I Have No Idea What To Title This Post

Back at my Texas high school in the 80s, my friend, Alanna and I, along with every other teenaged Texan girl were a tad bit concerned completely obsessed with our hair.  As we frantically worked our bangs into a tizzy while choking on copious amounts of Final Net, we would complain each to the other, "My hair has no meaning."  Back then in Texas, a gal's hair needed to "say" something.  So it was that we did not roam the halls of learning at my high school to find the meaning of life, but simply to find the meaning of our hair.

This random story is brought to you because I just want you to realize that I am aware that The View from Behind Home Plate circa 2014, much like my bangs circa 1985, has had very little meaning. I have some ideas way in the back of my head and I even have some half finished drafts in my Drafts folders, so I am hopeful that one of these days, I will write something of substance.  Just so you know, today is not that day.  Still, because it is 4:30 in the afternoon and I need to do something with my hands besides eating all the leftover Junior Mints from the Christmas stockings, I am writing anyway. (Yes, it is Day Nine of The Year Without Diet Coke.  So what?)

First of all, I will tell you that because of the polar vortex and what-not I spent my 2nd day this morning running on the treadmill which I find quite similar to waterboarding. 

Ok, I'm pretty sure I've taken it too far there.  Sorry. 

As I believe I've mentioned, I loathe the treadmill.  Generally, I find that although I loathe cold weather as well, if I bundle up I can run outside.  Even if it's in the 30s, about half way through my 4-5 mile run, I am A-OK.  But yesterday it was 10.  10 degrees.  Ain't nobody got time for running in a polar vortex.  So, I hopped on the treadmill and found that one mile felt like an Iron Man triathlon.  I should not be surprised by this.  This is always what it feels like on the treadmill.  I have tried all kinds of things to make it better.  I cover up the display panel so that I can't watch the time or distance. I try to lose myself in morning TV.  In general, I like morning TV, but on the treadmill, I just find that it makes everything harder.  I started with the end of Regis and Kelly which found Kelly and the new Regis demonstrating a workout trend called Parkour which involves flipping around like a bunch of 3rd graders jumping on the furniture.  It was during this part of my run that I was yelling about HOW SOMEONE IS GOING TO END UP IN THE HOSPITAL FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.  I switched to Kathie Lee and Hoda and found out that there are vending machines in California that sell burritos made to order.  Hoda and Kathie Lee were all kinds of grossed out by this while I found myself wondering if Chipotle opened at 10 am or 11 am.  Those thoughts were sabotaging my progress, which at that point was about 1/8 of a mile so I switched to Wendy Williams who was discussing Jessica Simpson's prenup.  I think I might enjoy The Wendy Williams Show.  Don't judge.  During commercial, I switched to Rachael Ray.  She tried to tell me that spaghetti squash is 99.9% as satisfying as real spaghetti.  So that made me yell out, LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE at the poor girl.  I've never actually had spaghetti squash.  That statement just seemed at the very least, misleading.

I pulled the plug on my treadmill after a very impressive 2.3 miles and went to Target to find some plastic bins to help me with the Basement Storage Project That Will Never End.  I also bought two bottles of lotion, some Neutrogena facial soap, a bottle of wine and some plastic hangars.  I got out of there under $100 which pretty much never happens.

Hey, wake up.  I'm still typing.

When I got to my car it was surrounded by about fifteen of these birds having some sort of convention in the Target parking lot.

I'll have you know that I thought it might be the end times.  I looked around hoping to find Jesus, but only saw more birds.  What is that about, people? It freaked me out more than a little bit so I practically dove into my car and started out of the parking lot only to find that this little bird had some sort of death wish and would not get out of the way of my car.  I sat in my car for a full minute trying to get it to move.

 

 

But then it did move and I went home.

 

I've lost complete control of this blog post at this point.  I've no idea how this is going to end.

I've got it.  Let's say a prayer.  I recently got off the phone with a very sweet and very frustrated friend of mine.  I want to say that while people who lie can make a person very angry and very frustrated, they, even more so, make me very sad.  Because what people who lie don't realize is that the people who are at the other end of their lies are usually very much aware of the lying.  And what they also are aware of is that the people who are lying are generally covering up some serious pain and shame in their own lives.  And I just want to shout from the mountain tops that lying really makes healing your pain so very much more difficult.  It's just like each lie told throws dirt on the ditch you are digging for yourself.  It really does.  So in a random departure from talking about Wendy Williams and spaghetti squash and pigeons in the parking lot at Target, I would like to ask you to pray for my friend and for the person who keeps lying to my friend and at the same time you can pray for all the liar-liar-pants-on-fires out there.  Seriously, I'm not even lying.  We need to pray for the liars.  (I don't include Rachael Ray in there, by the way.  If she really thinks spaghetti squash is as good as real spaghetti, that's fine.  I don't think she's harboring any deep seated guilt that she's trying to cover up with lies about vegetables.  She's all good, I think)

In closing (you're welcome), while I'm not sure why you are still here, I love you for it which is why I will reward you with this photo of my hair from some time in the eighties.  I'm pretty sure my hair had lots of meaning on this day.  I'm not sure what my hair is trying to say here, but I can tell you that no one could get a word in edge wise when I walked into the room with these bangs.

Here's hoping you've had a day more full of meaning than I have today.  If not, perhaps your bangs are as full.