Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your chin hair!

Soooooo, yeah.  I'm not exactly what you would a call a "Spring Chicken".  I have passed the tolerance threshold of wearing a tube top in public and getting away with it, or having more "elasticity" and "height" in my boobage.  Each year they drop about three millimeters, so I figure by the time I'm 50 they'll be down to my knees.  The picture that I'm trying to paint here is that I'm getting older, and I'm not exactly shy when it comes to admitting to the changes that I notice.  Like for example, the other day I was pulling back the skin on my face so that I looked both sleek and surprised (more like terrified), when a shiny strand caught my eye.  What is this?  I asked myself.  Is that a speck of glitter that I see perched in between my brows?  A rouge eyelash that lost its way?  Nope.  It was a long, majestic blonde hair that had decided to grow smack dab in the middle of my forehead.  In other words, I'm transforming into a unicorn before my very eyes.  Except instead of a magical horn, we can replace it with a hair.  A long, shiny, can't miss it, can't pass it off as a bang, hair.  Grrrrrreat.  So, how does one grapple with such a situation, you may be wondering.  The answer is easy.  After I stopped crying over the fact that my youth has withered down to a glistening hair that is perched atop the bridge of my nose, I grabbed the tweezers, and then began furiously wrestling with my new bang.  And guess what?  It was a slippery little jerk.  No matter the angle, that lone hair slid right out of those tweezers like a champ.  It stood there in defiance, standing straight at attention.  I believe it even waved at me and laughed.  Cripes.  What was this thing made out of?  After the umpt-teenth attempt I finally clamped it in between the tweezers and gave it a yank.  And that stupid thing curled like a Christmas ribbon.  So instead of having a poker straight hair sticking out, I now had a jheri curl.  It was a quandary.  Do I try to blow torch it off?  Mat it down with some gel?  Pull it back and try to incorporate it with the rest of my not there bangs?  Nope.  You swear at it and call it a jerk while you squeeze the tweeze with a death-like grip, and yank that little curled b@stard out.
There you have it folks.  I'm sprouting hairs in random places like a Chia Pet.  I'm random, so why shouldn't my hair particles be anything less?  So if you ever see me sporting a random curled chin hair, you really don't have to point it out to me.  I more than likely can feel it tickling me in the breeze and attempted to yank it out using hedge sheers.  Just be sure to tell me that my hairs are looking rather fantastic that day.  Maybe I'll even let you give that curl a little yank.  The bounce on those things is rather spectacular. :)

To the guillotine you go!

I just have to express my genuine aggravation over something.  I mean, it seriously pisses me off.  To the point where I wave my fists in the air filled with fury, and exclaim the same thing Every. Single. Time.  Don't believe me?  Just ask my husband, because he's the one who witnesses this on a weekly basis.... We like to watch a lot of reality shows.  No, not the Kardashians.  I CAN'T STAAAAAAAAAAAAAND them.  I think the Jersey Shore idiots look like a classy, brilliant bunch when compared to those fame whores.  But I digress.  When I say "reality t.v." I mean shows like Chopped, or X-Factor.  But there is always a line in each of those shows that drives me INSANE.  Let's see if you can spot it:  Chopped: "It's down to two contestants now, and they both will be cooking for their lives."  X-Factor:  "Tonight our remaining contestants will be singing for their lives."  Really?  Seriously?  So you're telling me that whoever is the big fat loser of the night, is going to be executed?  They're going to die if they don't win??!?  Holy crap!  What kind of contests are these?  If you don't hit the high note, or you don't know how to correctly saute a garbanzo bean, they're going to take you out back, and a firing squad will have their way with you.  I just wish they would say what they really mean, "If you suck tonight, you're off the show, and no one will be around to stroke your ego, and you'll have to go back to your job of folding pants at the Dress Barn."  If they are going to promise such things, then they need to unleash some hungry tigers.  Let's start a new trend:  "Reality Shows-Gladiator Style."  Let's do it.  And we can name the show, "You Better Run Fast, 'Cause That Starved Feline is Going to Eat You A#%."  I would't have any false advertising.  If you have the audacity to incorrectly sing 'Eye of the Tiger', or show up to my contest wearing a blazer with pointed shoulder pads, you best run.
I have to go figure out my theme song for my new show, and contact my boys Siegfried and Roy to see if I can borrow one of their tigers.  I hear one is rather feisty.   (<---I know that is bad.  Really, really bad.  But funny.  And true.  And we all know I'm all about the truth).  :)