This is Happening

You guys.  Things are moving fast. And by fast, I mean in the past week I've become a member of the 21st century elite.  Here are the steps I've recently taken to ensure my future as a successful and respected Woman of the Two-Thousand-Teens. In no particular order:

Step #1: Get an iPhone, CHECK
That's right, I got an iPhone, which means I'm now one of those people who has an iPhone.  A couple months ago, I was Skyping with a freelance client who was wearing some of those little white earbuds with a mic on them so you can talk on the phone without irradiating your brain. And I could hear the guy really well on Skype, but he couldn't hear me.  So, he was like, "Why don't you just use the earbuds that came with your iPhone?"

So, it's come to this.  We just assume everyone has a magic pocket computer that tells you your business.  It's not just for rich/important people who are smarter than me anymore.

So then my cell phone broke and I got an iPhone. The End.

Step #2: Get a New, Classier-Seeming Studio, CHECK
We had that old studio, right? Me and Drew and David? But then our landlord decided he wanted to use it himself for a work room, so we had to/got to move to a slightly smaller, marginally fancier room in the same building.  The good news is I was out of town this weekend, so David and Drew had to move my freightliner of a desk with their bare hands.  But then they made a sign for our door that says "Manly Mash Bar and Grill." So, whatever--I say we're even.

Notice: that door has a transom.  Claaassy.

  
Step #3: Bangs, CHECK
So, I had bangs for most of my childhood and I totally hated them, primarily because my parents insisted on my having them. Not sure why, but in my family, children have bangs. It's just a rule.

My bangs, right; my sister's bangs, left: 1984

Anyway, my friend Claudia has an eight-year-old girl who totally rocks the bangs, and I complimented them the other day while I was at her house and Claudia was like, "I cut'em myself!" One thing led to another, and over the course of like one minute, I went from not even considering having bangs to having bangs just like I did when I was 6!

And thanks to my new iPhone, they're probably the best documented bangs in the nation.

See?  We got sultry bangs:

We got weird-face bangs with baby butt:

We got the trying-to-figure-out-the-iPhone bangs:

We got'em all.

Step #4: Eradicate Ringworm, CHECK
Are we at the place in our relationship where I can talk about my ringworm?  I hope so, because if not, you should stop reading now.

For several months, I've been noticing a sort of...I dunno...rash on my abdomen? It's not super conspicuous, and doesn't itch or anything, so I just did what I usually do with rashes and waited for it to stop being there.

Because my skin, you guys...it's epic-ly sensitive, and if something's bad's going to happen to me, it's going to happen on my skin.  One time I got this weird skin parasite that took over my whole arm because I was unwittingly making it stronger with Hydrocortisone.  Finally a nurse told me I could kill it with rubbing alcohol, which worked, but it was horrible--that parasite fought me for every inch of arm I took back.  When I was a kid, I spent the summers incapacitated by poison ivy and sun poisoning. There have been warts.  If I have a stressful thought--just one--I get a huge zit on my right cheek with roots that wrap around my brain.  My skin challenges me each and every day of my life.

So this rash was kinda the least of my worries until I was walking around the house the other day without any clothes on, and Bryan was like, "Grrrrrrrl, you got The Ringworm." Yeah, Bryan is probably the only awesome straight guy in America whose wife regularly walks around the house totally butt-ass naked, and the only thing he pays attention to are her dermatological abnormalities.

Anyway, I went out and got athlete's foot medicine and we're taking care of it.  It's just a little fungus.  No biggie.

Annnnd, yeah.  That's what's happening.

Until next time, this is your sophisticated 21st century woman, signing off.