Terri Weeding

Got my hair chopped. Wrote a poem.

Haircut Poem

Goodbye long flowing locks of my youth.
Goodbye hair that got stuck under my armpit.
And in the car window. And, in the back of my shirt.
Goodbye hair that I rarely brushed. And never styled.
Goodbye, ponytails. You’ll miss me but I won’t miss you.
Goodbye vanity.

Hello, fun, fresh, youthful look.
Hello layers that are meant to look disheveled.
Hello lightness, and bounce, and angled strands.
I will wash you and wear you down every day. I swear it.
Hello sassy attitude.
Hello freedom.

Part IV
The Conclusion
Plastic Perfection Sucks

I awoke with a start. Something was wrong. My face felt tight, as if I had left a mud mask on overnight. I tried to sit up, but a weight on my chest made it difficult. Peering down, I saw jutting mountains where sliding molehills once existed. Good Heavens! I must be dreaming.

I shut my eyes, took a big breath, and instructed my brain to wake up. This time I opened my lids as far as they would go and saw … those mountains again … and freakishly long legs that dangled over the foot board. What was going on? Panic choked me. Lunging upward, I heaved my top heavy, stilt-legged body out of bed and stumbled to the mirror.

Plastic perfection gazed back at me. “Oh, no! Oh, please, no! NOT BARBIE!!! That’s not what I meant!”

A feminine voice laughed inside my head. “You asked for perfect and beautiful.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a peculiar sight. A miniature VW bug, banana- colored, was racing toward the door. A tiny woman with spiral gray antennas sticking out of her head, and spider vein tattoos located in the strangest places, sat at the wheel.

Be careful what you wish for.

The End.

Part III
The Babe Takes Matters into Her Own Hands

A full moon the color of blood. Midnight. A courageous heart. Barbie closed the spell book. All the conditions were right. It’s tonight or never, girlfriend.

Dressed in black capri trousers, a black-ribbed turtleneck and black soft-soled flats, Barbie crept down the stairs of her three-story townhouse. She dare not wake her sister, Kelly. Kelly, the practical one, would try to stop her. Outside, she saw the little girl had parked her Banana yellow VW bug right in front. She took a moment to check the angle of her black velvet beret in the mirror and reapply a second coat of cherry red lipstick before starting the motor.

Once she cleared the playroom area, Barbie gunned the vehicle across the most dangerous part of the journey, the open hallway. The family cat patrolled these corridors hourly. Shifting into sixth gear, she put the petal to the floor. The bug shot across the white carpeted expanse in five seconds flat. When she hit the master bedroom, she turned off the engine and slid out of the car. Throwing her climbing gear over her right shoulder, she set off toward the towering bed. If everything went according to plan, she would began a new life tomorrow.

Please, please, let this work. I’m so tired of looking perfect and beautiful. I need a change and some different men in my life. I am so sick of Ken and GI Joe. I wonder what happened to Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man? Those bionic parts … Focus, Barbie! You have one shot.

The final episode of Desperation Made Me Do It will post tomorrow!
Part IV Plastic Perfection Sucks

Part II
Legendary Beauty

For over fifty years, one woman has epitomized the California Beach Beauty. Waist length blond tresses, skin the color of a summer sunset, legs that go on and on … and on, a bosom Pamela Sue Anderson would envy …. only one woman possesses the whole package. Barbie.

For over fifty years, this paragon of perfection has been relentlessly pursued by different, yet equally determined men. Ken, the dapper playboy, a man who, despite his considerable charm and money has yet to win Barbie’s heart. GI Joe, who tried to abduct Barbie repeatedly via, helicopter, airplane, parachute, and army tank. But Barbie refused to be taken. She refused to relinquish her heart or her body. Barbie survived year after year, adored by millions of girls and women until one evening …

Check back tomorrow for Part III
The Babe Takes Matters into Her Own Hands

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR (evil genius laugh)
A five part short story

Part I
Desperation Made Me Do It

Spider vein tattoos in the strangest places. Spiral gray antennas sprouting out of my head. Oh, God! My expiration date was approaching–fast. Drastic measures were required. Immediately. I gathered my energy and made the biggest, baddest wish of my life. To increase my odds of success, I directed my plea to multiple female deities; Aphrodite, Isis, the blond in the pink satin belly dancer outfit, Samantha, the TV witch … whoever … I lit candles, a few sticks of incense, prostrated myself, and began to beg. “Please, please, please make me young, and beautiful, and perfect!”

Tune in tomorrow for Part II
Legendary Beauty

Back-up Plan for Life
Join a Convent

One of these days when the stresses of wifehood, motherhood, and all those other “hoods” finally beats me down to a bloody pulp, I’m going to hitch a ride to the local convent, and find out if they’ll accept a forty-something gal, married for the second time with four children.

Think about it, free room and board, time to meditate, no financial or fashion worries, reading and writing is encouraged … sounds dreamy doesn’t it?

I think I have a decent shot. These are the reasons I feel optimistic.
I was raised Catholic so I know most of the prayers … at least well enough to mumble.
I attended an all girls Catholic college run by sisters.
I have five sets of rosary beads (one even glows in the dark), courtesy of my late granny.
I really liked Pope John.
I am willing to attend confession on a weekly basis even though I haven’t punched my brother in twenty-five years.
I’d be happy to turn over a good portion of my earthly possessions.

However, there are a few things I would not, could not do.
I cannot wear black or navy stretchy pants nor can I wear street clothes with that hat/veil combo.
I will not cook. I’ll clean, but no cooking.
I cannot kneel on a wooden bench for more than fifteen minutes. Arthritis in the knees.
I can’t take a vow of silence. I talk to myself constantly.
I can’t memorize too many long churchy pieces without a cheat sheet.
Fasting for more than one day make me really grumpy.
I cannot give up my nightly glass of red wine. (I’m not too worried about this one. )

I really do think I have a decent shot.

Five Ways to Look Younger that are cheap, enjoyable, and pain-free

1. Carry an extra five to ten pounds on your frame. This method is guaranteed to plump up many of the hollows and crevices on your face.

2. Eat chocolate on a daily basis. This simple yet blissful task immediately relaxes worry lines.

3. Smile, even if you don’t feel like it. Looking happy lifts your face. Looking pissed-off drags it down.

4. Do something goofy that makes you feel like a kid. If you feel younger, you look younger. Dance. Howl at the moon. Tickle somebody. Laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

5. Rest more. Take a nap. Meditate. Go to bed a half hour earlier.

I write outrageous fiction featuring women who take charge of their lives by finding unusual solutions to life’s every day problems. My first, novel is titled, To Kill an Armchair Husband, a dark comedy. The story is funny, sad, and surrealistic. It explores marital themes like communication, guilt, and forgiveness. Hey, hasn’t every married woman wanted to kill her spouse once or twice? A fleeting thought constitutes a yes.
 
Anyway, my heroine Charlene, Charlie for short, becomes fed up with her sports obsessed husband, Billy. A few years into their marriage, he transformed from a lusty fun guy into a lump. He now spends all his time with his three mistresses, a leather armchair, the big screen TV, and the sports broadcasting industry.

Charlie rules out divorce as an option. It’s messy, expensive, and it isn’t a permanent solution. Instead, she writes a list of the pros and cons for murder. The pros kick the cons’ butt. Still, murder IS a drastic solution. She gives Billy one last chance to redeem himself. She administers an oral test. Billy bombs it big time. A determined Charlie begins making her plans to off him using rather … unconventional methods.

That’s the premise. For more info, check out my website at http://www.terriweeding.com