Please put the doctor on the phone, 'cause I'm not making any sense. (Blame everyone but me for this mess.)

So I got this haircut yesterday.

I have desperately needed a haircut for. . .probably more than a year.  It was frizzy and unruly and ridiculous.  Carrie had told me about this place near where Wal-Mart used to be.  Since we just got a new Super Wal-Mart, the shopping center where the old Wal-Mart used to be is still there, but with considerably less traffic.

I went to this place and, when I walked in, it kind of smelled like someone had been smoking in there.  Ok, not a big deal.  I gave the lady my name (I was the only person there) and sat down in one of the chairs.

About 30 seconds later, this guy, this true mountain man complete with denim and flannel vest, baseball cap and awesome pornstache, calls my name and brings me back to the chair.  When I had first walked in, I thought he and this other guy in there were maintenance men.  Then I thought he was just going to, I don't know, bring me back to the chair before the person who was actually going to cut my hair came over.

False.

This guy, who I think is somehow related to Larry the Cable Guy because the resemblance was UNCANNY, was the one who was going to cut my hair.  Truly, the only difference between Larry the Cable Guy and my hairdresser was the pornstache and lack of a goatee on the hairdresser.  The pornstache, though, was truly a work of art.

Now, at this point, I'm a little apprehensive.  This guy, who looked like he was getting ready to go out and. . .I don't know, chop logs or shoot bears or skin deer for fun, was going to cut my hair.  Honestly?  I kept expecting that it was a joke.  I was waiting for one of the women to come over, laugh, and say that her name was Shirley, and she'd be my hairdresser.

It was then that I made a decision.  I could have asked for someone else, but then I thought, you know, that would be kind of bitchy.  It's just hair.  Since I was only asking for a couple inches trimmed off, there were only so many ways the haircut could go wrong.  Besides, it would grow back if anything tragic happened to it.  And besides, the experience would give me more material for my eventual novel and, at the very least, something to blog about.

Nope.  This guy put the plastic cape thing around my neck and pulled my hair back.  He was. . .surprisingly gentle with my hair.  Now that I think about it, I did find that interesting.  Looking at him, you'd have expected him to grab a handful of hair and yank it back.  But actually, he was very careful.  He told me he wished he had my hair (meaning, thick, and a lot of it) because he was losing his.  Then he explained that he'd be wetting my hair down and combing it out so it could be ready to cut.  Then he asked me if I wanted it all one length or if I wanted it layered.  Then he asked me about my bangs and I told him I was growing them out after a disastrous haircut two years ago.

The whole thing, really and truly, was so incredibly bizarre and surreal that I honestly thought it was some kind of elaborate practical joke.

But I showed him how much I wanted cut off (about two inches, and trust me, I have so much hair, it's not even noticeable) and he started trimming.  We talked about politics, what I do for a living, how I like living here and how nice the weather was yesterday.  He was. . .kind of awesome.

I said something about how annoying it was that my hair gets so frizzy, and he told me that, since I color it, that's a common problem, but a good way to help combat that is with a good leave-in conditioner.  Then we talked about conditioner for a while.

Now, I have had my hair cut by men before.  I had this hairdresser, who I believe was named Vince, back in Raleigh that worked at the Great Clips near my house, and I would always request him, because he always did a wonderful job.  He was also the stereotypical kind of guy that you'd expect to do hair.  I'm not being gayist here, but it's true - typically, men who do hair are gay.  But the guy last night?  If he was gay, there was nothing stereotypical about him at all, except for the hairdressing thing.  He really looked like the kind of guy that wore flannel year-round and had raw rabbit meat from a rabbit he'd skinned that morning for breakfast, along with. . .I don't know. . .deer urine or something.

But I left that place with exactly what I'd asked for - 2 inches of my hair cut off - which is so rare.  I don't remember the last time I went to get my hair cut and actually got what I asked for.  I'm not sure I'd go back there, but it was kind of an amazing experience.

Tomorrow is the last official home game for both high school football teams, and I'm going to the one that I'd most like to see win.  Between the two teams, the one I'm going to go see even though it's in the next town over is the non-snobby team.  The other one, everyone in that school, teachers and students alike, seem to have this weird sense of entitlement.  

Carrie's leaving on the 21st and I realized today that I'm. . .not going to really have anyone to talk to at work anymore, t have lunch with.  I mean, I have people I'm friendly with, and people I'd. . .consider friends, but you know how things are sometimes?  When they're complicated?  It's like that. 

