It's been a pretty exciting week.

I got a new printer, I finished all of the squares for a blanket I've been working on since August, and I have started to attach them together with a new stitch, and now...

...snow.

I do love the snow, but I'm feeling a little like it only falls on the mornings when I open at work, which means shoveling. I wouldn't mind the shoveling, except it makes my face red, and it stays red for an hour afterward.

The perils of being pale.

Plus, I worked with a dark brown clay earlier in the week, which left a suspicious-looking brown stain on the heels of my hands. Seriously, it looks like I had a massive bathroom problem and didn't wash up properly.

So, combined with that, the red face might be a little odd.

Just saying.

But still, snow.

No, I didn't watch the Oscars. My poor husband and I were in bed before 9, as he is now getting his butt handed to him by the same cold that is still making me cough, even after 2 weeks. I did, however, read some of what Patricia Arquette said about wage equality, and I feel like I need to get my 2 cents in.

Why women who have given birth? What on Earth does that have to do with our earning capabilities, unless we are being paid to give birth, in which case I'd hope that women would have the edge.

I am tired of other women making women like me who don't have children feel like we don't count as full women. Like we are somehow less because we haven't carried babies in our sad, empty uteruses. I don't feel less womanly because of the lack of diapers and Snack Packs in my house.

Okay, I still have Snack Packs. Sometimes cheap pudding fixes all manner of ills.

At any rate, I have had other women actually come out and say to my face that I must hate children because I don't have any (for the record, I adore them), I get pitying looks from young mothers whenever I'm at a location that typically caters to kids (don't judge me; sometimes I just want to see some cartoons at the movies), and I get questions that lead me to believe that some of my older women friends are dying to know whether it's my husband's or my nether regions that are dried-up (that one is really nobody's business unless I feel like talking about it).

The truth is, not everybody is destined to be a 25-year-old mother. Or even a 40-year-old one. And, believe it or not, some of us aren't even devastated about it.

Until another woman creates some lady club that I'm not allowed to belong to because of my childlessness.

So I shouldn't earn as much as a full-on, childbearing woman? Don't get me wrong; giving birth is a really, really hard thing to do, as is raising children, and I give mega credit to Moms. They are awesome. But what place did that comment have in a speech about equality? Men can't help the fact that they don't have a baby-incubating setup going on down there.

I would like to get paid as much as a man, too. I feel like maybe the fact that I am smart and kind and capable ought to count for something. Maybe her speech addressed that, but all I really heard from her speech was the giving birth part. After that, I felt left out and like one more person had to comment on my life.

So I guess I really don't want someone like Patricia Arquette to speak for me. And all of you women out there who don't have babies, either because you've chosen not to or because life made that choice for you, you can be in my club. And, yes, we will have Snack Packs.

I was thinking, last night (I know, it's shocking), about the evolution of men's hair over the last decade.

I realize it's a bizarre thing to think about, but bear with me.

We were watching Property Brothers and talking about the ridiculous amount of highlighting the brothers had in the earlier shows. They also had crazy long sideburns, and the one that sells the houses had this weird pompadour thing going on, while the one that is the contractor had this 90s-style bob deal with his heavy unshaven-face beard and it was making me die a little.

Now, on my Facebook news feed, there is a proliferation of man buns and big lumberjack beards.

I am just worried about what's coming. Are we going to circle back to man-perms? Because I feel like we're headed in that direction, and I'm powerless to stop it.

Granted, my husband has beautiful curly hair, but that's different. Perms are just...I don't know, but I'm very, very afraid, because whenever perms for men come in, that means perms for women are coming in, too, and there's just nothing right about perms.

I suffered from home perms as a child. So much. It was traumatic.

At any rate, let's all keep our fingers crossed that late 80s/early 90s hair doesn't come back, because if it does, the ozone layer is in a whole lot of trouble. No way they can invent anything like Aqua-Net that will provide that crazy high hold without depleting the ozone layer.

And I will have the most unstylish hair on the block, because I just can't. My hair is too short and I just don't have that extra 45 minutes for teasing every morning.

This could also signal the return of thick blue eyeshadow. Yikes.

from ink361.com

Since I've been resting so much lately, to rid myself of this cold-gone-bonkers, I have watched a lot of TV and I've come to realize a couple of things about myself: 

First, I could watch home improvement/buying/selling shows all day. ALL DAY. They are amazing and I love them. I don't quite know what the appeal is, especially the ones where they're going to live in another country and have an urban adventure. I am never going to do either of those things, but if I did, I'd know what kind of apartment to expect.

Second, I should never watch shows that are dramas that have kids or pets in them, because the kid or pet is going to be the one that gets hurt or killed, and it takes me like a week to get over that. I watched one a week ago, the whole way through, and I am still so grossed out by the ending that I don't even want to think about it because I can't believe anyone would think up a plot-line like that, much less act it out on TV. EW.

Finally, we need to stock up on cereal and milk next time I get sick, because that is really all I ever want to eat. I realize that my love for cereal is not a surprise to anyone who's read this blog, but seriously. It's like I forget every time I go to the store that all I really need is some Cheerios and copious amounts of milk.

That's pretty much it. Profound self-discovery, right there.

So, last night as I'm tossing and turning and coughing in our guest room (because it was like the cough Olympics, and I was winning), I did what I sometimes do when I've been sick for a while and I'm running on very little sleep (I think maybe a total of 10 hours for the whole week....not great). I started having deep thoughts about life.

Holy crap. Not a good thing.

