the chronicles of iowa: the pixie, the heartless, and the jaded.

While I was in Iowa for a few days over Christmas, I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe with my mother and youngest sister.

Being the clever city dweller, I bought the tickets online at Fandango, because it guarantees a seat, and it lets you bypass the line of people waiting to buy tickets. Sure, it's a dollar extra per ticket, but convenience is often worth more than that.

In Chicago, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and give it to the ticket-taker. S/he then gives you tickets and you enter the theatre. No waiting involved. No standing in long lines.

In Cedar Rapids, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and then stand in line with all of the people that are waiting to buy tickets then and there, to let the person in the ticketing booth give you your tickets, so that you may then give the tickets to the ticket-taker. Which means lots of waiting. Lots of standing in long lines.

I felt robbed of the three dollars, honestly. Avoid Fandango outside a metropolitan area.

So, I ended up sitting between a man of about my age, clearly there by himself, and my sister. Mom was on the far side. Before the movie started, I got a tissue from my mother, because I forgot to bring some, and I knew that I would end up crying at some point.

Of course, when Lucy and Susan crept along after Aslan left the camp early in the morning before the big battle, and then were asked to join him as they went for an early morning walk, and then after a while were told that he had to go the rest of the way alone, and then watched in horror from a distance as Aslan was bound and beaten, shaved, and then slain by the witch Jadis, I sobbed and snuffled and cried like a girl.

When the little mice chewed the cords from his body, and Lucy and Susan were sobbing and crying over his abused corpse, I cried.

And when Aslan's body disappeared, and then he appeared with the morning light radiant behind him, quite alive and well, I cried.

Neither my mother or my sister cried, and my sister said that she didn't cry because she knew what was going to happen, and she knew that Aslan wasn't really dead anyway.

The reason that I was crying was two-fold: Poor Susan and Lucy -- they're school girls one minute, queens then next, and then innocent witnesses to a slaughter. I was crying first for Lucy and Susan, because they thought they were just going for a walk with Aslan, and had no idea what was going to happen, even if I did, and then I was crying because they thought that Aslan was dead and gone, and had no idea that he was going to be miraculously resurrected by Deeper Magic. I anticipated what was going to happen, and then empathized with the characters.

I also cried because it was so very well done, and was very emotionally moving. It played out on the screen even more tragically than it played out in my head as I was reading it. And because I have a soul and warm blood actually runs through my veins, apparently unlike my frosty and heartless women kin.

And I wasn't alone in my emotion, either. There were upset small children, all throughout the theatre, and I also will tell you, the man to my right was clearly snuffling during the sad bits. Because he also apparently is an empathizer. And maybe because he didn't know what was going to happen, and was shocked into quiet tears of sorrow, and then barely audible snuffles of relief.

Brutality, death and miraculous resurrection, and then a frightening battle is a bit much for small children, in my book. I'm surprised more children weren't crying from fright.

that which i have received in celebration of baby jesus's birth:

1. The annual family calendar, replete with hilarious photo portrait of my mom at 16, courtesy of my uncle.
2. A jar of mixed peppers to put in my peppermill. Once I finish the 2/3 of the jar I've been using for the last two years, from the family.
   
3. Pear Merlot Conserve, from mom. Mmm, boozy fruit jelly.
4. Chocolate-covered cranberries, from mom. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
5. Lindor Truffles, from mom & dad.
6. Money. Which is my favorite.
   
7. A giftcard to TJ Maxx. From mom. And used to buy fur cuffs for my coat. Which is now the most luxe down jacket ever.
   
8. A giftcard to Wal-Mart. From dad. Which I will probably spend on cat food and potting soil. The next time I go to Wal-Mart, in like 3 months or so.
   
9. Baby blue Alpaca Pete's shearling slippers from mom.
10. Belkin iPod battery backup. Which totally rocks the house down and all around the neighborhood. From Short-Round, or whatever I'm calling my youngest sister these days.
    
11. Udderly Smooth body lotion, from mom.
12. A pair of work gloves to keep in the car in case of emergency, so that I do not get my hands all ucky changing a tire or pouring fluids into their appropriate tanks under the hood. Clearly from dad, who is sensible and automotive. (He gave me de-icer either last year or the year before.)
    
