Taming of the Beasts and The WHE

At 12:45 p.m. this afternoon I partook in a very girlie endeavor, the brow wax. As a girl who is not very girlie (beer and football anyone?), I do make this one foray down girlstreet. Why? Because they do look kick ass after the wax. But honestly, I really don't think guys when speaking of girls comment on their eyebrows. Fat ass? Sure. Ability in the sheets? Definitely. Eyebrows like hairy salamis? Not so much. It is a complete girl (and metrosexual) phenomenon. The troubling thought is that I can't even trace back its appearance in popular culture. I started doing it about 3 years ago which means it probably gained popularity six years ago as I lag at pretty much twice the normal rate. I figure I will be wearing leggings and bangle bracelets sometime in 2012, after the frontal lobe lobotomy of common sense. Anyhoo, the last time I got a brow wax was a little over 8 weeks ago. I missed my next appointment 3 weeks later and vowed to make another all the while not tweezing, because I feel it is important to give the waxer a challenge. I mean, why the hell tweeze when I am paying someone to do it for me? So week after week it slipped my mind until suddenly on Monday I looked at my reflection to find that two brown caterpillars had taken residency upon my face. So an online appointment later I find myself this afternoon in Susie waxer's torture chair. It had occurred to me that 8 weeks of not plucking would provide a challenge for Susie, but what did not occur to me was that my face was the one taking the beating. Wax, rip, pluck. Repeat 30 times. As I exited the salon with my face now sporting an inflamed red reactionary batman like mask, I swore I was going to throw up from the aching. And almost four hours later, I find myself still sore and red, but with quite lovely eyebrows. Was it all worth it? Well I would have to say yes. Only because it is the first time since I have gotten worse haircut ever ("WHE"), I feel okay about it. I know I have neglected to mention WHE, but basically I got my hair razored, colored, and I don't likey. Everyone else likeys. But I don't, which has lead me to conclude that I will grow out this haircut until the razored snippets are capable of rejoining at a length in which my old hairdresser can cut a blunt bob. Then I will say a big fuck you to the hair cutting industry for a year, until I turn 35 and need bangs to hide my wrinkled forehead. The things I look forward to.

Origin of The Hairy Eyeball

Well first things first, I have been really busy at work. I can't believe it either, but I am in a closing book gathering nightmare that seemingly has no end. Are you still reading? But today I resolved to begin my day not with paper cuts from piles of stupid closing documents, but rather with a blog entry. Hooray for me. So, John and I have become fans of the Travel Channel show "Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations." On his visit to Ireland we sat watching and learned that the Irish do in fact have culinary magic, especially in the form of seafood - which you would think since they inhabit an island. Now the funny, the Irish do not like the fish. This news surprises me little considering growing up I only ate it on Fridays during Lent, either fried as in fish and chips or baked as in fish stick. Something like 80% of the seafood is exported. Well, wouldn't you know it, but John suddenly makes a startling connecting observation. How the hell did the Irish starve during the potato famine if they were surrounded by seafood? So, yeah, I come from potato loving drunkards who would rather starve than gut and eat a fish. That stubborn streak of mine is suddenly becoming clear as to its origins.

I am not really sure if this qualifies as an addiction, but I am mad with the lust for Lagunitas Hairy Eyeball (see label), but it like gin before it, seems to have an ill will towards my undying infatuation. I have had this beer 3 nights last week. On Tuesday I consume three and woke up to a screaming headache. On Friday, after a strong vodka and apple juice (which is not that bad), I had two and woke up to what I believe was a hangover. Then on Saturday while playing Rock Band (holy crap it is AWESOME), like any rock star, I consumed five in quick succession the result being Sunday morning feeling like torture. Now I am sure you are sitting there saying, what a lightweight, but these beers have 8% alcohol. Of course, I think when a brewer names his beer "The Hairy Eyeball"; one might be smart enough to figure that there may be a connection to waking up with eyes bloodshot. But as referenced above, I come from a long line of stupid drunks. So midday Sunday, I promised that no Lagunitas Hairy Eyeball will touch these lips again, which totally sucks because they are so delicious, like cartwheel after and smiles all around delicious. I don't know if I can promise to be faithful to this resolution. The catch phrase on the bottle is "Here's Looking Atcha", and in my drunken and conversant state I would say back to the bottle "And here is looking at you Hairy Eyeball, you tasty little minx." How does one stop drinking a beer that gets you buzzed in 15 minutes and compliments? I don't know. I really don't.

My Celebrity Look Alikes

I do believe when wrestling with the devil of PMS, I will refer to this post for a self esteem boost. And now, a not so great photo.



