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Eeew...Gross!
If you've ever seen me in person then you would know that I have a lot of hair. Not exaggerating, A. Lot. Of. Hair.
Which is fine, and I love my long hair, but it does come with its own set of unique challenges. One of which is the tangles. I have exceptionally curly hair and it sticks together and tangles of its own accord. I use conditioners and leave-in detanglers, and, sure, they help; but they by no means solve the problem. At the end of every day I find myself standing in the bathroom, in front of the mirror fighting it out with the tangles while swishing with my mouthwash. (I've found that I am too impatient to use mouthwash as directed, I tend to swish and spit in the space of about ten seconds--but if I am busy brushing my hair, I'll swish for over a minute!) And, no lie, there are many a night that I end up spitting early because a particularly bad snarl caused me to lose my focus and give rise to the desire to spit and swear at said snarl.
This is all well and good, but you can imagine the kinship I feel with my hairbrush. Well, kinship is what I would feel, if I truly loved my hairbrush. I haven't found the "right" brush for me. I had, once, when I was a young girl. I had that brush forever (it was fuschia with a dark gray handle, white plastic bristles and turquoise tips on them) and it was getting kind of nasty. Hair so matted in there (and I pulled out the hair strands regularly!) that it was never coming out, was coated with dust from years of use. It was gross. But I was young and didn't care so much and I really loved that brush. One of my friends, can't remember who, though I suspect Kelly, suggested that I use a lighter and set fire to the hair and dust particles to clean it once and for all. Seemed like a good idea and we borrowed a lighter (I think--pretty sure this was pre-smoking days for me) from my parents and went out on the deck to do the job. It would have worked, except for the rancid smell of burning hair, that was eclipsed by the fact that the dust particles did not burn off. They caught fire. And before I could react, most of those plastic bristles with turquoise tips had melted into unusable lumps. Thus ended the affair with my favorite hairbrush.
My mother, I recall, immediately hustled me off to Target to replace said brush, but, alas, it was nowhere to be found (as is the case with anything you develop a fondness for that you purchased at Target). So I got a different brush and a long series of different brushes since that fateful day and I have never once loved one since. Some were fine, others, barely usable, but I keep searching.
A year or two back I bought a new brush, and I have really liked it. It isn't worthy of LOVE, but it is decent. But, as with most of the brushes I own, it is starting to get pretty disgusting. Which is why, last time I was as Wal-Mart, I ended up purchasing a new brush (after a loooong debate in the brush aisle...ask my mom, she was there!). I haven't had the new brush long enough to decide if I love it or hate it. It has some redeeming qualities, but much of the process is getting used to the feeling of a new brush on my scalp. Therefore, I am still deciding. And since I haven't made the decision, I have kept the old brush (did I mention that Target no longer carries that particular brush-bastards.) figuring I would just switch back if this didn't work out.
Until tonight.
Old brush is now forever consigned to the depths of "bye-bye brush", never to be used again. It is very unfortunate because now I have no idea what I will do if it turns out that I hate new brush.
What's that? You are wondering what caused me to get rid of old brush prematurely? Well, tonight, as I was getting ready for work, I was rushing as usual. I was nearly ready to go and stopped to briefly use the toilet. After I finished (pee only--that's important) I stood up and somehow, managed to catch the handle of old brush with my elbow or shirt or something. I am not really clear on the process. Then, it flipped up in the air, time slowed down, and I made a frantic grab for my brush. I missed. It fell, with a distinctive splash, into the not-yet-flushed toilet bowl.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
I'm not kidding you, I was ready to cry. I stood there, looking at the brush and had a quick mental debate with myself. Then, and here comes the gross part, I reached in and pulled it out! I know, I am deranged. It is a sickness. I actually believed that a hairbrush-hairbrush!- was worthy of being saved from a toilet bowl full of urine. It wasn't like I had dropped my wedding ring or something in there...that I would understand fishing for.
I have to say it. "Eeew...Gross!"
Go ahead...you'll feel better. And now I have to figure out how to either live with new brush or dedicate some time to brush shopping. Cause old brush is truly a lost cause.
Live and learn, people. Live and Learn.
Which is fine, and I love my long hair, but it does come with its own set of unique challenges. One of which is the tangles. I have exceptionally curly hair and it sticks together and tangles of its own accord. I use conditioners and leave-in detanglers, and, sure, they help; but they by no means solve the problem. At the end of every day I find myself standing in the bathroom, in front of the mirror fighting it out with the tangles while swishing with my mouthwash. (I've found that I am too impatient to use mouthwash as directed, I tend to swish and spit in the space of about ten seconds--but if I am busy brushing my hair, I'll swish for over a minute!) And, no lie, there are many a night that I end up spitting early because a particularly bad snarl caused me to lose my focus and give rise to the desire to spit and swear at said snarl.
