, but I can't see over the fence, so I can't say for sure one way or the other. But if you watch shows like Criminal Minds, CSI or even Law & Order SVU, you know that the perp will always be the guy in the van! So, there's nothing wrong with being cautious. Just keep your eyes peeled for crazies in full size vans.  My exception that proves this rule is actually a fictional character, but nevertheless, it's still an exception. Dexter the fictional television serial killer. Dexter drives an SUV, enough said. I also have a friend who drives a full size van and he is definitely not a serial killer. Double proof of the validity of this rule.

Never trust a man with perfect hair. Yep, men with perfect hair aren't trustworthy.
Women are different. Women are supposed to obsess over their hair. It's encoded on the x chromosome. I don't really want to be friends with most women who have perfect hair. We just don't really have anything in common. Even though I obsess about mine a lot, my hair is never perfect. During conversations with perfect-haired women, all I can think about is how many of my own hairs are out of place or are the wrong color or that my cut has been neglected for too long... but that's not to say they can't be trusted.

However, a man who obsesses over his hair is a completely different duck. It's just not quite natural. It doesn't have anything to do with orientation or looks really. I think it has to do with vanity. We expect women to be at least a little vain. This isn't a disparaging remark, it just is. Women and men are judged by their looks, but men have a wider range of acceptable looks. You've heard the adage that "men only get better looking with age", right? For women, the range is much narrower, thus we get a bit more neurotic about our hair... our ankles... our noses... and the sizes of our butts. A man with perfect hair is just... wrong. Not wrong as in good or bad... wrong as in askew. (I’ve been dying to use that word in a blog.) It just doesn't jive. And when something is amiss like that, well, I spot it. It's like a painting that’s slightly crooked. For me, it stands out like a sore thumb! Men shouldn't have perfect hair. If they do, their intentions just can't be good. Now, the reason I know this is a rule is again because of it's exception. I've met countless men with perfect hair but only one that is completely trustworthy. His name is Howard and thus proves the rule.

Now, I know that these sound like odd rules and not exactly based on cutting edge science. But trust me on this, they will serve you well. Keep them in mind and do your own research if necessary. You'll thank me later.

Not THAT Girl... a Lifetime of Wardrobe Malfunctions

So, I went to a movie last week called “Something Borrowed”. All in all it was a good movie, great humor and a twisty story, although the end was fairly predictable. I won’t give anything away because this particular entry doesn’t really have anything to do with the relationships in the movie...

Instead, I want to talk about the wardrobe. Throughout the movie, the women were impeccably ‘put together’. Perfect hair, makeup and fashion ensembles. Rain, sun, falling down... doesn’t matter, they’re always perfect. We always see this in movies, don’t we? I actually know some women like this in real life as well. I’m sure I’ve just missed their ‘bad moments’. At least I tell myself that and it makes me feel a little better.  For the life of me, I can’t seem to pull myself together like that. Let me tell you a few stories.

Last week, right before I saw the movie in fact, I was out in my yard putting in some new pavers to make a walkway to the driveway. By the time I was done, I had dirt everywhere. I think I had enough up my nose to pot a plant. In addition to that, there was dirt in my hair and even down my bra for gad’s sake. And so, as I watched the ladies on the screen daintily move through life I laughed out loud... and of course, I did so at completely inappropriate moments.

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I’ve had so many of these issues over the years, I don’t have room to share them all. But here’s another. A couple of weeks ago, I caught my pants on the seatbelt of my Jeep and ripped a huge hole right in the butt of the pants! Thank gawd I was wearing a fairly long shirt because my driveway is on a busy street across from a kid’s baseball park. I’m sure if anyone would’ve seen me, I’d be on a ‘bad’ list of some kind. Instead, I very gingerly turned my butt toward the car, pulled my shirt down as far as it would go, bent my knees to bring it down a little further and then backed my way to the front door. Let me tell you, it’s not easy unlocking a door behind your back.

And finally the piece de resistance! A couple of months ago, after burning the candle at both ends for too many days in a row, I was lucky to leave the house with shoes, let along being ‘put together’. I’m going to try to be delicate about this... But I had been at work for a couple hours when I decided to take a restroom break. I was finally awake enough to find my way down the hall. Much to my chagrin (I’ve always wanted to say that), I discovered that my underpants were actually on backwards. You heard me. Now, all I could really do is laugh about it. I can’t even believe I’m sharing it. But, I mean it’s pretty funny and its a totally true story. When I came to my senses, I was actually more disturbed by the fact that I didn’t “feel” the error before I saw it! I mean it would be like walking around with your shoes on the wrong feet, right? How can you miss that? So, I chalked it up to sleep deprivation and went about my day.

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And it’s not just the wardrobe malfunctions that make me feel undainty. I’m a total clutz. I’m very serious about this. I fall down so much that I actually tell people I do it on purpose to keep myself humble. It’s a little ridiculous. I think it’s because I’ve always got something going on in my head that has nothing to do with hand/eye... or hand/feet coordination. Things like paintings I want to create, pots I want to make or ideas for outlandish stories. My mind goes where it goes and that’s it. I don’t really want to control it because it’s my purpose. It’s what makes me happy and if that means I need to endure some bruised knees... or a bruised ego, well, so be it!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like girlie things. I’ve even embraced the color pink in the past few years. I used to hate pink with a passion, so that’s a dainty step forward. And I would love to have the time to spend primping... okay even I don’t believe that about myself... but I do like to dress up occasionally. In fact, I’d actually like to design and make my own clothes. I just don’t have the time. On my list of priorities primping is just not at the top. It’s more like #147. I’d much rather be throwing pots with clay smeared from hair to toes, covered in paint or digging in the dirt outside. I’m just happier that way.  And from now on, I’ll pay particularly close attention to the front and back of my underpants!

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