Hairdresser needed. STAT.

I'm having a hard time with hairdressers.  Not that they aren't capable of doing their job - most of the time they manage to do something  with this bush o' hair.
The real problem is skinny and blonde.  The last three hairdressers - skinny, blonde, adorable little hipsters.  Picture Mary Kate and Ashley behind the chair.

                             

It's not what you think.  I'm not a hater.  For realz.
Good for them, being all skinny and good with fashion and makeup and white teeth and jutting collarbones. Good for them.
Here's the prob:
Things start to get real when the gown thing goes on (you know, that black plastic-y mumu that's all tight around the collar and suddenly your body is trapped in a sauna and you just KNOW you're coming out of there with some pit stains.  That gown thing.)

So, you're there, in the gown, and all you really see in the mirror is your head sticking out.  That, and your cute hipster hairdresser's head.  Cue the self-loathing.

WHY does my head have to be 10 times larger than the hairdressers?

I can't even.
It's all I see the whole time - my giant noggin and her tiny-yet-perfectly-proportioned head.  I can't stop looking.  I can't help it.  The comparison.  The size difference.  Its the worst.

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????

This is America.  We are the land of the fatties.  SO, why aren't any of them cutting my hair?  I need to find someone giant, especially in the head region, if I want to feel good about myself again.  If you have any suggestions, lemme know.
I'm serious.

Nothing to see here, people. Move on.

I was going to say that I'm working on becoming the ultimate stay at home mom.  Which is so gross and annoying. I'm sorry.
 And let's be honest, I'm never going to be the ultimate.  

Revision:  I'm working on becoming a half-ass stay at home mom (henceforth shortened to the hip abbreviation "HASAHM").

Here's what I'm doing:

1.  Not working.  Therefore, staying at home. Check!

2.  Growing a baby in me belly.  In 5 months, if things don't go sideways, I'll have the mom part, ready or not. Check and check!

I'm basically already there.

I'm also:

3.  Growing a garden. So far, all I have is a square of dirt in the backyard.  But this weekend, that dirt is going to get all fancied up and hopefully one day produce some food.  I feel like there is no way I can actually pull it off, gardening (I can't even keep a cactus alive), but I'm gonna try people.  I desperately want to be the person who has a garden.  

Here she is, in all her glory:

I mean, I never promised that all my blog posts would be interesting.

Twenty fourteen.

I was feeling oddly sentimental today.  This is what happened - I got on FB to stalk a former teacher co-worker who I heard was in the baby way.  Found her, then found out that she has a blog which she's written in REGULARLY for the past, like, 5 years.  And I was like, hey, I used to be a teacher.  I miss that.  And I was like, hey, I used to write about stuff.  And I miss that too.  So here we are.

Let's get caught up, shall we? Don't worry, it won't take long.  In a nutshell:  I went ahead and got married, quit my job (BIG thanks to a second income in my life - no shame in my game.), and then got knocked up (weeeeeeeeeeee!).  We moved to the suburbs (Plano) where I am surrounded by old people, crazy people, and lots of strip malls.

I'm super excited to be pregnant.  I am.  Upcoming blog:  "Lissa turns into a psychopath when she gets baby fever and her husband may never look at her the same again".
 
Hey, wanna know what's beautiful and magical about being pregnant?

NOT. 

MUCH.

I'm in my second trimester, but still slugging through the yuck of the first trimester.  Such as:  vomiting in my kitchen sink every morning when I smell the cat food. Thanks baby.
I look like I have a beer gut.  Thanks baby.
I can no longer enjoy god's gift to mankind - bacon.  Thanks baby.
I'm forced to sleep on my side, my boobs are giant jugs that feel like they are on fire, and my skin looks like I dunk it in a vat of grease every morning.  THANKS. BABY.
 (***I feel like I must do a disclaimer in order to not offend/scare people:  I'm so thankful that I am able to be pregnant and I know that every minute of discomfort is worth it and I'm already in love with little gummy growing inside me so please don't get offended by my bitching, k?  Thanks.***)

Subject change:  My husband has been hogging the TV watching basketball (ugh.) but looks like he dozed off. This is my chance to sneak the remote and watch last night's episode of The Real Housewives.

Peace out.