The Ladybug Chronicles

When I was young and naive, I adored ladybugs. Their red and black wings and round little bodies always looked friendly to me. Back when I thought they were beautiful and innocent, I relished in the rare moments when God would send a ladybug my way. All of this was before I moved into a house with a strange infestation of these polka dotted beasts. Now I hate them.

Everywhere I turn in my house, there is a ladybug or two breaking up the view. They creep and crawl around the bathroom sink and floor. They lurk near the windows, often falling to their death on the carpet below. One even menacingly waltzed across the rim of a dirty coffee cup on the kitchen counter. I washed that cup twice before putting it back in the cabinet. And thanks to that rogue crawler, I have fits of paranoia if I leave a glass on the table and even briefly take my eyes off of it. I have visions of bunches of ladybugs swimming in my drink with microscopic loofahs to keep their wings nice and shiny.

Tonight I had a true moment of terror at the hands of one of these demons. As I peacefully lounged on the couch reading a novel, I heard a quick buzz fall past my ear, felt a tap on my left hand, and then felt another one on the side of my head, as if a ladybug took a dive and richoceted off my hand into my hair. In a panic, I grabbed Felicia who was snoozing at my feet and I asked her to find the bug. Dachshunds were bred to be hunting dogs, after all, so I figured her instincts would kick in. Instead, she stared at me, annoyed to have been roused so rudely from her slumber and not in the least bit interested in sniffing anywhere on my head for the intruder. So I ran into the other room to seek John's help. He got up and looked through my hair and clothes, but he found no ladybug. When he stopped his search, I pointed to the floor, "Look!!! There it is!!!" He picked up the bug body and turned it over on his finger. It was only wings! The black body was nowhere to be found under this shell. "I think this one has been dead for awhile," he said and then traisped it back to the trashcan. My mind still racing, all I can think is that the ladybug is a more crafty creature than I first imagined. It must have shed its wings and burrowed its body into my shoulder to lay ladybug eggs!

Earlier in the week, before the ice storm shut the schools down for three straight days, I conversed with a co-worker about my ladybug plight. She told me that she had the same problem when she first moved into her current house. She told me it took her a few years of diligently vaccuuming up every spot of red that caught her eye before she noticed the population dwindling. A few years?! What's worse, the exterminators wouldn't help her because ladybugs are supposed to be helpful bugs. Maybe so, but they aren't helping anyone when they're inside my house.

As a little girl, whenever I asked my mom why God created this creature or that creature, she would patiently smile and tell me that every little being in God's creation has a purpose, even the ravenous mosquitos that would pester us on our family vacations at the river. I used to think the ladybugs' purpose was to brighten up an otherwise drab day with their rare bursts of beauty. Now that I am living in an apparent ladybug refuge, I think their purpose is to hasten the day when I am finally committed to the psychiatric ward.

Boot Camp

Our new gym, which opened on Friday, offers fitness assessments to determine how old your body feels versus hold old your body actually is. John and I took advantage of this opportunity, knowing that our results would probably not be ideal. I won't say what John's results were, but I learned that even though I just turned 28, my body age is 29. I attribute this more to my diet than to my fitness regimen. See, I know that I don't eat as well as I know I should, but I like to pretend the exercise I regularly engage in is enough to counterbalance my eating habits. I found out yesterday that it's not. Sure, my body doesn't feel that much older than it actually is, but it would appear that my 2-3 times a day chocolate indulgences are killing me slowly.

Without divluging how old John's body feels, I'll just say that John and I were both so taken aback by our results, that we signed up for the boot camp program at our gym. What this means is that we are paying our gym extra money for the privelage of waking up at 4:30am five days a week for 12 weeks in order to get to the gym by five to go through military-style training. Neither of us has the discipline to do this on our own, so hopefully the financial commitment will be what we need to get our acts together. My fitness assessment stated that I have the potential to go from body age of 29 to body age of 18 if I just take care of some problems (like body composition, VO2 max, and flexibility). This boot camp will supposedly help me on this path, even though I'm already a little nervous about how my body is going to react to having to run before the sun rises.

Juiced Up

So I had major asthma issues last week. My doctor put me on an oral steroid to try to ease my symtoms. I will be the bearded lady at the next carnival you go to. I'm quite excited about this career move, actually.

Blisters

I have blisters the diameter of tangerines on both of my heels from wearing worn out socks to the gym and convincing myself that it was a good idea to work through the pain. I wonder what people were thinking when they saw me gingerly yet ungracefully waddle through the grocery store buying only mozzerlla cheese. Even as I set here, my heels are throbbing, the liquid moving and settling into the pouches. Ah, well...Happy 2006!

Haircut

Well, on Tuesday, I ventured out into a new salon and let a woman much younger than me have at my hair. She convinced me to get highlights, which turned out quite blond. John loves them, but I'm still not sure how I feel about the look. My mom laughed when I told her that this fake hair look might be a little too young for me. I realize I'm only 27, but I don't want to have hair that looks like my students. I like that cut, though. It's layered, but I can still pull it back when I go to the gym. Here is what I look like now, although the lighting in this picture does not capture the true blondness of my highlights which are close to white in some places:

Give Kim a New Haircut

I haven't gotten a haircut since the mullet disaster last April. It's so hard to find someone who can cut my naturally curly hair. But now my hair is starting to look shaggy, so almost 9 months later, I am thinking that I need to venture out to find a new stylist. I've actually been thinking this for a few weeks, but my last haircut was such a disaster that I've been too nervous to call some place new and try again. John suggested that I may have some good luck at an uppity salon in nearby Columbia. After all, the rich women of that area will not settle for mediocrity in haircuts. I figured he had a point, but I still procrastinated on making an appointment. John got tired of my whining, so he found a place and called to make an appointment for me for next Tuesday. I'm jittery already. Now I need to figure out what I want to do with my hair. So, I am seeking counsel from anyone who wants to give me their opinion. Here is my face (with my hair up):

Now, below are ten links in no particular order to some hairstyles I've found that don't look like too much work for me. Please try to envision the hairstyle on my face (above) and tell me which way I should go. I am also open to other suggestions if you happen to find a look that might suit me better and you want to share it with me.

One
Two
Three
Four (the picture on the left)
Five
Six
Seven
Eight (the picture on the left)
Nine
Ten

A lot of these pictures are very similar and similar to my past hairdos, so I'm not really being too adventurous. And I'm not plannig to color my hair, so I'm just looking at style. If you notice a difference between the pictures and you have an opinion or a better suggestion than what I've found, then let me know what you think. I have a week to decide, and I'm going to need all of that time just to get my courage up since I am still scissor-shy.