in case any of you are wondering where i actually create these masterpieces of blogs, my locales vary. today, however, i am sitting on my porch (still in PJs) in my red nylon chair with footrest, watching all the cars and people and action on the bustling street i live on known as madison ave. it’s always good for entertainment, unless it’s friday night and you’re tired as hell and just want some peace, quiet and solitude.

it’s a good 75 degrees, i have our 20 year old, blind-as-hell cat simba right next to me, and the tweekers are having another yard sale (if you’re interested, they have at least three vacuums, a black trenchcoat, what looks to be a homemade bong, a terrifyingly yellow smiley face chair, a loveseat that i’m guessing was once cream colored, a motorcycle, and about a jillion other random small items that make it look like big lots puked on their lawn. if you want directions, let me know.) life couldn’t be sweeter. well, actually, i am kinda thirsty. *coughhintcough*

this week has been odd to say the least. nothing too exciting or noteworthy. the week’s not over yet.

during work i had to run to the post office. i work in a beach town that’s very mellow. everyone seems to know everyone else, and the insane people are actually friendly. for those of you colorado folk, it’s a lot like boulder would be if you put it right on the ocean.

i walked to the post office, and saw a car driving up to the mail drop boxes. the post office setup irritates me when i drive there because unless you have a passenger in your car, you have to stop, put on the parking brake, get out, and walk around your car to put your mail in them. it annoys the hell out of me, so when i am walking there, or i’m already out of my car, i walk up to anyone that has just pulled up and offer to drop their mail in so they don’t have to get out. it was actually a gesture that an older man extended to me when i pulled up once, so i try and pass on the love. i mean, how annoying is it to have to get out of your car to put in one letter in a box that’s 3 feet away?

so, this car pulling up was a pupil-searing yellow vw bug, the new style. the woman in it was probably in her 60’s or 70’s. as i walked up to her window, i could tell she was doing everything possible to avoid looking at me as she rilfed through her stuff on the passenger seat. i didn’t think much of it as it’s a mega-friendly neighborhood, and was close to noon. i tapped lightly on her window, and she looked at me like i was an alien. after smiling and waiting the obligatory 10 seconds, i made the “roll your window down” gesture (bet those kids that have never seen manual windows have NO idea how to handle that situation). she rolled it down about 5 inches. i said hello and then offered to drop her mail so she wouldn’t have to get out of the car. she handed it to me without a smile and with TONS of hesitation. what the hell was i going to do, run off with her letter to her cousin Jean and sell it on eBay? i accepted it, and pushed it through the slot with my mail, and walked on down the road. she said nothing to me during the entire transaction. in fact, she looked at me like i was going to carjack her. can’t people do anything nice anymore without people being suspicious? i was PISSED. it made me, well.. i made me want to carjack her.

i didn’t, though.

another aneurysm-inducing moment happened earlier in the week at school. i was working on one of my regular clients named Ms Walker, who i’m guessing is in her 60’s. every two weeks, i wash and flatiron her hair. she’s beautiful, with caramelly skin and freckles. her hair is long and black with streaks of silver running through it. we’re always talking about culture and race. one week we were talking about how IQ tests are culturally biased towards white people, and she read me some questions from a black IQ test that she gives to some of her students. i failed. i was gonna call shenanigans on her test, but all the girls around me passed with flying colors.

this week during the flatiron (which takes somewhat longer on ethnic hair, in case you didn’t know) a client sitting next to us getting her hair done got involved in our chat. she watched me for a while, and then said, “wow. you’re really good at that!” i said thanks, and didn’t think much of it. she left to go get her hair shampooed, and Ms Walker turned around and looked at me. “doesn’t that make you mad?” confused, i said, “doesn’t what make me mad?” “well, she was surprised that you could flatiron my hair. that should piss you off.” i asked her if she was suggesting the woman was suprised i could do my job well because i was white. she said, “hell yes, she said it because you were white. didn’t you hear how she said it to you?”

i had to admit i did, but i was giving her the benefit of the doubt, like maybe she thought i just did a nice job – period. it is easy to jump to the race issue for people at school since i’m the only white girl, so i avoid doing it. i like to think people are above that. they aren’t always. which leads me to the following factual information i would like to mark down for the record:

1. just because i am white, does NOT mean i can only work on caucasian hair. the same goes for any other race. it’s HAIR, people. should i not let a latino dude work on my roof, because he may not know how “white people” have their roof done? HELL NO. okay, well that’s a stretch, but you get my point.

2. anybody of ANY race, gender or sexual preference can fuck up your hair. the ability to know absolutely nothing about what you’re doing knows no prejudice. by that same token, you could be missing out on a kick-ass stylist because they are different than you.

as far as the people who have left the salon, refusing to have me do their hair because of who i am or how i look, i can’t change them. they will only be comfortable with someone of their own race doing their hair. and that is truly sad. ignorant people miss out on a lot of wonderful things in their lives.

okay, no more soapbox.

as some of you may know, i went cold turkey on caffiene for about four months. when i decided to fall off of the wagon, i did so by vowing to try every energy drink on the market and rating all of them. since then, i have tackled a great many. the scores are still being tallied, but i expect to have a least a decent list of results soon. i will say that a major underdog in the brand world has made its way to the top. for further, you will have to wait.

while at work this week, i was trying to make a return on office depot’s website. they have that neato feature where you can actually chat live with a representative. it doesn’t amount to much more than IMing, but it’s very handy.

i was talking to jason at office depot, and expecting him to ask a jillion questions like my order number, my account number, my blood type, etc — all that shit that makes a return almost not worth it. he asked two questions, and then asked if i needed anything else. shocked that it was taken care of, i asked, “is that IT?” after he confirmed that he had all he needed, my response was, “WOW. that was easy.”

now i was unaware of this, but evidently the above statement happens to be the motto of office depot’s biggest competitor, staples. i would advise you, if any of you happen to get jason as your customer service representative at office depot, to NOT use that phrase. the office depot guys are a little over-sensitive.

i’m not sure what to do with my day. it’s gorgeous out, and the possibilities are limitless. so far, i’ve brainstormed going to the beach, taking a nap, painting some pottery at one of those “paint your own stuff” places, wandering around the convenience store across the street from my house, or finding chalk and creating a crime scene draw-up on my street to attract crowds. now that i’m considering it further, maybe i could get some ketchup and broken glass and convince one of my roommates to lay out in the road. if it works out, i promise i’ll post photos.

alright, none of you assholes picked up on my subtle hints that i needed a beverage to quench the major thirst that writing a big blog creates, so i’m heading across the street for a little pick me up. they don’t have much of a selection, and i’d sooner drink mule piss than anything made by “monster.” i guess i could always settle for water, but that’s so cliche.

i conversation i actually had (while surrounded by about 8 drunken guys talking about something only guys find entertaining):

me: man, i have to get out of here. i’m getting smothered. NEED MORE ESTROGEN.

d: what the hell’s wrong with testerone?

me: um, i think you mean testosterone.

d: NO! i’m talking about the NEW stuff!