13. Cavender's Greek Seasoning, also from mom. I can't find this in the grocery stores here.
    
14. Conrad's Fate, from dear beloved Matty. Which I will read after I finish the Chronicles of Narnia.
15. Garbage, Garbage cd. From mom.
    
16. Bleed Like Me, Garbage cd. From mom.
    
17. Playing the Angel, Depeche Mode cd. From Princess Stinkerbell.
    
18. A box of Andes mints. Mom lost mine, but the acting GM made up for it.
19. A caramel apple that I left at my parent's house, uneaten. Courtesy of the new Prestige Consultant at work.
    
20. A box of harman/kardon Soundsticks II, from Willybean & Tifling.
21. A metal faerie ornament that Cricket absolutely cannot break into bits, no matter how hard she tries, also from the W&T.
22. A giftcard to Starbucks from the DM. Last year she got me a hideous scarf that I returned, and then ended up giving the giftcard to Kimmy because I never shop at the Gap.
    
23. Fruitcake! Fruitcake! *booty dance* I got a fruitcake! From my lovely Aunt Ann.
    

my face hurts.

I cry a lot.

Mostly in the privacy of my home, but sometimes at work in the bathroom, or in my car, or walking from place to place.

The other day, when I walked into Starbucks to drop off the Toys for Tots presents, the woman behind the counter asked me if I needed anything.

I thanked her, shook my head, and said that I was really just there to drop off some toys, and the other woman behind the counter said, "Wow, that's really nice."

I said, "I guess so." and then wished them both a Merry Christmas, before walking out the door and onto the street.

And then I cried for a couple of blocks, because no one should have to thank me for trying to be a good person.

I don't know if I cry because I'm broken, or if it's because my life is so excruciating most of the time.

I like my job, but I hate where I work most of the time. The people there depress me and make me frustrated for stupid reasons. Kimmy's quitting as soon as the holidays are over, and the acting GM has said more than once that if they don't give her the store after she's successfully operated it for two holiday seasons, she's going to walk as soon as the holidays are over. The bitterness wears me down. I'm an empathizer. If I am exposed to crap like that for a prolonged period of time, I get upset myself. And if the office door is shut and more than one manager is in there, the conversation always turns to how much being a manager there sucks.

I mortally offended Diva by telling her client that sometimes she ran late when she was coming in early to do people before her scheduled shift, and that she'd be there soon. The client showed up 25 minutes early, and then looked at her watch and dramatically sighed every five minutes. I reminded the client that Diva was coming in 3.5 hours early to do her hair, and told her that that Diva ran on her own time table when she was working on her own schedule, which I called "DivaTime," but would definitely be arriving very very soon (she was exactly five minutes late). The acting GM was in the salon when I said this, and said that the traffic was especially bad that morning, but assured the client that Diva would arrive shortly.

When the client complained to Diva that she'd had to wait for 30 minutes, Diva got in her face and told her, "Well, I'm sorry about the five minutes, but the 25 minutes early is totally on you. You didn't have to come in a half hour before your appointment, especially when I told you that I was coming in before my scheduled shift to do you hair."

Which I'm sure further irritated the client. Who then told Diva that the acting GM and I had been gossiping about her, saying she's always late for work, and whatnot, which is entirely not what was said. It's true, but neither of us said it to the client. She pulled that out of her own ass.

Speaking to the acting GM about this afterwards, Diva told her that she was really offended that I had spoken negatively about her to a client, which the acting GM assured her that I really had not done, and then she brought up the whole drag queen thing again, and said that her husband wanted her to quit if being in such a hostile work environment was upsetting her.

That's right. I create a hostile work environment. Which no one else seems to have noticed.

But it definitely creates a tension that wears on me.

I spend all of my energy being sincere and friendly and concerned at work, and then have nothing left at the end of the day.

My clients all love me because I'm sunshine and rainbows with them. And I mean it. I like working with them. For the hour or two that I spend with someone, I am entirely engrossed in that person's world, and we're the practically the best of friends.

The staff and clients seem to generally appreciate that I brought in my coffee pot and electric tea kettle and oodles of tea and coffee grinder and whole bean coffee and cookies and candies and cheddar snack mix (for people that don't like sweets). If I bring sweets, I always make sure to have sugar-free stuff because Diva's on the South Beach Diet, and Pappy technically shouldn't eat sweets.