Wow, I guess they know a good face. I LOOK LIKE SEAN LENNON!!!

And now one of Owen:



Oh my goodness, it seems I gave birth to an Asian female or mass murderer. Also how is it that a photo of a kid with no hair but a whisper produces 80s hair wannabees?

A Patriots Poem

Well, as promised, here is my poem that is an ode to the New England Patriots who will face the Chargers in the AFC Championship Game. My God, how awesome were the football games yesterday? Two of the best games of the year. Playoff Football!!! I love it. And here is my inner dork revealed . . .

The 2007 New England Patriots
A Tale Told In Rhyme

This season began with a draft day surprise,
The Pats traded for Moss, can't believe my eyes!
A 3 million contract and a 3rd round pick?
If you're not a Pats fan, this must make you sick.

Game One a win against the Mangina Jets.
Belichick cheating? Shall we discuss, oh lets!
Did nothing too bad, but fined and dismissed.
Now all say together: Bill Belichick's pissed!!

Next up the Chargers, in a playoff rematch,
Is every Brady throw a touchdown catch?
The defense was outstanding in halting LT,
How was that on your Visio HDTV?

Next to come were the Bills, Bengals and Browns
But nothing could stop the Patriots touchdowns.
Ocho Cinco manhandled, Lee Evans too,
And Romeo, oh Romeo, what could you do?

The next game was against the Cowboys and Romo,
Could the Patriots stop the menace named TO?
Of course they did, a fan always believes
Brady was hot and threw for five TDs.

AFC East rival the Dolphins then Skins
Forgive me father, for these football sins
Decimation is the only word to describe
Combined score: 101 to 35.

Next was the test of the Indianapolis Colts
The Pats losing at the half, oh my it revolts.
A comeback with win, the Pats don't disgrace,
Whoopee, look at that, it’s the Manning face.

A match with the Buffalo Bills yet again,
Destruction the result - 56 to 10.
The Eagles with Freeley surprise us all.
The game was close, but Pats do not fall.

The Ravens, the Steelers, the Jets and Miami
If this were a game show, then bring on the whammy.
Undefeated with only one game to win
Here come's New York, and Tom Coughlin's G-men.

The game was closer than anyone thought
Eli Manning will win? Oh god, I think not.
Moss and Brady combine for the records and win,
Is that quiet I hear, 72 Dolphin?

A perfect season had, but three more to go.
Welcome to the Belichick Tom Brady show.
So in conclusion, let us remove our hats,
God bless the game of football and of course the Pats.

I read this during halftime, and I do have to say that it went over well. Now if only I can get a job writing rhymes about things. I don't know who to sacrifice for this, but I am willing. Dr. Cassandra Suess has a ring, does it not?

Why is it . . .

that a Subway sandwich in all its brilliant glory ends rather too quickly for my poor lust filled heart, err stomach? And yes, before you ask I am becoming the female version of Jared - who if you don't know had a porn video operation in college. This information did not surprise me in the least, because honestly, that guy looks a little bit molesterish, does he not? Also, this weekend is the Pats first game of the playoffs and in honor of them I will be composing a poem to be read at halftime in my living room. Be there or be the sorta of person who does not draft a poem in honor of her favorite sports in her favorite sport a/k/a not a geek. Since I have yet to compose said poem, I don't have a title, but I am thinking that it will be in the vein of Ulysses or The Odyssey. Yeah, you heard me. Go Pahwts!

She Puts the Craze in Crazy

I can't really explain what happened to me last night, other than to say I had a momentarily separation from sanity and traveled down the harrowing road of the crazy. When finishing a Lost episode entitled "The Man From Tallahassee" I asked John "What happened to Locke's Dad, I can't remember?" Now John being John refused to tell me. Normally, I would sulk over to the computer, feign hatred and do a quick search to find the answer. However, this was not the case. Instead I was hijacked by lunancy and stormed off to the bedroom. As I drank my beer (Lagunitas Hairy Eyeball Ale, which I highly recommend) and watched the last DVRed episode of Nip/Tuck (which totally sucks ass this season and I can't believe I even waste my time watching it), I suddenly became quite mad. Note to readers - this was a question about Lost that could easily be answered by a 10 second Google inquiry. After Nip/Tuck was over, fueled by the Hairy Eyeball I made my way to John (who continued to watch Lost - which had me even more angry) and asked "Are you ready to tell me now." His response, "No." Under normal Cassie this would have elicited a laugh. Under psychosis Cassie this elicited my stomping back to the bedroom with a slammed door and bedtime. Long story short - as I closed my eyes, my anger grew, I made a scene, left the house for 5 minutes and had a crying fit. Again people, OVER LOST!!!! Now that I have reconnected with the sane, I am befuddled as to what happened last evening. I think that it could be hormones, but that is the excuse every girl makes but also one that is valid. But honestly, I think it was the following - sometimes as a girl you just need to cry and something as stupid as your husband jokingly not answering a question of yours can set you off onto that path. Which is what I think happened - hormones and hunger can often make a sane girl crazy. All is back to normal, but I do have a slight headache and feel like a complete ass. But I suck it up to the 1000 crazy things I get to do in this life with a free pass. Only 23 more to go, my 20s took up a lot.