Plus, and this is one of the things that drives me the most up the wall, but that office?  Is so freaking juvenile.  There's one person younger than me in that place (she's 22.  With two kids.  She's engaged.), then me, then Carrie, and then a couple people downstairs are in their 20s, but upper 20s.  One of them is married and the other is getting married.  I'm the only person there in my 20s not in a relationship, so I can't really relate to most of the other people.  Upstairs, the person closest to my age is 6 years older than me.

I guess I got off the "juvenile" part of it, but it's like I told Aron (one of the guys downstairs) yesterday - in that place, it's like I never left high school.  The cliques are there, the cattiness is there, the immaturity is there. . .I can't stand it.  I'm sorry, but being mean to me to be "funny," isn't.  It's stupid.  And it hurts my feelings.

It's at times like this that I really wish I could talk to you like I used to.  I miss that and I could really use it right now.

I just wanna break you down so badly, while I trip over everything you say. I just wanna break you down so badly, in the worst way.

Pet Peeve of the Day: When you tell someone you're afraid of something, and they either make fun of you or tell you you're dumb for being afraid of whatever it is.

Example 1: When I was in high school and into college, I was deathly afraid of birds. They still creep me out, but I'm not as actively afraid of them as I used to be. (And no, before you ask, it wasn't because I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds." I saw that my sophomore year and it actually wasn't nearly as frightening as I'd anticipated. They're just creepy.)

So my friends thought the fear was really, really funny, and they'd point out birds whenever they saw them, or make fun of me for being afraid of them. One friend who will remain nameless (you know who you are) would constantly, constantly berate me for the fear. He'd say, "What are they going to do?" and I'd say, "They could peck me to death," and he would roll his eyes and tell me how dumb I was being.

My whole thing here is that, just because YOU are not afraid of something doesn't mean it's not a legitimate fear for someone else. (The same friend, whenever I'd say anything about being afraid of the dark, would say, "You're not afraid of the dark. You're afraid of what's IN the dark." And I don't mind telling you that I resent him a little bit to this day for that, because by saying that, he's trivializing the very real fear of being in darkness that I have.)

Like, I have a friend that's afraid of clowns, which, to be fair, are kind of creepy. I, personally, am not afraid of clowns, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fact that she is. I wouldn't take her to a circus, for example. That's just mean. I don't necessarily understand the fear, but I can appreciate that it's there. So to all of my friends who made fun of me during the bird stage, you're kind of jerks.

The reason for this small tangent is that there was a woman in here a few minutes ago, about an article for this after school program some high school football players visited.

What you have to understand, if you haven't figured this out already, is that high school football is like a religion around here. That much was evident from the attendance at the County Clash this year. These people live, breathe and eat football. Did you ever see Varsity Blues? It's exactly like that, complete with James van der Beek's really, really bad accent.

So, this team went to visit these kids, and I'm putting in an article about it. The woman was very, very, VERY insistent that this article and the article about their rival football team doing something similar were NOT in the same edition of the paper. I said, "Well, you know, I can't really guarantee that," meaning, if the person from the other school ever gets back to me about the names for the cutline, I'll run it. She looked me dead in the face and said, "Then you need to let me know who I need to talk to to ensure that. does. not. happen. I'll go to the top if I need to. These kids have worked too long and too hard to have their pictures printed next to [the other team's] pictures. That will. not. happen."

I was stunned. I had nothing to say (which is fairly rare for me) and I stuttered a lot. Carrie said she could hear my nervous laughter from her office.

Then the woman said, "Besides, we sent ours in FAR before [the other school] did."

I looked in my e-mail and said, "Well, actually, they sent it in the day before you guys did."

That, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever said. It was true, though! The other school HAD sent their thing in the day before. She gave me a very frightening look and, I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me.

Eventually, she left, etc.

So I went into the newsroom and told Vi about the exchange, and I told her I was scared of the lady. Vi laughs at me, mockingly, and says. . .well, I can't remember her exact words, but the basic gist was that I was dumb for being afraid of the woman.

Where, exactly, does she get off telling me what I am and am not allowed to feel? I was genuinely afraid of this woman. I was afraid she was going to lash out and hit me (she really was getting that worked up) or that she'd go down and talk to the general manager and get me into some kind of trouble (his kids go to the same school the woman was representing, so I'd lose no matter what). Legitimate fears. But she's telling me I'm dumb.