This is all well and good, but you can imagine the kinship I feel with my hairbrush. Well, kinship is what I would feel, if I truly loved my hairbrush. I haven't found the "right" brush for me. I had, once, when I was a young girl. I had that brush forever (it was fuschia with a dark gray handle, white plastic bristles and turquoise tips on them) and it was getting kind of nasty. Hair so matted in there (and I pulled out the hair strands regularly!) that it was never coming out, was coated with dust from years of use. It was gross. But I was young and didn't care so much and I really loved that brush. One of my friends, can't remember who, though I suspect Kelly, suggested that I use a lighter and set fire to the hair and dust particles to clean it once and for all. Seemed like a good idea and we borrowed a lighter (I think--pretty sure this was pre-smoking days for me) from my parents and went out on the deck to do the job. It would have worked, except for the rancid smell of burning hair, that was eclipsed by the fact that the dust particles did not burn off. They caught fire. And before I could react, most of those plastic bristles with turquoise tips had melted into unusable lumps. Thus ended the affair with my favorite hairbrush.
My mother, I recall, immediately hustled me off to Target to replace said brush, but, alas, it was nowhere to be found (as is the case with anything you develop a fondness for that you purchased at Target). So I got a different brush and a long series of different brushes since that fateful day and I have never once loved one since. Some were fine, others, barely usable, but I keep searching.
A year or two back I bought a new brush, and I have really liked it. It isn't worthy of LOVE, but it is decent. But, as with most of the brushes I own, it is starting to get pretty disgusting. Which is why, last time I was as Wal-Mart, I ended up purchasing a new brush (after a loooong debate in the brush aisle...ask my mom, she was there!). I haven't had the new brush long enough to decide if I love it or hate it. It has some redeeming qualities, but much of the process is getting used to the feeling of a new brush on my scalp. Therefore, I am still deciding. And since I haven't made the decision, I have kept the old brush (did I mention that Target no longer carries that particular brush-bastards.) figuring I would just switch back if this didn't work out.
Until tonight.
Old brush is now forever consigned to the depths of "bye-bye brush", never to be used again. It is very unfortunate because now I have no idea what I will do if it turns out that I hate new brush.
What's that? You are wondering what caused me to get rid of old brush prematurely? Well, tonight, as I was getting ready for work, I was rushing as usual. I was nearly ready to go and stopped to briefly use the toilet. After I finished (pee only--that's important) I stood up and somehow, managed to catch the handle of old brush with my elbow or shirt or something. I am not really clear on the process. Then, it flipped up in the air, time slowed down, and I made a frantic grab for my brush. I missed. It fell, with a distinctive splash, into the not-yet-flushed toilet bowl.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
I'm not kidding you, I was ready to cry. I stood there, looking at the brush and had a quick mental debate with myself. Then, and here comes the gross part, I reached in and pulled it out! I know, I am deranged. It is a sickness. I actually believed that a hairbrush-hairbrush!- was worthy of being saved from a toilet bowl full of urine. It wasn't like I had dropped my wedding ring or something in there...that I would understand fishing for.
I have to say it. "Eeew...Gross!"
Go ahead...you'll feel better. And now I have to figure out how to either live with new brush or dedicate some time to brush shopping. Cause old brush is truly a lost cause.
Live and learn, people. Live and Learn.
Flushing the toilet
Well the first entry of this blog. The idea of this blog is very simple. We want to keep you updated of all the funny animal-movies, pictures and stories we find around the globe. So if you have any please send them to us and we will try to post them ASAP. For starters we post our very own favorite:
Swiss Men, Nice Luggage, and 3 Men in a Toilet
I didn't know Swiss men were so hot!
This was a real commercial to give the ladies an alternative during the Soccer World Cup. Nice. They should make 'em for us girls in the U.S.!
The following video makes me wish I had this woman's job (you know, with tightened security in airports nowadays...)
The next time I'll see a group of men entering a public restroom, I'm going to wonder if guys do this:
I didn't know Swiss men were so hot!
This was a real commercial to give the ladies an alternative during the Soccer World Cup. Nice. They should make 'em for us girls in the U.S.!
The following video makes me wish I had this woman's job (you know, with tightened security in airports nowadays...)
The next time I'll see a group of men entering a public restroom, I'm going to wonder if guys do this:
Tribute to Jason Breunig pt. 2: SPACETOILET
Several weeks ago, I told you all about my pal, Jason, who was undergoing a risky surgery to get rid of a nasty brain aneurysm? Well the guy is doing much, much better and now I'm ready to share with you some of the comic strip art we did together (it took a long while to go through my archives!). Here's a little thing we did that, for an old joke, I like to think we added a new perspective on.
This joke was started one day in the graphic design classroom at UWSP. Jason and I were bored, looking through some old catalogs we came across a housewares one and after reading several descriptions of "space toilets" we started giggling. Sure, it was late at night, and it was one of those silly things you think about late at night, but the joke stayed with Jason and he did something about it. I think he had an early morning class and didn't have time to ink the comic strip, so I volunteered. This was the end result. See why I think my friend is so special?
More to come later! Enjoy the giggles.
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