I do these things because I want to make our salon as pleasant an environment as possible. (Plus, I don't drink coffee and we're almost all now tea drinkers.) I don't do it to kiss ass or make peace or buy affection. I do it because I want to do it.

Technically, all I'm required to do is manage the people and the paperwork. Anything above and beyond that is strictly optional.

I don't have to take all of the notes I've compiled from all of the color classes and then spend hours of my free time putting together a 17-page packet of information for everyone to use. Which they do.

I'm so worn out and tired from living my life that I have no energy for me. I blow my entire emotional wad each day at work, and then come home and cry at Ghost Whisperer.

I don't get enough sleep, and when I get all run down, my stomach starts bothering me. I either spend at least one day a week heaving up my guts in the salon restroom, or else I feel like my insides have been put through a blender.

I like where I live, but I hate the contents of my apartment. I have no room to store anything, so I have stacks of everything everywhere. It's cluttered. My apartment is never neat and clean. Sometimes it's almost tidy, but generally not so.

I joke that I live the lifestyle of a 23 year old guy fresh out of college. I'm socially maladjusted, I eat crap for food, I spend my free time playing video games, reading comics, and zoning out, and my apartment is a pigsty. The only thing missing is beer.

50 First Dates kills me every single time it's on, but I can't stop watching it. I spend most of the movie crying because Henry works so hard to make Lucy love him that it breaks my heart. And because there is so much love in that movie that it makes me I know that at this rate, I'll never be loved that much by anyone. And then when it's over, I cry because I feel so pathetic for getting that worked up over an Adam Sandler movie.

I cried when I read the impersonal Christmas card I got in the mail from my Uncle Craig and my Aunt Roxie, partly because I had no emotional investment in anything they were sharing in their yearly update letter, and partly because I suppose that I should be happy that Jennifer is happily being successful in Scottsdale, and that Michelle just got engaged to a great guy named Jeff. I cried because I don't even really know these people, even though they're my flesh and blood. I know and care about most of my relatives that I've grown up with, but my mother's other brother and his brood are just names on a piece of paper. Before this letter, the only other piece of knowledge I had about Jennifer and Michelle is that they didn't like to visit Grandma when she was alive because she'd pick at them about their physical appearance. Something about thick ankles and a fat aunt, or something.

Substantial segments of my family are just anecdotes to me.

I cry because I look forward to seeing other members of my family, and am robbed of the experience because of a lack of opportunity. The potential is there, but the timing is off.

I cry because I get so emotionally wrapped up in picking presents and wrapping them up all pretty, and then get to watch when people just tear them open and say, "Oh, that's nice. Can I have another present to open?" as they set mine to the side and move on to the rest of the pile.

I know I romanticize the holidays. A trip home to see the family, holiday cheer, a Christmas tree with twinkling lights, festive meals, glad tidings, seasons greetings and all.

Which really translates into about a half-day of activity and what generally devolves into disappointment and boredom.

I cry because the cat peed on my one of fur-lined leather gloves, and I had to wait over a week to find the time to take them to the cleaners. And I had to wear the other gloves that aren't as warm. And when I went to pick them up from the cleaners, I was informed that they didn't do leather and I was to receive a refund for my trouble.

I didn't actually cry just because the perfect coat in retrospect needs a considerable amount of alteration to make it right, but I did cry because it's so hard to find the time and the supplies to accomplish this.

And I cry when I blog, because it's hard to share this much sometimes.

all sorts of charity.

I found a winter coat that meets the majority of my specifications:

1. Black
2. Cozy
   
3. Windproof
4. Warm
5. Long enough to cover my ass
6. Not dowdy
7. Adorned with some sort of rabbit fur.

But, it completely lacks a hood.

It is, however, a a lovely Hilary Radley DUVET coat. It is filled with down, yet not too puffy, and has a deliciously wide black rabbit fur collar that technically zips up over my head if necessary.

Why I would need to do this, I am unsure.

I prefer to wear it zipped up and folded down, much like a big furry turtleneck collar. Except on a coat. And not on a turtleneck.

This collar replicates about half of the purpose of a hood, so in combination with the appropriate hat, I am warmer than all get out.

I have yet to find the appropriate hat. For some reason, I'm imagining a big fluffy black rabbit fur hat of some sort.

The only true fault the coat has is that it lacks fur cuffs.

