Bad Hair Day

The problem with being a DJ (besides the wages) is the fact everyone uses the same windsock so the microphones are breeding places for all sorts of creations gone wrong. I have no problem using copious amounts of Lysol before and after I take the mic, to keep me and others healthy, in fact I consider it my duty. A duty many do not appreciate…Bob. Yet, in 17.6 years at KCST I’ve never called in sick (called in sick being the operative words.) I’ve missed days because I started at work, broke a tooth and ended up with eight hours of staring up at my dentist ceiling while he probes with poinkie things that make me want to pummel the life out of him. But I have never called in – stayed at home – and suffered with microscopic creations gone wrong. Even when I missed that day last month for surgery, I scheduled it off (I emotionally still consider it my first day of work missed – despite scheduling it three weeks in advance.)

Why? Because I refuse to get sick, I also hate to not be able to breathe. So at the first sign of a bug, I begin dowsing myself with vitamin C and Airborne. I usually works. Usually. But there is now a part timer, who (if he wasn’t more cold infested on death’s doorstep than me would be in deep shit) made my microphone all squirmy with creations gone wrong and I can’t breathe.

This was made only worse by the fact that, as I was driving down the road today wanting to stuff a whole box of Kleenex up my left nostril to stop the flood (the small box not the large) I noted a long black hair growing out left side of my head somewhere between jowl and my chin. Now what do you think when you see a menopausal woman with a long whisker growing out of her 1) chin 2) upper lip 3) cheek?

You think, “Jesus Mother Mary of God, can’t she see that big hairy ass black rope growing out of her chin?”

Well let me answer you now, “No of course she can’t see the fucking big black hair growing out of her chin, because she is blind and needs reading glasses.” It’s true. I borrow my husband’s reading glasses to go tweeze (you learn in beauty college that “we don’t pluck, we tweeze.” Yeah, as if Queen Victoria ever tweezed.) So long ago I asked my boss (because we’re close friends like that) to let me know if EVER I had an ugly ass deformity growing out of my chin.

Needless to say he must need reading glasses too, because I spent an hour in a meeting with him today and he never mentioned it.

I use to keep tweezers in my truck for just an occasion as this. But I stepped on them. I mean who would have thought I’d need to replace them? Really who? There’s a pair next to my chair at home, two in my bathroom, one in my make up bag, one at my desk at work, so I should never run out. But argh, I have. So I guess really I could just stuff the box of Kleenex up my nose, and as long as I leave enough hanging out no one will notice the hair.

Sith,
Cele