I think not understanding someone's fears is one thing, but I think ridiculing people for them is something else entirely. I'm sorry I'm over-emotional and easily excitable. I actually, all things considered, usually hide that pretty well. This job makes me cry often, but in day to day life, I hold things in pretty well. So no, Vi, you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to feel. Sorry.

Also, I had plans Friday and, when I mentioned that to her, she said, "Do you have a date?!"

Good God ALMIGHTY. If that woman asks me one more time whether I have a date or not, I'm going to BLOW A GASKET.

ALSO, and I don't mean for this to be a Vi bitch fest, but it just so happens it's one of those days. We had our "8:30" meeting this morning, since it's Monday. The "8:30" meeting is set to begin at 8:30, and everyone get ripped a new one if they're not here by 8:30, but they typically don't begin until some time between 9 and 9:30. The one time I got here exactly at 8:30, rather than earlier, was the one time they started a couple minutes early. Seriously.

So we're in this meeting and Vi was telling us that we don't have anything else to worry about in regards to staff cuts, because they're cut down the newsroom as much as they possibly can, and everyone else is fine.

Well, that I don't believe, incidentally, because the GM lies. But that's another story entirely.

Anyway, she starts going on and on about how we need to fix things up, we need to work together, and "now that we have a smaller paper and more time on our hands," and so on. She asked for any comments or ideas about how we might be able to work things better.

I spoke up and said that I'm not entirely sure where she's getting the notion that we have more spare time now, that actually, my personal workload and Carrie's workload both have increased since McHotpants was let go.

To give you an idea of what my Tuesdays look like, I'll give you my list of things I do. As the Religion Editor, it's my job to get the religion section out. I need to find things to put in it, format the things I get, write things if need be, layout the page, etc. I do everything. That's two pages.

Then it's on to the Lifestyles pages, where I do everything I do for the Religion section, except there's usually more writing and more e-mails to process. That's at least three pages.

Then there are the obits. I format those, put them in AP style, and lay them out. At least one page.

Then there's anything else Vi decides to throw my way. So, on any given Tuesday, that is at LEAST 6 pages I'm guaranteed.

And since, despite cutting back on pages, they're not going to get rid of Lifestyles, Obits, and Religion, my workload is, effectively, not changed at all.

Then she tried to argue with me that I was wrong.

I don't feel like recounting the entire discussion, but I found out later that Carrie was afraid I was going to snap my pen in half. The woman will NOT LISTEN. She doesn't need to be managing anyone.

I'm getting angry again, so I'm going to stop talking about it.

Here's a question for you. A rhetorical question, really, but a question nonetheless. Why is it that people (and by people, I mean me) get jealous when someone they're into talks to someone else? Whether it's because the person is into the person they're talking to or not, it doesn't really matter. It's that tight feeling in your stomach where you're like, "Me! Talk to me! Pay attention to me!" Even though you know it's dumb and whatever?

That was maybe the most unintelligent paragraph ever, but I think you know what I mean. Point being, jealousy is not a good color on anyone. And I hate that it matches so much of my wardrobe.

I'm in distress. Oh, mistress, I confess. So do it one more time. (These handcuffs are too tight.) Well. . .

How awesome am I? So awesome, in fact, that I’m sitting in Zaxby’s writing this, because my computer at home is fucked.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. My computer isn’t “out of service,” “messed up,” or “a little screwed up.” It’s fucked.

Apparently, this particular Zaxby’s is the only place in the entirety of the county that doesn’t pick up wireless Internet, so I’m putting it in a word document and I’ll sit, sketchily, in the parking lot of something or other later and put it online. Maybe I’ll sit there a while, because I’d like to get online to talk to people. . .you’d be amazed how cut off I feel, not able to get online at home. (Note, much later: I found a hotel parking lot with wireless. Not sketchy at. all.)

So the last couple of days have been. . .”a whirlwind” feels like a really cliche phrase, but it’s the only one that seems quite right. I’ll start from the beginning — Friday.

Friday workday wasn’t particularly eventful in that I. . .don’t even really remember it. I mean, I’m sure I accomplished something, and I’m sure I went through the day with the usual sense of disconnect I feel at work, but other than that, it wasn’t anything special. Oh, except my outfit was kind of awesome. Black shirt, short khaki skirt, the black boots and bright pink tights. The tights are relevant later,

That reminds me. I’m not sure what Vi’s deal is at the moment, but she asks me. . .not daily, but at least two to three times a week about me going out on a date. Whenever I’m wearing anything relatively cute (which, if I may say so, is fairly often, in my opinion) she figures it’s because I have a date later. Maybe I just like to be cute. I hate almost every other aspect of that job, so why SHOULDN’T I look cute? I’ve mentioned picking out my outfit is a highlight of my day, so really? I don’t need a reason to look decent, I don’t think.

