The Day I Couldn't Get My Hair Cut

Sorry it's been so long, folks! Don't worry about me; I'm just busy being funny somewhere else. Hardy har har!

It's been about a month, so I figure it's about time I tell everyone about:

As a woman (or, more accurately, as LeeAnne), sometimes I decide that I'm in desperate need of a haircut. I can't bear to look at myself in the mirror. The very feel of the hair on my head makes me want to puke. Once these feelings mature into self-loathing, it is imperative that a haircut occurs within 60 min or all hell breaks loose. Imagine my horror when my plans were halted by a tornado of all things. Mother Nature herself was playing a major role in my misery.

Before I go on...

*(AP photo from Joplin, MO) I completely understand that this entire post is petty and insensitive, like most low forms of humor. I really do feel lucky that there WASN'T a tornado and that my only gripe is that my hair was unkempt for a few more days. I don't mean to take away from the tragedy of the tornadoes that have been tearing through the nation-- just trying to comment on a comical situation. 

At any rate, I was fortunate enough to be in civilization when my sudden desire for a haircut struck. On whim, I acted on it.

Up to this point, it registered only remotely that I'd heard tornado sirens in the distance. However, when I walked into the hair salon, I was greeted with a stylist who was completely panic-stricken. She literally kicked me out of the store.

I was disgruntled, having grown up in the boondocks where we foolishly ignore warnings because they're sounded by p******* who don't know how to weather a storm (AKA where we're completely ignorant and have irrational views on mortality). I wasn't downtrodden for long, though. 

I would soon learn...

*This photo is actually from my hometown. The cat man is a regular ol' celebrity on PoW. 

So my friend and I walked across the parking lot to Walmart, sure we could at least accomplish something before we headed home... We were wrong.

We were literally told that if we "crossed the threshold" that we would be escorted to the break room. I had completely forgotten about wanting to get a haircut and now was focused singularly on my urgent need to pee. I could see the restroom from where we stood, but my pleas were ignored. NO, we could not just come in and pee. We could enter or take our chances. At this point, I started to think maybe this was something serious.

...But I had only just started to think it was serious, so I wasn't completely there yet. Thus began a conversation that could have determined the future of our young lives:

So, of course, we crossed the threshold.

And we really were walked all the way back to the break room. When I dallied to look at some flippy floppies, I was chastised and pushed onward. This was serious stuff.

And when we got to the breakroom, we discovered...

...Paradise.

It was spacious, they had a big screen tv, their own private bathrooms (*which I used), well-stocked vending machines... Heck, they even gave us water and oreos! (The employees had Sunkist, but I didn't protest. The customer always comes first... unless you're asked to risk your life in the service of Walmart. In which case: just drink the effin' Sunkist. Go ahead and keep it to yourself.)

So we sat on the floor and made new friends and planned our new life in the post-tornado Walmart.

We decided that we would take over the first aid aisle and form alliances with non-perishable foods. Everyone left in No Man's Land wouldn't have had a chance. 

A little boy across from me played his DS the entire time and we discussed all the neat things that could happen if the tornado hit. Overall, we decided we'd get really wet and grumpy. Needless to say, the seriousness of the situation had waned considerably for me by this point.

True to my generation, I tweeted every fifteen minutes or so because surely everyone was very concerned about me. After a while, I realized that I'd probably regret all those tweets and jokes if something really DID happen, so I took great care to consider my legacy and what would be remembered of me.

After an hour, they set us free. I bought toilet paper and I had completely forgotten about my need for a hair cut. I'd had an adventure and had a good day...

And then...

Kidding! But as I joked again and again about the tornado, I had a very distinct vision of every other car in the parking lot being perfectly fine and mine being utterly destroyed thanks to karma. Lucky for me it seems God and/or Mother Nature is numb to my sarcasm and I made it home safely.

I had to wait an entire week to get my hair cut after that. The tornado sirens went off AGAIN, but my stylist promised to keep cutting until the power went out or the tornado hit. Now THAT is dedication to a job.

Things I Say at Work...

I've already explained my job is odd. I've decided to start a series called "Things I Say at Work" to give you an idea of why I say that. Here's Part One, including some stuff about Pauly Shore and dodgeball.

First of all, an explanation for the delay since my last post:

It's officially summer for me. The students have moved out. That means my days consist mostly of random tasks, catching up with co-workers, and movie nights with friends. Thank you, sweet summer.

I have lots of stories since I last posted-- a hilarious hair experience, surviving a tornado, getting buried in keys... Priceless. Until I have the time to illustrate those anecdotes, here are some fun things I've said at work!

To start, a story we're all familiar with. 

 I sincerely hope you also get the opportunity to order babies online and not worry about legal implications.


Working in student activities, I get to say "Guess who I met?!" a lot. Turns out a lot of people want to perform at my school. (Translation: a lot of people want to make money).

 Here's my favorite:

My mom was an avid "Young and the Restless" fan growing up. For any of you who had moms who watched "stories," you realize that I naturally was a huge fan as well. I've been watching Nikki and Victor since I could crawl, and though Brad Carlton was killed off the show, I've been harboring a crush on him for the last 20+ years. Meeting him is definitely in my top ten favorite experiences so far, especially because he let me pose in funny photos with him AND he signed an autograph for my mom. She nearly cried when I gave it to her.

The general consensus was that I was the only person in a 50 mile-radius who cared he was there. Regardless, I was pumped to be able to say I met Don Diamont. Meow.