This wouldn't be a big issue, except Cricket peed on the floor by the front door, and then knocked my rabbit fur lined gloves into it. Which makes one of them smell like cat pee. Nothing I can do makes them not smell like cat pee. I think a trip to the cleaners is in order. If only I had the time.

And for this reason, I decided that I needed to attach black furry cuffs to the coat, to add that certain zing and toasty pop to the ensemble.

The one downside to der interweb is that it is now physically impossible to find things that you want on it anymore.

I crazily thought to myself that I would easily find a vendor for a 4-inch or so wide length of solid black rabbit furriness that would be long enough and supple enough to be easily converted into cuffs.

Instead, I found where I can buy solid pelts and a lot of those hideous black rabbit fur pom pon scarves. Blech. And a lot of the ones that claim to be solid fur look suspiciously like cat fur -- which is apparently frequently used for shady purposes, according to some horrid article I stumbled across. (Dog fur is also very hot and indespicably evil too, it seems.)

If I wanted cat fur, I would just skin Cricket and make her into cuffs. She's deserve it, with all the glove peeing and whatnot.

So, I trekked to a couple of Salvation Army stores, where I ended up not buying rabbit fur, but instead scored a stash of Batman single issues, and bought a pair of boots for a homeless man.

I have since read all of the comics, and am now more than happy to send them to anyone kind enough to give them a new home, or I can just give them back to Salvation Army for someone else to buy.

I have issues 608-613 and 616-619 (most of the Hush arc), Issues 1 and 2 of Gotham County Line, Batman Journey Into Knight #1, 620-625 (Broken City arc), 630 The Last Straw, 639 Grave Consequences, and 640 Old Friends. Gotham County Line are in good condition, and the rest are very good to very fine, with a couple even in near mint to mint condition. I do not have bags and boards, sorry - this is charity, not a business.

Mom said she'd check out the thrift store in Iowa for an old fur jacket to chop up, and I am considering ordering something off of eBay if it comes down to it. I can buy pelts of questionable origin there for fairly cheap.

Or there's always the Cricket option. Even if I can't add fluffy black cuffs to my coat, she's got at least enough fur on her to line a pair of gloves.

i'll just be disappointed again, i'm sure.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again, knowing completely that it's a bad cliche, but I love the romantic notion of Christmas.

Every year I agonize over what to get everyone, and then when I find the right thing, or find something for someone that I wasn't even looking for in the first place, I feel elated and giddy.

This year, I put a lot of thought into how to wrap the presents. No one really cares how pretty the packages are except me. I'm not a country gal, but I had a client give me a gift in a brown box and lovely green ribbons, and it made me think that I wanted to have countryish presents. Everything's wrapped in either simple sage or ruby papers, or else firmly ensconced in a craft paper-covered box. I used real ribbons and twine to make the bows and whatnot. I stragegically employed things like decorative soaps and millinery fruits in my decorating scheme. I made a tray of things I use to decorate, very Martha-like, and I have it standing by if I need to wrap or cheerfully adorn anything else. It looks like a well-planned, old-school Christmas threw up in my living room.

I don't have a tree because Cricket would kill it. I do have Christmas cards on the bookshelf, a stuffed snowbear bearing gifts, and a tiny beaded tree-shaped ornament that I made myself after reading Crate & Barrel's holiday catalogue. But it isn't the same thing.

Even if I could decorate the way I wished, all of my seasonal decorations and the like are buried somewhere in Tif 'n Wil's garage, because their basement had to be gutted down to the studs, and then to some point beyond the studs, because of toxic mold. And I stored all of my off-season clothing, holiday crap, and assorted other things I don't have room for all in their basement. Now I'm stuck with a tall stack of off-season storage bins in my living room, and no Christmas paraphernalia.

I did all my Christmas cards and sent them out, as well as the packages that needed to be shipped to loved ones. I didn't send Overlord Carol a card, but I haven't talked to her in over a year. I still might though. I did my online shopping. I crafted. The only thing holding me up is that the landlord signed for a package on the 13th, and I have yet to receive it myself, although I know we're both in the same apartment building.

Last year I made sweets galore, but this year I don't seem to care. I think invested all of my festive cookery energy on Thanksgiving, with late nights of bread making and flan baking. Sure, I would like to eat truffles and candied grapefruit peel, or nosh on a white chocolate covered pretzel rod. But I can barely keep up with the dishes in the sink. I can't even picture getting the kitchen sanitized to the level that I would need it to be clean for my candymaking to commence.