So the point of that is that I find myself in another one of those situations where I said something smart-assed, and she took it, grabbed on to it, and refuses to let go. I can’t remember if I talked about the guy that came into the office with the giant ego. Vi and I were talking about him after he left, and she said he was flirting with me. (Really, you can only take that with a grain of salt. I think she thinks everyone flirts with me.) And she said something like, well, what if he said he wanted to take you out to dinner? And I said something flippant like, “Well, I’d probably let him. I’m poor, man. All I have to eat in my fridge is eggs, apple juice and salad.” Which was only partially untrue at the time.

And now? She brings it up CONSTANTLY. “Well, you’re the one that said you’d let TheGuy take you out.” “You said you’d let TheGuy take you out, what about that?” On, and on and on and ON AND ON. My God. This is what I get for being a smart-ass. No, I would not go out with TheGuy. It was a joke. I was kidding. Please, please, PLEASE let it go.

So Friday, I was killing time after work because where I was going didn’t begin until 5:30. I was sitting in the newsroom, and NewJeff, Dennis, and Vi were still there. I said I was killing time, because I had somewhere to be at 5:30. For some reason, Vi takes this to mean I have a date. She asks me if I do, and I say, “Yeah. Hot date.” Because I’m SO TIRED of hearing about it. And she gets all excited, “You have a DATE?!” I hope she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her. But I said, “No, Vi. I do not have a date.”

Where I WAS going was to a little get-together prior to today’s Make-A-Wish event. They were just getting together people who’d had whatever to do with the event, and I was invited because I’d written that article. It was just a little finger food soiree and I was, honestly? A little apprehensive about it. I don’t do well in most social gatherings of that sort where I don’t know people that well. I was going to know people, but not well. The Make-A-Wish campaign coordinator, Dave, was going to be there, and the WNC regional director, Carolyn, was going to be there, and Rikki, the girl about whom I wrote the article, was going to be there, but other than that, I was going into this on my own. Another person from the paper was invited, but they weren’t able to make it due to prior commitments.

So I go, and it turns out to be AMAZING. Seriously? I have found people outside of work with whom I really connected. The Make-A-Wish people were amazing, and one woman in particular, Melanie, I talked to forever. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I found myself actually telling her that I’m uncomfortable in settings like that, usually, because people often don’t take me seriously because of my age. She was just really, really cool. She told me throughout the conversation that she’d seen me across the porch, and she wanted to talk to me because she thought, “anyone who could rock pink tights had to be someone awesome.” (Told you the tights would come back. They’ll be back again, too.)

But I think I’ve found a new friend (outside of work!!) and I’m excited. I like my friends at work but, you know, you need some outside people, too.

I talked to Rikki for a while and really? It’s hard to believe she’s only 16. It’s kind of funny, because she’s got this elegance and poise about her that you don’t often see in people that age, but then she’ll say something that makes you go, “Wow. You’re so young.” She really is very cool, though.

I also found out that Carolyn wants to train me as a wish granter. Those are the people who actually meet with the kids that make the wishes and who make them happen. That? Kind of blew me away. I was expecting, you know, to help out with fundraisers or to do office stuff on the weekends, but no. For whatever reason, in the short time she’s known me, she’s decided that I’d be good at that. And I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the entire thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I finally have something, as one of my friends put it, that’s “bigger than myself” with which to work. Because honestly? I can sit here and say, “Oh, poor me. I hate my job, I’m in debt up to my ears, and I can’t have the person I want the most,” but then you look at these kids having their wishes granted? And it’s a whole new ballgame. And I want to be a part of that.

Someone else I met last night was Teri, who works for Kawasaki, which was one of the sponsors of the event. She flew in from California for the event. Her mother lives here, so it wasn’t just randomly, “Oh, I’m going to go to WNC just for funsies,” but it was cool meeting her, too. She is the editor-in-chief of a motorcycle magazine and you know I’m always excited to meet people in the publishing industry. I mean, I liked her as a person, she was cool, but I knew I wanted to talk to her before I knew she was cool because she’s the EIC, and even though I know nothing about motorcycles, people in publishing are people in publishing. Believe me, y’all. I’ve got bigger things in my future than a hometown newspaper. I’m glad to be getting a start here, but I’ve got much, much bigger things coming my way one day. I really believe that.