 Working at a university means that I have a lot of policies to be familiar with. Most are pretty standard across the board-- no pets on campus, no vandalism, thou shalt not kill, yadda yadda yadda. Sometimes, though, I learn that I should read the handbook a little closer... My lesson? Dodgeball. Oh, yes. Dodgeball is against policy. Who the hell almost loses their job because of dodgeball?! This gal.

 This is pretty much a direct quote. When I first started my job, some events were already planned and I just sort of had to ensure they happened. One of those events? The Pink Floyd Laser Experience. Oh, I'm not kidding. Who thought that could happen without a bunch of booze and pot? 


These guys literally pulled up in a rusted-out, pale blue conversion van with a tarp and some laser doohickey. Dirty, dreads, middle-aged-- basically exactly the kind of people you would imagine to put on "The Wall" in laser form. 


I had lots of interesting conversations that night, but I'll never forget that the vendor asked if he could go out back and have a joint. Then got mad when I said "no." Really? I don't want to lose my job for that. Also, I had no Cheetos or Funyuns to offer him anyway.

My last direct quote begins with "fuh" and ends with "uck." 


On the job, I swore in front of half of the university's international students and my entire residence life staff. Oh, yeah. Not just out loud, but REALLY loudly. Whoops.


We were playing an innocent game, passing water balloons back and forth, when I hear someone say, "LEEANNE!" 


Now, I don't know about you, but when someone says my name, I look. BIG MISTAKE. I looked just in time to get nailed in the FACE with a water balloon at high speeds. Turns out it was intended for someone standing about 20 ft behind me. Translation? Lots of momentum. Rather than bursting instantly, it hit my face like a rock, wrapped around, then burst. In that moment, I forgot where I was and dropped the f-bomb for everyone to hear.


To justify my response, I asked yahoo to explain the science (and/or magic) of it all:

"Ouch" wasn't really a four-letter word that summed up how I felt. :)


Thanks for enjoying this filler... More fun to come!

Jobs I've Dreamed About

Yep. That's me as an 80's pop star. Maybe I watched too much JEM as a kid. Maybe I really like big hair. Maybe I feel like neon colors and leg warmers don't get the props they deserve. Who knows? It just seems like it would be a fun job to have-- making it one of my many dream jobs.


I can't lie. I really like my real job. It's pretty neat and the more I talk to other people, the more I realize how lucky I am that my job is interesting. Covering all the weird stuff I do on a day-to-day basis is a whole other blog post in and of itself, but here's a brief summary:

 *My actual office. Notice Joe Manganiello there on the left on the cover of "Muscle & Body." Other people have stress balls, I have a magazine cover (much like 13 yr old girls have). And yes, I really did order little Caucasian babies.


Anyway, no matter how neat my job my be, I think everybody has moments when they think: "Hey, I could do that!"

I would LOVE to read books on tape. I don't really know what that entails, but I DO know that I like to read and I'm good at reading out loud. (When I was a student teacher, I specifically didn't choose certain kids to read aloud because I thought I might accidentally take a nap while they read their paragraph.) 


I'm also pretty good at cartoon voices and accents (see my True Blood alter ego with the southern accent).


Mostly I want to read books on tape because it seems like it would be the least stressful job in the world. What is there to mess up? Just read and record it again. It's not like anyone can make you read any faster. And the job security? Amazing. People are going blind from staring at computer screens everyday and lazy people would rather listen to books in the car than actually crack open a book. I'm keeping this job in my back pocket for later.


 When I was in high school I worked at a Hallmark in my hometown. I loved it. It smelled like cinnamon and there were adorable things everywhere. The most stressful it got was when we first put out Christmas ornaments for sale. No, I'm not kidding. 


The clientele? Little old ladies with Werther's Originals in their pockets -OR- panicked looking young men looking for either "birthday - mother" or "troubled relationship" cards. If any of them gave me grief? BAM! Smell that cinnamon and try to be cranky. Still no? BAM! Check out that gold crown sticker. Oh yeah. Nothing but the best.

 My true dream job, the one I'm really pulling for, is to be a cupcake shop owner. Who doesn't like cupcakes? And who doesn't like baking cupcakes? It's a done deal. I've even started a business plan.

 Unfortunately my dream has hit a few snags.
 Baking from scratch like real bakeries do? Turns out that's not really my thing. So I improvise.
 Snag #2? Turns out I can't really decorate cupcakes. Nobody's going to want to buy a cupcake that isn't cute or doesn't look appetizing.

 But I've even got a solution for that snafu: Drunk people will eat just about anything.

 My favorite place that's overrun with drunkies? Bourbon Street in New Orleans, LA. And what else do those drunkies like? (Stop reading kiddos!) Beads and nudity. 


I figure that based on pure novelty alone, I could sell cupcakes on Bourbon Street as long as: (1) they look like pricks, boobies, or butts; (2) are baked with booze; or (3) include profanity.
 In my eyes, my cupcake shop really can't fail. A brief SWOT analysis clearly demonstrates that I've compensated for any of my shortcomings-- all I see is opportunity (and maybe the threat of someone stealing my idea since I'm posting it all over the interwebs). The equation is simple:

 That's basically my life plan in a nutshell. One day when I finally snap, I'm going to just drive myself down to New Orleans and open up my cupcake shop. What could possibly go wrong?