The place I work used to release a pair of holiday stuffed animals every year, usually some sort of puppy, with the proceeds going to Make-A-Wish. And each year I would buy one each of the boy and girl puppies, and then drop them off at a Starbucks location in their Toys-for-Tots collection baskets. I liked the fact that I could help two charities with one act.

When I was younger, we were usually only a few steps above being white trash. We did a great job with what we had, but I didn't ever have a lot of toys. I know that Christmas isn't about getting stuff, but I know how disappointing it is to not get the presents you'd like to get. If any. I hope that my little gifts can make some little kids feel a little more loved, or at least a little less resentful that their families are poor and depend on charity donations.

I found myself standing in the toy area at a Greatland Target, overwhelmed by the oodles and oodles of crap that was available for purchase. I don't know what's cool. I know I see a lot of commercials for Bratz stuff on television, and judging by the disproportionate amount of Batmans that we saw trick-or-treating, Batman is pretty cool too. I've heard that the Power Rangers are cool again with the younger set.

I checked out all of the Bratz gear, and noted that there was a distinct absence of Bratz Rock Angelz dolls, and that there was a sign saying that due to high demand, they were out of the Rock Angelz dolls and were substituting Sportz dolls. And it looked like no one had purchased any of the Sportz dolls, so I didn't want to get the uncool doll for some little girl.

I totally forgot about the Power Rangers stuff, and when I looked at the Batman stuff, the cool things were like $30 and I don't love the poor children enough to spend that much on one thing. The only things that were a reasonable price were the things that would mostly be targeted at adults that collect action figures *ahem* Ninja Bruce Wayne *ahem*.

Wandering around lost, I decided that little girls seem to enjoy the Disney crap a lot, so I bought a small dress-up Belle doll with a bunch of clip-on outfits for the girl present. And then I decided that Legos are cool for boys, but then remembered someone that I am related to's insane childhood Lego horde, and the joys of stepping on the damned pieces lost in the pile of the carpet. But, I do recall hearing some male child at some point talking about Bionicles, and those are Legos too, except more action-figurey and whatnot. I think you pretty much build them and don't take them back apart, which is good for the feet. Asking a woman who looked mommish for her opinion, we decided that the red one that kinda looked like a bug was cooler than the blue one that kinda looked like a bug, and so I bought that one.

And today I delivered them to the Starbucks on Diversey. right off of Clark.

I have more to say, but I'm tired for now. I'm tired and worn out and have heartburn from eating chips and dip for dinner, and Cricket won't leave me alone (ie: shut the hell up) unless she's being discernably adored from a distance.

Maybe I'll share more tomorrow.
Because I've got plenty to say.

rabbits and gifts

...two thoughts

1) I am now convinced that rabbits are put on this earth to have their fur dyed attractive colors and then be used to keep me warm during cold weather. I am busy lusting after a rabbit-fur collared and lined Dana Buchman trenchcoat at TJ Maxx. I will not buy it because it is too expensive. It does not make me lust after it less, though.

2) On the lusting after thought, I would like the following things for Christmas:

• A new firm full-sized mattress. Mine has pixie-shaped indentations on all four sleeping surfaces, which does not lead to a comfortable night's rest. This is my dream bed.
  
• Swiss Colony Fruitcake. Preferably the Christmas model. And in the largest size possible. However, the Fruitcake Medley is nice, too.
• New Shearling Slippers. (Ahem, mom.)
• Highest priority things off the Amazon wishlist. Although, anything off the wishlist is pretty cool.
• The new Depeche Mode CD.
  
• TJ Maxx or Marshalls giftcards.
• Money.
• Whatever else you think is appropriate.
  

something i received.

(sort of an askpixie.)

From Bethany Taylor (bethanyXXXXXX@cox.XXX)
To: askpixie
Subject: commenting on your page!

"You do not seem like a very friendly person. If you have a ques./ answer
page maybe -you should actually look into properly answering the ques. and
not getting po'd that people ask you about something that you don't know
about. Get Educated!! and if you don't then take your little website off the
internent so people don't inconvenience you with ques. about things you have
no idea about!!!"

I'm not sure specifically what this email is in reference to, but I'm guessing it's either about how I respond to questions about Eyelash Extensions or Thermal Relaxing, which is the majority of what people ask questions about.