Confessions of a Fantasizer

Its 11:51 a.m., and for the last 30 minutes I have been having these fantasies. I can't believe I am actually going to admit to this in blog format, but here it goes. You wanna know what of? Okay, prepare yourself -















Yep, there is my man! A Subway sandwich. Get your head out of the gutter people. I'll fully admit that I am dreaming in a somewhat erotic way of a 6 inch wheat turkey and cheese with lettuce, pickles, green peppers, olives and onions, toasted. Now that I am back in the saddle of weight gain, with a Hawaii adventure a mere 2 months away, I have reigned in my eating. Actually I could probably eat more, like at breakfast, but I’d rather have my two glasses of wine at night. Thank you very much alcoholic gene pool. My only morning indulgence is 3 points towards a non-fat latte. I could get coffee for no points, but I like the latte, and more importantly, I need to get milk somewhere, so why not deliciously heated and foamed commingling with espresso? However, around 11:00 I begin to lust after the sandwich (total points 6!). I think of nothing else. It is really quite embarrassing as I imagine him talking sweet nothings in my ear that go somewhat like this - Cassie, you know I am hot and good for you. I could make you warm inside and full and satisfied. You know you want me. And, egad, I do Mr. Subway 6 inch toasted turkey. I do!

And So It Begins . . .

My two new year's resolutions are as follows: (1) lose 20 pounds and (2) drink more seabreezes in the seabreeze. I think I can accomplish on of these quite easily; however, the other will take some work - mixing vodka with equal parts orange and cranberry juices adding enough but not too much ice, then finding a beach. Tough work! Luckily, I live near one. But wait a minute; I thought that you would say losing weight? Yeah, me too. But in all honestly the formula for losing weight is quite simple - eating right plus exercise equals weight loss. Abracadabra ladies and gents. Although I did go on Weight Watcher's post baby and lost a fair amount of weight - 20 pounds, I have been lax of late and the jelly in my belly is making a comeback. So it begins anew, given I am no longer breastfeeding thus 24/7 ravenously hungry, I am confident that by March 7 (the day I go to Hawaii for the first time ever) I will have attained that goal, or at least come close to it. Wish me luck.

So today I went to Subway and got a turkey on wheat with veggies. Usually when I go to Subway, it follows a certain path:

Me: Turkey on Wheat, with American Cheese and Yellow Mustard. That's it.
Veggie Doler: What? No Lettuce?
Me: No. Just Plain.
VD: No pickles? No onions?
Me: Nope, just yellow mustard. Thanks.
VD: Shaking head.

Why is it so horrible to go into Subway and ask for the just the basic of all sandwiches? I did not just whip out my penis (if I had one) and peed on you lady (and I use that tern loosely because said Veggie Doler is actually a man, in ladies clothing - San Francisco is awesome). Sure I am possibly paying a premium for all the veggies I want, but I don't want them. However, today I ordered a turkey on wheat with american cheese, yellow mustard, lettuce, pickles, black olives, green peppers and onions. And holy crap, it was good. And filling. And under the Weight Watcher's Point System, only 6 points. So the total pointage, thus far for today is 9 points, 3 in the form of a latte and 6 in the form of a delicious veggie filled Subway sandwich. Okay, Veggie Doler, I get the entire thing now. Sorry. If I remember correctly, my points should be around 22 now that Owen is boob free, so I got a bunch to blow tonight - hello chocolate. I keed, I keed. Is it just me, or is the entire Weight Watcher's Points System somewhat akin to gambling? Do I blow my wad or do I play every game in the house, spreading it around a bit? Not too sure, but I am sure of one thing. Hawaii is 63 days which roughly averages to 0.317 pounds of weight loss a day. The journey, she will be tough, but I get to console myself with lush greenery, mai tais, swimming and hopefully not Tsunamis (because I got an irrational fear of those which I will save for another time).