Kristin Williams Balla

I have added a step to my morning computer routine. When I go to my blog to check out new posts by family/friends, I also read the list of top “searches” that have directed people to my blog. Here is the latest bizarre collection:

First of all, I didn’t know that there is a famous chef who shares my brother’s name.  And who the heck is searching for a “bearded man working with a computer?” I have one (Attila) if they want to borrow one. Humans never fail to fascinate me. And “human girls in black and white” obviously fascinate someone else! 

Currently I have no viable job prospects. I did find a Monster listing  for a “Revenue Assurance Specialist” which was followed by “Armored Car Messenger.” It sounds to me like one could take care of the other.

With gentleness and tact, loved ones have made several suggestions regarding my job search. I lobbed off ten years of work history on my resume, and removed the dates after my BA and MS degrees. I look ten years younger, if I do say so myself! If it comes up in an interview I won’t lie or mislead of course, but if it doesn’t come up I don’t plan to address my jobs going back to 1743.

I was encouraged (read forced) to buy a new interview outfit. I actually was already aware that I needed to do this, but it still irked me to have to do it.  Lyryn acted as my personal shopper and we managed to find a black professional-looking pant suit and a coral collared top at Fashion Bug. Lyryn insisted that the tail of the shirt is supposed to hang below the jacket, but I felt compelled to ask the opinion of a saleswoman (a fellow grandmother). She told me that yes, it is absolutely “in fashion” and I look very professional in the outfit. Seriously? Please! 

Next, I bought myself a blow dryer. I have been air-drying my hair for centuries now. I don’t have bad-hair days, I am having a bad-hair decade! My au-natural coif has been described as “unkempt” and “unprofessional.” I call it real - relentlessly real (and easy to put up in a pony tail when I get hot flashes).

People, it’s just hair. I wash it on a regular basis. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t tell you whether or not I am smart, talented, funny, loving, compassionate, organized, etc. It only tells you what our culture has brainwashed you into believing it tells you. 

You think it tells you that I am lazy. You think it tells you that I am unprofessional. You think it tells you that if I “don’t care about my appearance” then I can’t possibly care about my work. All I can tell you is that my hair obviously lies and you are watching too much TV and reading too many fashion magazines! 

But I will still learn to blow-dry my hair into some effort-showing style (style being a relative term) so that I am not dismissed out-of-hand by potential employers. And I will buy lip gloss (just for interviews). 

I won’t wear eye makeup and you can’t make me. I am allergic to all things. I rub my face and eyes all the time. Visions of raccoons come to mind and that image would not be helpful in scoring a great job. Or maybe that is an upcoming trend I am not aware of?

My last bastion will be the dyeing of my hair. I will hold strong until I  deem myself entirely unemployable unless I  break down and do it. I am allergic to chemicals so do I really want them poured on my head? I earned every one of these kinky white hairs.  Should I not be proud of the 31 kids who put them there?

Enough ranting. I need to call my daughter Lyryn so I can schedule my blow-drying lesson.

While you will see it openly addressed in TV commercials (what isn’t?),  the rather serious issue of constipation is rarely discussed in polite company (whatever that means). Just recently, the cumulative stories of the Balla family women have caused me to ask myself the $64,000 question: “Constipation… petty annoyance or silent epidemic?” If it is happening in our family, isn’t it likely to be wreaking havoc in other families as well?

Last month Leigha had to see the doctor about the stomach pain she had been experiencing for several weeks. We were advised to get an x-ray of her abdomen, which we did. Diagnosis: Constipation. Prescription: Eat less cheese.

Several months ago Ashley was rushed from Devereux to the Bryn Mawr Hospital ER, suffering from severe pain in the abdomen. There was real concern that her appendix might be feeling just a wee bit cranky. After a full day of testing, she was discharged with a diagnosis: Constipation. Prescription: Eat less cheese (especially since Ashley is lactose-intolerant).

Johnna has never complained of this condition before, but lately… whine, whine, whine! Diagnosis: Constipation brought on by pregnancy. Prescription: Give birth to a son on or about July 5th.  

My anomaly had turned into a coincidence which seemed to be turning into a trend, so I decided to call Lyryn to find out if she too suffered from the family curse. If she did, all four daughters would be accounted for, turning my survey into a clean sweep.  And yes, you got it! Lyryn suffered from constipation during pregnancy, brought on by the use of anti-nausea medication.

Jesse happened to be in the room when I called Lyryn. Finding his end of our conversation to be slightly peculiar, he asked her “Who are you talking to - a telemarketer?” No Jesse, just your crazy mom-in-love doing a constipation survey.

So what about me? Recently I have been suffering from extreme metaphorical constipation, a word that also means “bound” or “blocked.” I have wanted very much to start writing my book and even promised a good friend that I would get 5000 words on paper (aka computer) by yesterday. I failed. I managed to type zero words, while  using several hundred thousand of them to castigate myself in my own head (quite loudly too, so please pass the Tylenol).  

In conclusion, I have learned that constipation runs rampant in my family. My recommendation to any fellow sufferers out there is this: Eat less cheese and don’t get pregnant!

As for me, on Monday I will begin writing my book. There will be a small bowl of prunes by my computer to help me on my journey.