Dear Darla Diaries

why is it again?

dear alfalfa. why do boys anger me so? - darla

Why is that since Shaun went to Missouri my downs are far more frequent than up? Why is it that as we near the 10 day countdown until we get a weekend together that it is getting uglier instead of prettier? Why is it that making me a priority is the equivalent of ""I'll call you later" when later is defined as when I'm f*ng finished with EVERYONE and EVERYTHING ELSE. Why is it that "I love you" doesn't translate to actions in Missouri. Why is it that the downhill slope of 5 weeks until graduation seems like 365 days. Why is it that for being an utterly patriotic person you think that the military is one of the absolute worst jobs for married couples, with the exception of benefits of course. Why is it that he only cares to know that I'm breathing and that really, extremely pisses me off?

Why is it that ya'll enjoy reading my blog when sometimes I just feel like a big fat whiner pants with very little point who just likes to educate the world on the misfortunate experiences of military life? (With runonsentences.)

shorn with a knife and a fork

Dear Darla. Why did you let the strange woman whack your hair off with kitchen utensils? - Alfalfa

I had plans to wax philosophically about the whirlwind of a road trip I had this weekend. I had plans to write a cute little anecdotal piece penned by nephew and displaying his photographic genius also. Than I got derailed by the monstrous disaster of all hair cuts. A girl literally and randomly cut a 1 inch swath of my hair out. From the crown of my head to the nape of my neck. I knew I was courting a little disaster when I stepped foot into the ONTARIO, OREGON WAL-MART CHOP SHOP. But, I don't remember donating bone marrow while I was at it. Yes, I did pay her. Yes, I've been flogging royally for that mistake already. No, I didn't mention it to her face. Why? Because I didn't think my 8-year-old nephew needed to hear Aunt Ginny swear like a sailor and bless her with christian love while shoving her thinning shears into her obviously empty ear canal. So, after feeling the empty swath I meekly told the kind and generous hair cutter that we were in fact done and she had in fact cut enough. What else could she do? Shave me like Britney?

So I had to repair the damages. I just left the local base beauty shop. A few pounds of hair lighter. This actually the shortest I've ever had my hair. The last time I came nearly this close was one of my first post-college hair cuts. And it had been D-E-L-I-B-E-R-A-T-E. I like to think of myself as fairly laid back in the hair cutting department. Although I should preface it by saying I'm also neurotic. I get hair cuts at the speed other woman buy new clothes, makeup, purses or shoes. I'm laid back in the fact that my general motto is that "it's hair, it'll grow." I've never cried at a salon and I generally mock those that voluntarily mow theirs off and DO. Yep. Than today happened. I think I was a bit misty eyed as I sat in the big black chair solemnly watching the barber snip inch after glorifying inch off.

Now I stand in the ranks of Natalie Portman and Demi Moore. I hope I do them proud? I need some affirmation people ... do I really have a decent enough shaped head to pull this off? (And yes, there will be hate mail sent to WALMART. They will be boycotted forever for hiring a woman who's lump sum experience was trimming her dog with a flowbee.)

and then she went out and had "i [HEART] Blog" tattoed on her butt

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