See, now that it's morning and I've talked to my husband and seen him off to work and I'm getting ready to head in myself, all of those thoughts seem ridiculous. Of course.

But not at 2 a.m. when it's just me and my brain.

So I was thinking about all of the horrible things that could happen. And then I started reading blog posts on the interwebs about all sorts of things. Now, at some point, I probably should've said to myself, "Hey. You're getting yourself all riled up about nothing. You should probably go lie down on the couch and watch some Scooby-Doo." 

In case you don't know, Scooby-Doo is the magical cure for everything.

At any rate, I did not do that. Nope. Instead, I decided to go take a hot bath. FYI, when you already have a slight temperature (and I mean, less than a degree above normal), a hot bath may not make you feel better. It may, in fact, increase your crazy.

Pretty sure that's how it went for me.

So I ended up at 4 a.m., compulsively taking my temperature to try to will it back down. That did not work. So I went back to the bed and cried about nothing, which just made me snottier, and finally fell asleep at about 4:30.

Aaaaaand got up for work a little after 5. Wow. I feel refreshed.

The lesson in all this? There is no lesson. Colds are a pile of crap, and I need to go get me some better cough syrup. Period. The end.

Happy Friday.

DISCLAIMER: If snot makes you barf, don't read this. 

Colds are gross.

Well, at least, this cold is gross.

I get that we have viruses and I get that one just has to let a virus run its course, but seriously. I don't have time for this.

Also, the snot, guys. The snot.

It's everywhere. I can't sleep at night because I'm worried about choking on it, and during the day, I have to wash my hands every time I blow my nose, which is every five minutes, because there's just so much snot.

And other people may or may not be under the impression that I am carrying typhoid. It's hard to tell because of the speed at which they run away from me, screaming.

They just don't hear my cry of, "It's okay, guys. It's just a virus and there's no way I'm still contagious. It's been like 6 days, and I don't even have a fever...just tons of snot." 

For some reason, no one's buying it.

But it's true. I mean, I was probably most contagious last Thursday and Friday, when I had no symptoms at all but a slight sore throat, which I have a lot of the time anyway because of allergies. Maybe even Saturday and Sunday, when all I had was that raging sore throat and not much else so I really still thought it was allergies. But surely not anymore by Monday, when I knew it was something but the snot hadn't really come in yet.

It's in now, though.

Sometimes, I blow my nose and I think that the amount of snot is so much larger than I would've imagined my sinuses being able to contain, and I wonder if maybe there was a mistake and some of this vast quantity of snot was meant for someone else.

Because holy crap. It's like an ocean. An ocean of snot.

This morning, I was looking at the calendar and realizing that Lent starts in two weeks.

Two weeks. It was just Christmas. That is crazy.

Then, I started feeling really excited about Lent, and I realized that my excitement was because of the pancake dinner on Fat Tuesday.

Yes, Mardi Gras in the Lutheran tradition means pancakes for dinner.

And this is why I love being a Lutheran.

Also, there are multiple toppings. Not just syrup. You can pretty much put anything you want on those bad boys AND it doesn't count about calories because it's a church thing.

They also have bacon, which I don't eat anymore, but it still smells delicious.

Multiple toppings.

We are totally having pancakes for dinner tonight because there is just no way I can wait two weeks.

I love being a Lutheran so much right now.

from mrbreakfast.com

Yep. Pancakes.

I felt like it was important for me to send a message out to all of the ladies out there. Well, men, too, I guess, but mostly to the ladies. That message is: We all have that moment.

What moment? Let me elaborate.

See, it's like this: You get home, after working all day, you talk to people periodically, whatever. Then, at some point, you have to go into the bathroom. Where there is good lighting and mirror action.

And then you see them.

Yep, I'm talking about hairs that are growing in places they oughtn't to grow. We all have different locations, but it's a common fight, man.

So stay strong.

Just keep telling yourself that no one noticed that large bushy growth springing from the area between your eyebrows. Or that mammoth mustache that popped up in less than four hours. Teenage boys would die for that superpower.

And what about those hairs under your chin, on your neck that aren't visible unless you turn your head, just so, and then the light catches it and it's like a 50-foot-long piece of spiderweb, floating carelessly on the breeze? Except not cool at all, because it's firmly attached to your neck.

So you take care of the problem, with industrial tweezers or a razor or some depilatory cream, maybe even with some wax if you've got some on hand.

But seriously. No one noticed.

And if your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/anyone else except a pet tries to come near the bathroom while you're taking care of that business, you tell them where they can go.

This is not a public spectacle, people. This is as private, if not more so, than the number two. Not a time for sharing.

So if a person gets a little crazy when disturbed during this special time, can you blame her? Of course not. Just stay as far away from the tweezers as you can, because those mofos are really sharp and you might lose an eye. So, yeah, probably go do something else for a few minutes. For the love of all that is good and decent, stay away. Let's act like this never happened. Let's pretend the person who is currently locked in the bathroom, standing with one foot on the sink and the other on the toilet in hopes of creating the perfect lighting situation AND getting proper leverage to get some containment going on this facial forest is really in there doing something pretty.

Like, maybe she's in there brushing her hair one hundred times. Let's go with that. Or maybe applying a fresh layer of natural-looking makeup. Yeah. 

She's for sure not doing anything in there that is smelly, involves bodily fluids, or is hairy. Not at all.

Let's go with that, okay?

So, all of you who fight this unwinnable battle, just know that we're all in there doing it. Well, most days. I mean, there's staying strong and there's throwing in the towel because there's a Holmes on Homes marathon waiting in the next room.

Come on. You know which way that's going to go.