And if you read any of my askpixie answers on these topics, they always include a link to a page specifically tailored to answering those questions with everything I've already read/heard/been told and then shared, or at least resources to people that are better equipped to answer their queries.

Such as, from http://www.pixiemartin.com/eepixie.htm:

"What I know about eyelash extensions, eyelash glue, and the whole long eyelash craze in general:

"First off, I am not answering any more questions about eyelash extensions. If you wish to forward me more information on the subject, I will be more than happy to add it to this page.

"The actual function of askpixie is as an advice column for my website, www(dot)pixiemartin(dot)com, but a lot of people have made eyelash extension queries, and a lot of other people have answered them, so they all got an area of their own.

"What I can tell you is that I am a licensed cosmetologist, but I have never actually performed this procedure.

"I also don't do cosmetics or skincare services, but I do technically know some things about cosmetics and skincare, and could theoretically do them.

"I live in Chicago, and I have no idea where you can get eyelash extensions done anywhere, nor do I know about where you can get trained to do them or buy supplies, beyond the places that I'm listing here.

"And, everything I have personally learned about eyelash extensions online, beyond that which has been volunteered, has been gleaned from google searches, and shared with you here.

"It takes some time, but that's where the majority of the answers to people's questions come from, which means you do have the power to find this information for yourself.

"Basically, I don't know anything about this service at all. I'm only sharing what I've read or been told."

Or, from http://www.pixiemartin.com/trpixie.htm:

"What I know about japanese thermal reconditioning, thermal relaxing, and straightening in general:

First off, I am not answering any more questions about thermal reconditioning, thermal relaxing, or straightening.

Once upon a time, like in early 2002, there was almost no information about TR on the web, but now, there is a hell of a lot more informative stuff out there than what I have to offer. There are more salons doing this now than I could shake a stick at, and they all seem to have info about the service on their sites. Most of them even have areas where you can ask questions yourself.

The actual function of askpixie is as an advice column for my website, www(dot)pixiemartin(dot)com, but a lot of people made straightener-based queries, so they got an area of their own.

What I can tell you is that I am a licensed cosmetologist, but I have never actually performed this procedure.

I also don't do regular relaxers, but I do know how they work and could theoretically do them.

I live in Chicago, and have no idea where you can get this done anywhere but here, and then I don't really know all the places that do it here, either. I do know that most Ulta Salons do offer Rusk Thermal Str8, and that Carissima on Clark St. does Bio-Ionic.

And, everything I have learned about thermal reconditioning/relaxing/straightening beyond what has been shared with me by the helpful public has been gleaned from google searches.

It takes some time, but that's where the majority of the answers to people's questions come from, which means you do have the power to find this information for yourself.

And there are so many different brands and options out there, I can't even name them all... Shinbi International (Liscio), Yuko, Bio-Ionic, Magic Hair, & Rusk Thermal Str8 are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

Here is an actual hair-based advice site with a huge section dedicated to queries just like yours, but other information is offered up in the actual askpixie entries."

How dare I state that I am not equipped to answer a question on a topic that is something outside my realm of expertise, answer it to the best of my limited ability, and then provide resources for the person asking the question to actually find the answer for themselves?

I must be a total bitch!

I guess I should 1) Invest a few thousand dollars into taking classes in both of these topic areas. 2) Then lobby corporate, so that I can go about setting up the salon to provide these services. And when they say no, 3) quit my job at the salon where I am employed, consequently losing all of my benefits and security, to go 4) open my own salon, to the tune of a hell of a lot more than a few thousand dollars. And then once I 5) secure the financing for that venture, and have 6) adequately advertised, 7) staffed and 8) supplied my new salon, I should then 9) do these particular services on the eager public for a while to get practice, just so that I can 10) authoritatively answer questions that I have already provided ways to get answers for by people that are already in the know.

Of course, after the aeon that it would have taken me to achieve these ten steps to successfully helping answer the public's queries had actually passed, I certainly wouldn't have the time to answer any of them anyway. I would be either in debtor's prison, hiding out from a loan shark in the interest of keeping my life and limbs intact, or else just plain be too busy running my successful salon to play around on the internet with idiots like you.

You know, you might actually be right about me not being a very nice person.

Thank you for that insight into my being.

Maybe that's something I'll put my energy into working on in the new year.