I, Back-Cracked Naughty Mormom Joker

This day lived up to its promises in more ways than one.

All three meetings I had this morning did, indeed, result in curious interactions (and more than my share of pain and folly). And in between the first meeting and the second, I had a nice conversation with YogaGirl that created an interesting backdrop for all the other conversations.

The first appointment, with my killer chiropractor, included a lecture on my mousing activities (too much solitaire at work, apparently). I also got my back cracked in a truly wicked way, resulting in a headrush and the opportunity to see that little muscle-bound dynamo pace around the table like a highly engaged ... uh, lesbian collegiate volleyball coach. Or maybe a lesbian wrestling coach....

So wow. My shoulders feel heaps better, and I now have some good core training moves to do on my balance ball. Gotta get my core into some serious shape if I'm gonna have a job where I have to sit around on my butt all the time.

In between the chiropractor and my hair appointment, I had a thoughtful conversation with YogaGirl. One of the most phenomenal parts of graduate school is meeting such a diverse group of people interested in psychology and human relationships. I find that I have learned more from my colleagues -- particularly S2, YogaGirl, The Debutante and Rather Shy Classmate -- than from most of my class lecture and project experiences. What fabulous people I have had the pleasure of getting to study with and know personally....

Hung up with YogaGirl when the Hair Dresser with Chronic Low Self-Esteem summoned me to the chair. I count at least three or four times where she called me a "goober" or some other 1980s blue collar version of geek.

I told her to make me look pretty for the next appointment I had. The Hair Dresser lectured me on the "wrongness" of my plot toward long-term seduction, even though I did not reveal all that much about my intent. And when I told her what I felt my other option might be, she looked at me over my head, sheers stopped mid-cut and said, "Who are you? I don't know you anymore!"

My comments were probably a bit lesbionic for the shop today, especially because the only other people in the salon were an old woman getting her hair colored and the Hair Dresser's daughter, an underemployed Britney Spears wannabe who has in recent months become something of a fixture in the shop. She spent the duration of my cut digging in her make-up bag and applying additional layers of what-have-you to her pouty, early 20s face.

I think the Hair Dresser cut my hair a little short. She seemed to be a little displeased with me today. She gave me a brow wax and *really* ripped the wax off this time, to the point that I actually slapped her arm while she was doing it. My brows still feel a little traumatized, which is not normal. She said the problem today was the potency of this new wax she's using and the fact that I hadn't had a wax in a few months. (It's not like I haven't asked for a wax during the past couple months; she's just refused to give them to me.)

At one point today, having been called a "goober" while getting my eyebrows pulled out by their tenacious roots, I said, You do know that I come here to get abused, don't you? I live alone, and I don't get this kind of crap from anyone else. So you're it, honey! You just keep working it, OK?

After that appointment, I drove me and my slightly inflamed eyebrows to the next meeting, the one with the Woman Who Intrigues me. She was lying on her stomach on a raised platform when I arrived at her office, and the assistant who took me to her said, "Here she is ... doin' nothing, as usual."

The Woman Who Intrigues propped herself up on her left elbow and looked at me. "You've caught me in my natural state," she said.

Looks comfortable, I said. I suppose we could talk in repose.

She sat up and I sat down and we chatted for a few minutes. Then, I engaged in the great Premeditated Flirting I mentioned in yesterday's blog. You wanna know what I did? You wanna know how charming and powerful I can be?

I've got no shame, so I'll tell you: I cracked a joke about Mormon families. That's right. In an environment that theoretically should have been an epicenter of political correctness, I slyly made fun of Mormons. And then, to ensure I was offending equally, as I put it, I threw in a little punch line about Catholics.

Lucky for me, she laughed.

On my way home, I stopped at one of those urban jungles full of "big box" stores and bought a bunch of storage and office supplies. I really needed to work on a paper that's due on Friday, but I was reluctant to start it when my desk has been a hideous, out-of-control fire hazard (for a couple months). So instead of busting chops on the research, I cleaned my desk.

Now, I am looking at a pile of books and reading material from which I need to pull citations for my paper. It is beckoning me, demanding some attention before I go to sleep. So I bit you a good night,