Yahoo Just Doesn't Get Me & the Best Shower of Life

Since my e-mail is on Yahoo, I see the yahoo homepage often.
Today's "news" involved Chelsea Clinton and her wedding wish for her dad (I didn't realize brides gave wishes to their dads on their weddings, nor did I click the link to read what her wish was) and some kind of story-link to the blog My Messy Bedroom talking about the hairstyle men love best (I clicked it, but did so with morbid sarcasm)...
What?
Science was dragged unwillingly in to the equation, and I felt very miffed that it was asserted that it was pretty much a fact that "most men" like long hair on women. That is such a vast and sweeping statement! Most men? Which men? Where? That's like saying "most North Americans like bacon". Yes, it's true, bacon is beloved by many, and has even become something of a pop-cultural icon, which is interesting for a meat, but what about vegetarians? what about meat-eating people who don't eat pork for religious reasons? what about people who have high cholesterol and an anti-bacon prescription (although I am sure that some people who are told not to eat bacon like it anyway... maybe this fits into the metaphor as a reference to queer women who are prescribed by Dr.Society not to like women with long hair but some of us do)? What about people who just don't eat bacon because they think bacon is salty, crunchy and weird? What about gay men, what about men who crushed out on Meg Ryan and Agyness Deyn? The author mentions that some women can rock short hairstyles and "still be sexy" (which of course is the damn truth), and closes with an anecdote about gender binary reinforcement in her childhood in the form of some woman thinking she was a boy once when she was 10, she just can't do short hair ever again. I feel like the end statement was sort of like "Yeah, I guess all those people who don't eat bacon exist, but science pretty much shows us that almost everybody likes and eats bacon here in North America. Y'all should eat some bacon."
And that, my friends, is flawed.

In other news, hot water is back and better than ever at my place. This meant the best damn shower I have ever had, and if any of my roommates had been home and within earshot they would have surely assumed I had an econo-sized jug of Herbal Essences in there with me, if you know what I mean.

Earlier this week, things had taken a turn for the awful and horrific in my world, and now they are starting to look back up again. I am hoping that this upward trend is going to continue, as we are not in the clear yet!

Time to go paint some things.

-Sequin

The ol' door-bell-dog-droppings-on-fire maneuver

That is how the end of my day went:
Like a flaming poo bag.

We've all seen this prank played out in popular media - one vengeful and/or bored character rings their target's doorbell and leaves their stoop-n-scoop surprise on fire on the other character's porch. This person comes to the door, usually in a robe for some reason, and finds flames waiting for them, and they do the natural thing, which is to try to stomp out the flames with their favourite indoor slippers, thus entangling themselves in a whirlwind of smoke and poo.

Of course, that is not literally what happened, but it sure felt like it. Closing up shop with with a fabulous coworker of mine took an hour and a half tonight, which is triple the amount of time it usually takes, due to an unfortunate compunding of errors into what is known as an "untangleable clusterfuck". Even though our sleuthery was admirable and we did figure out the root of our problem with the help of my dear old friend, Mathematics, we were thwarted in the end by Technology (not such a dear friend to either of us, it seems).

Literally TWO SECONDS after that whole fiasco had been dealt with to the best of our collective abilities and we had hugged out our fears about getting fired, my phone rang, the screen displaying a number I was unfamiliar with. Being a FOOL, I picked up the phone, and apparently my face conveyed "instant miserableness". On the other end of the line was the voice of a man who has historically been the source of a great deal of emotional pain and abuse trauma in my life, and who of course is conveniently a very close blood relation. We haven't seen hide nor hair of one another in five years, which was suiting me fine, aside from the occasional pangs of guilt so ingrained in many an abuse survivor. Now he's getting married, and wants me to be part of the wedding party. This sounds like a great set up for a dramatic movie plot, but alas, it is my actual life. Someone must have told him that we can't go zero-to-sixty like that (or rather Denying my Experience to Wedding Party) because he presented the very not-like-him idea of getting together to talk things out before such a huge event. And because I have a VERY difficult time saying "no" to the few people who scare me, the long and the short of it is that I will be eating dinner and "talking about things" with my father and step-mother tomorrow evening. After hanging up, I called back, and while I was unable to stand up for myself in any real way like saying "no" or "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but this terrifying idea is for me extremely unhealthy, convoluted, oversimplified and massively FUCKED UP," I did manage to let them know that I am no longer a vegetarian, in hopes of at least getting some amazing spicy chicken or beef curry out of the deal.

Blargh.
Thank goodness my day starts out with going back into counselling, followed by an unrelated event potentially involving mimosas.