*Disclaimer: Since it has been two months since I last wrote a post, Blogger has changed their format and I can't figure a thing out. It took me over five minutes just to figure out HOW to write a post...so it can only go downhill from here.
About two months ago (exactly when I quit writing) I was prescribed Zoloft for depression and anxiety. I didn't realize how much my anxiety was affecting me until it was gone. Suddenly, I could drive without screaming obscenities...I could visit the grocery store without my blood pressure shooting way up....I stopped wanting to punch just about anyone I talked to....I have stopped being all yelly at just about any customer service rep. I am now calm and composed. I am the honey badger - I just don't care. Zoloft is magic!
I have been enjoying the new me. I am not a fake happy, I have just lost my scary edge. But, it was my edge that also gave me my funny (ie - cynical) view on life. Hence the lack of posting for a while.
Until yesterday. I needed an eyebrow wax...desperately! I stopped at WalMart two days in a row and they were too busy to do it. Really? That many people get their hair cut at WalMart? Not really. One day the employee was drying her own hair. I don't know why. I guess it was wet. But I couldn't get my brows done because she was doing her own hair. I didn't yell. I didn't get sarcastically rude (which is often lost on the type of employee who would dry their own hair in front of waiting customers). I just looked at her and left.
I went to the mall and decided on a whim to go to the brow kiosk outside of Barnes & Noble. Because I thought getting my eyebrow hairs yanked out with dental floss in the middle of the mall was a good idea. The girl that barely spoke English took my glasses away and had me climb into the torture chair.
She first offered to remove my moustache. I tried to inform her I didn't have a moustache and she shoved a mirror in my face and pointed to absolutely nothing above my lip. I assured her I didn't have a moustache and she started poking my upper lip. I finally convinced her that I liked my invisible facial hair and she went to work on my wooly worm eyebrows. As she was twisting the string around my eye area a guy walked up to the counter. All I could see was a bald, mostly red blob.
Reddish blob - "I can go out to my truck and get my lawnmower. It'd make your job easier."
Girl who spoke little English - "huh?"
Reddish blog - "My LAWNMOWER! Looks like you need it to tackle that job!"
By the time his comments made it through my Zoloft Shield of Happiness he had wandered off. So now I had been insulted not once, but twice. First by the girl insinuating that I had high testosterone levels and some stranger who thought it was appropriate to offer the use of his lawn care equipment on my forehead.
As I paid I asked the girl where the guy went.
Girl who spoke no English - "huh?"
Me - "The guy. The lawnmower guy. I want to know where he went."
Girl who barely knew what planet she was on just pointed out to the center of the mall. I knew I couldn't find the comedian because all I knew was that he was fat and in a red shirt. Along with about 10 other men within sight. I don't know what I would have said to him if I found him. But I knew it wouldn't be pretty.
My edge was back.
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