After the get-together, I decided to go to a football game, since the stadium is literally a 5-minute walk from my house, and I flashed my press pass to get in. I love that. It was the home team’s homecoming, so, of course, they played a team they could beat. For whatever reason, I love football games. I texted Jason while I was there, since I haven’t talked to him since. . .well, I haven’t physically spoken to him since before I moved here, and that’ll be a year next month. The football game reminded me of him, since we did marching band together.

There was also this guy standing beside me who looked like every stereotypical hillbilly EVER and who kept spitting every 15 to 30 seconds. I’m assuming he was chewing tobacco. It was really hideous. So gross. If you’re going to have bad habits, which everyone does, at least you could have a bad habit that doesn’t involve saliva and spitting.

It turned out that my ex was there as well (I SWEAR, I’ll come up with a name for him one of these days. “My Ex” encompasses at least two other people, so I need something more characteristic.) Anyway, he gave me half a funnel cake, which was a welcome thing, since I hadn’t eaten, really eaten, since lunch. I’d had a little cup of wine and some cheese and crackers at the get-together, but I was really too keyed up to eat. And at the game, I was still really, really jazzed. I was so excited about everything. It was a wonderful feeling. Dennis was there shooting the game so I talked to him for a bit as well.

After I got home, approximately 10:30, I was too keyed up to even try to sleep, despite needing to get up at 6:45, so I went to Wal-Mart and called Ashley. I finally got to bed around 2. I’m still having really bad sleep problems, so I probably slept a total of 3 hours. The thing about the sleep issues is that I can function just fine on the little sleep I get for a couple of weeks, but then it all hits me at once, and I still can’t sleep, despite how exhausted I am. It’s frustrating that I continually have to take pills to help me sleep, but I’d rather that than being a bitch because I’m so tired and then, ultimately, crashing.

Since this entry is so long here (3 word document pages!), I’m going to cut the weekend in half, and I’ll get to today in the second entry.

Ready? Let's roll onto something new. Taking its toll and I'm leaving without you.

A lot has happened since I actually started writing this entry three days ago. I'm going to add new things along with things I've already written, and hopefully, it won't turn out sounding too disjointed. Not that you care. All 3 people that read this are pretty understanding.

1. America's Next Top Model: Don't Hate Them 'Cause They're Beautiful
I was fully intending on doing what my Twin does with Project Runway, and recapping the season premiere of America's Next Top Model, but one of my online dating guys called about half an hour in, and I missed the other hour and a half. I'm sad, actually. Is is entirely bad that I wish I'd have called him back today rather than miss the show? I've already decided I have a total girl crush on one of the contestants, Elina. She won't win, but I love her. Next week, I'll start with recaps, if I remember.

One of the girls, Clark, I believe her name was, was a total bitch but so incredibly pretty. I want to hate her, but that's part of the reason pretty people have it so easy. You can't hate them, because they're pretty. You don't want to yell at them on the off chance that you'll ruin your chances of them ever making out with you.

2. DateGuy, DatIng, and Why I Need Therapy
So OnlineDateGuy called me and we talked for a while. Originally, he'd asked me to go out with him today (Friday. . .or, at least, Friday if I EVER finish this entry). I knew even while talking to him that it wouldn't work out to be anything earth-shattering, but I agreed to go out with him because I said to myself, "Self, you haven't even met this guy. You're not giving him a chance. You're taking your Way Too High Standards and applying them to someone you've never even seen in person." I mean, he sexual innuendoed me within 20 minutes of our first conversation. At least wait until you've met me, you know? And throughout the conversation, he did it quite a few times. There's a difference between flirting and sexual innuendoing. Flirting with people you don't know well is fun. You shouldn't sexual innuendo (you like how I've made that into a verb?) someone you don't know.

So the next day (Thursday) I'm contemplating this date, and the more I thought about it, the more I just didn't want to go. And THEN I found out that the next day (Friday, or today, in theory) was the big football game between the two public high schools in the county. I believe it's called something like County Clash and it's a big freaking deal. Like. . .everyone goes. And since I missed Border Bash due to CousinCasey's birthday soiree, I was NOT happy about the fact that I'd have to miss County Clash to go on a date with someone who. . .well. . .I'm Just Not That Into Him.

I broke the date.

You know, I have more, much more, to say, but I'm exhausted and I have to get up early.

Next time: Why football is better than sex, Biltmore House, and the Job from Hell