puberty, we meet again.

So, I'm just two weeks into what shall henceforth be referred to as "Operation: your life used to suck and you weren't doing anything about it but drinking a lot of cheap wine and now you're finally getting your s**t together and working towards a change and still drinking a lot of cheap wine." I was going to name it 'Blue Ivy,' but Beyonce stole that right from under me.

I've been at the the new job a while and have two days of hair school orientation under my belt, and I have NEVER in my life been more exhausted. No one ever told me that working an almost 60 hour a week DIDN'T involve creating the perfect ass indention in my office chair while dominationg facebook and blogging. Now, my actual job duties aren't particularly taxing, but 1) for the first time in 3 years, I'm actually learning something I have to give a s**t about, and 2) I'm on my feet. And at my old job, the only time I was on my feet was to walk to the handicapped stall for some serious John time.

Along with all of these professional changes, this past weekend has brought about some other interesting changes. Apparently I'm going through puberty again... or some sort of pre-menopause.

Remember when you were in 6th grade and all the boys and the girls went to little 'your body is changing' meetings? That might of been just at my middle school, but it was basically an hour of holding in giggles at the crudely drawn penises in the demonstrational pamplets and you got a free deodorant sample.

To this day, I still laugh at crudely drawn penises and do not use deodorant. For some reason I just don't smell or sweat that much. That being said, if you EVER smell a hint of B.O. coming from me, please inform me immediately and I will buy deodorant. Until then, it is one less thing for TSA agents to give me a 'random / you are not white' screenings about.

So, yesterday I was watching TV with my roommate and he turned to me and asked me if I smelled 'that.' I acknowledged it and was immediately offended and curious of the smell's origin. Turns out, my feet are starting to smell like a pile of dying zombie corpses were thrown into a dumpster behind an Indian restaurant adjacent to a hot dog factory.

Now, as I type this I can tell my feet smell once again. I mean, really?
Luckily, there are a lot of beauty products at the salon I'm working at that should mask the stench of the rotting undead, and I get a discount. And speaking of new job perks, the other day, I got over $100 of skin care crap from a sales rep for free! This is infinitely better than the crap the wholesalers used to give out. I mean they're useful and all, but a MetLife mouse pad or Oppenheimer coffee mug can't make you pretty!!!

I'll blog about beauty school sometime soon. Believe me, I have a lot to say. I'm basically in a sea of single mothers, a bored housewife, and surprisingly, only one straight off the trailer girl with terrible highlights! Sadly, there is only one sassy gay guy and one guy who may or may not be into other dudes.