My Bobbin’ Brain and How I Got This Hole in My Cheek

When I was eleven, my cousin got married. I was the rice girl - back before they knew rice made birds explode - and there was some drama concerning my dress. Other than that, the only other thing I remember about that wedding is a song that played at the reception. I was minding my own business, socializing and being cute (I mean, being myself), and this sound came out of the speakers and everyone around me starting tapping their feet, or getting up to dance.

“Just take those ol’ records off the shelf, I sit an’ listen to them by myself, today’s music ain’t got the same soul, I like that ol’ time rock n’ roll…”

I was transfixed! This is an awesome song! How come I had never heard this song before? Where can I get mine???

Unfortunately, this was the age before downloads and itunes. (This was even before the age of (affordable) CDs!) There was no way to just google something and have the information in front of my eyes in seconds. I could not find out who was singing this magical song! But I stored the melody in my memory, stored the sound of that voice, and continued with the party.

Fast forward, twenty-two years. Saturday, February 27, 2010. I know now that Bob Seger sings that song. I have known for a long time now. I have several of his albums in my collection, and his greatest hits album is on my ipod. Starting yesterday, Bob has dominated my brain. My head is filled with “you’ll accomp’ny me…, workin’ on the night moves…, turn the page…, and, of course, ol’ time rock n’ roll…”. During my two hours in the car so far today, I have listened exclusively to the Bob Seger Greatest Hits from 1994. And it isn’t enough! I can’t wait until my journey home tonight, when I get to listen to more Bob! Why the sudden obsession with Sir Seger? No idea. Not one freakin’ idea. I mean, I like him, I’ve always liked him. And I listen to the album from time to time, but rarely do I have a compulsion to listen over and over and over again. Just another urge in music. Take it or leave it. But my recommendation is to get out your Bob Seger and rock out. Now.
Now on to the hole in my cheek. I am, of course, exaggerating (I’ve been known to do that). I don’t have a hole in my cheek. But it certainly feels like it. And it is totally my fault. I went to get my eyebrows waxed today. First of all, I would like to say that yesterday, they didn’t need waxing. It always seems like they pop out in the middle of the night, full length -and suddenly, from nowhere - UNI-BROW!!! If anyone has any insight into how exactly this happens, I would appreciate it.
Back to the story. I drove up to Calhoun today to go to the outlet mall and meet Kelly after she got off work. On the way, I realized my eyebrows had, once again, grown overnight. Not knowing anything about Calhoun, I stopped at the first nail salon I saw – the one right across from the outlet mall. As this was an unexpected pit stop, I wasn’t quite prepared, and didn’t go through my normal stages of routine gear-up for eyebrow waxing. (Yes, just one more routine in my OCD life. For more information, read yesterday’s blog.) The routines for waxing are few yet extremely necessary. They consist of a series of deep breathing exercises (about five minutes), and gum. Gum is essential. I bite down just before the waxer rips the strip of paper off my brow in anticipation of the hurt that never actually comes.

Usually, having done my deep breathing, the bite is slight and with the gum strategically placed in two spots between my back upper and lower teeth, there is little tactile notice of my biting.

Unusually, (read: today) I did not breathe. I did not put any gum in my mouth. And when the waxer put that strip of paper on my eyebrow, I chomped. HARD. I tasted blood. Distracted by the pain and that creepy salty taste, as well as trying my best to not cry in front of everyone in the salon, I barely noticed him do the other eyebrow and then tweeze the crap out of the few stubborn hairs that are never removed by wax.

Resigned by my lack of routine, insulted by my own negligence, I walked out of the salon and spit blood like Ivan Drago (that 20-foot tall Russian guy) when Rocky finally got him.  (And couldn't help but think, "If he dies, he dies...) 

So now I have this pain in my mouth, this knot in my gut, and a resolution to never break routine again. No matter how last minute or taken off guard I am. Hopefully, I can keep the resolution. Pain, as they say, is a great motivator.