Ever wish you could cut and color your own hair? I was born with super fine hair and I’ve always wanted it to be thicker, maybe even wavy. Stylists have colored and permed it over the years but no one has every gotten it right – at least someone could have come closer to what I asked for.
It’s always cut too short (Not so short, please, I’ll be back in six weeks); caramel colored instead of just highlighted lightly with blonde – with bleach so it has more body (No caramel color, please; it doesn’t go with my skin color.); the grey/silver is covered (Please, I’m proud of it.); it’s parted on the wrong side (It naturally parts on the right, please.); the crown cowlick is always ignored and subsequently sticks up like Alfalfa (Please, please, please cut to calm my cowlick.); it’s styled by rolling it around a big round brush, repeatedly (… even though I prefer to style with my fingers, please; could you show me how to do that?) and, the bangs are chopped super short (I like my bangs, long, please.).
I’ve had stylists who cut my bangs right, left it a bit long, parted it properly, colored to my wishes, and even left my bangs long – just not all those skills in one person. It’s no wonder that I change stylists every year. No one ever gets it right.
It would be so much easier if I’d just been born with thick hair and no cowlicks.
Why is it we’re always born wanting something else?
… two years ago and I just discovered him two nights ago.
I’m a junkie, no denying it. I will eat every M&M in the bowl, every ice cream bar in the fridge, and every peach on the tree, if left to my own will. I’ve recently discovered I can binge on TV, as well.
A friend of mine, a total bacon hog (yes, I meant to say that), recently sent me this. He loves bacon. So do I but I don’t worship it like he and his friends do. I picture them kneeling before an altar made of bacon – his addiction is that serious.
I do, however, think this, and the current bacon rage in this country, hysterical.
(Sorry, I don’t know where the photo came from. Maybe out of one of Wally’s drooling dreams.)
1. A maid could iron my husband’s shirts. I’m an ironing fanatic and can perfectly iron a shirt in no time. But, I’m sick of it. A maid could do just about as good a job as I can. And, I don’t want to have to train her; she should come well prepared.
2. A maid could make healthy meals for me. I want to eat a more healthy diet, but I hate having to figure out how to do that and then shop and cook and clean up and all that. I have lots of books about healthy eating. I could give them to my maid and she could provide fresh, healthy food three meals a day. She would also be available for midnight snack preparation, based on my whims, of course.
3. A maid could clean the fireplace out on a regular basis. It always seems to be full of ashes at this time of year and it’s such a mess to clean. It makes me feel like Cinderella, and I don’t like it. I’m much more the ugly step-sister kind of girl – no glass slippers and fancy pants princes for me. Oh, and the maid could build fires and keep them stoked while she’s at it.
We’ve been taking Italian lessons over the past couple of years, with the intent to throw some of it against the wall when we arrive in Italy and hope that it sticks. As part of that fantasy, I receive a daily “Italian flashcard” via email, which kindly gives me a useful Italian sentence, its pronunciation and meaning. I don’t always find time to learn a new sentence each day, but I keep them all knowing that someday my free time will catch up to me and I can study them all. Continue reading “La sua testa era completamente calva.*”→
7 Things You Totes Need to Stop Saying if You’re Over 30 (Oops, There’s One of Them)
A lot of us are guilty of it. Especially those of us with teens, or tweens, or kids of any age who watch kid-centric television shows or who spend a lot of time on Instagram.
We start to talk like them. Words, phrases, the flotsam and jetsam of another generation’s vernacular seeps into ours and before you know it, we catch ourselves (or our friends) dropping these little beauties into everyday conversation, Facebook updates, blog posts and tweets.
I came home today by way of the neighborhood market where I’d stopped to get the makings of chicken soup. Two days ago a co-worker came into the office with a full-blown cold. Now I don’t know if you can catch a cold in two days, but honestly, I never get sick when I’m away from that office and I have a hard and fast rule about coming into the office when sick. Unfortunately, I’m the only one who seems to adhere to it.
I couldn’t remember all the ingredients and in my feverish state, I asked the nearest woman I could find what she put into her chicken soup. Bad idea. She pointed to her husband who proceeded to tell me he’d been a cook in the Navy. He looked older and was a big burly guy – he looked and like he could sling hash onto your plate and beat the crap out of you if you didn’t like it. Not wanting to get the crap beat out of me, I listened for about 15 minutes while he told me what he put in it, why I shouldn’t eat wheat, should take a lot of different vitamins, eat lots of vegetables, never eat corn and a bunch more stuff than I can’t remember. Continue reading “Chicken soup and helpful strangers”→