Monthly Archives: February 2012

Past Unposted Posts. Sort Of.

Hey kids! Putting up a couple of things that got posted on Facebook, but were written before I did this blog set-up…..

This one is from November of 2011:

 

At best my train of thought is……..skippy……….so follow along as best you can, if you’re interested, that is….┬á ­čÖé

I’m a redhead. Yes, I get some help with that…….I mean, my lord, I’m 43………and the grays aren’t just creeping in, they’re forming a royal corona on my head! But since my high school days, when hair coloring became the monthly event that it’s been ever since, no matter what color I use, it always comes out red (from strawberry to ‘holy shit maroon’)……….except for this one time.

That reminds me of a story…………

There’s a joke in that phrase; an old one that goes back to my Mom. To digress for just one little minute, it’s something that comes from her. My Mom always has a story………she taught school for over thirty years, moved house at least thirteen times (sometimes cities AND states), had seven brothers and sisters, and grew up with the Boomers’ generation (a child of the Fifties, teen of the Sixties)…………..so there’s no shortage of stories to be had. When she retired from her profession, she was presented with a book. The title was “That Reminds Me of a Story”………and it was blank. I don’t think she’s written any down, in the book, yet…….but I’m so hoping that she does. My memory holds a crapload of information, but no WAY could I hope to duplicate the preponderance of hilarity HER memory holds…..
I’ve been told (ad nauseum) that I do the same thing…….when I leave a place of work, or move, my friends always tell me that they’re going to miss my stories…. Which is odd, considering that I’m not usually aware that I’m telling them…….

At any rate, thinking about haircolor (and musing that it’s about time to ‘re-up’) reminded me of a story……….

Back in the day, in my twenties, I had three small children (this is prior to the birth of the fourth), and I used a store-bought product that purported to produce ‘Ash Blonde’ results………in my case, it produced Strawberry Blonde, but that’s neither here, nor there….
During a trip to WallyWorld, we purchased a backup box, since I’m forgetful, and usually don’t think of ‘renewing the red’ until it’s way overdue…….the box sat there in my bathroom cabinet for the rest of the month, with me bypassing it for lack of ‘me time’, what with the little kids and all…….
One evening, when all had been put to bed, and there was actual quiet in the house, I decided that although I needed to clean and vacuum, I might actually be able to get my hair done. I scurried upstairs, quickly mixed up the potion (I’d done this hundreds of times, no need to read the info), and raced the clock to get my cleaning done in the allotted 25 minutes I had, before it was time to shower out the chemical.

Cleaning accomplished, I hustled back upstairs to the bathroom, stripping on the way in (I’d passed my 25 minutes by about 5, no big shakes, what’s the harm?) and streaked past the mirror on my way to the shower. I got about two steps away before my brain said, “Wait just one damn minute. PERIPHERAL IMAGE ALERT!!), and I backed up to do a double-take in the mirror.

My hair was black. BLACK!!! Not ‘oh I’m a brunette’ black, or ‘I have a Native American heritage’ black………….it was ‘I just dipped my head in a bucket of tar’ black! BLUE BLACK……..’I’m a Goth before it was even invented’ black………

I stood there numbly, staring at the bizarro, vampire-esque creature in the mirror…..and then frantically dug through the trashcan for the used product containers……never let it be said that I’m not a charter member in the “This CAN’T have HAPPENED!!” club………..if I found out ‘why’, maybe it wouldn’t be real? I have no idea. It’s all blur for those next few moments, until I dug up the empty chemical bottle that said, “Coal Black”.
“Coal Black”…….in a box that was supposed to be “Ash Blonde”……..now, I’m sure some jokester was yucking it up when he/ she made the switch (those were the days when these boxes weren’t glued shut)……….but whosoever had done this evil thing sorely missed out on the result of their wit.
Once it was real………REALLY REALLY REAL……I burst into sobs, and just stood there, looking at my undead image. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m pale…….Irish heritage and all………….and I like to use a term to describe my skin color (I believe it was coined by actress Amy Adams) as ‘fish-belly blue’………..with my hair masquerading as tar, I looked like I’d last seen the sun rise back in the Middle Ages.

A few minutes into my pity party, I heard my daughter (who was three) calling for me…..apparently, I’d waked her up with my caterwauling. I composed myself as best I could, called, “I’m coming!”, and stepped out into the hallway, to find her standing sleepily outside her room.
She blinked. She blinked again. She rubbed her eyes……and blinked. Her face crumpled up, tears started rolling, and she said:

“OH NO, MOMMY!!!!! You look like SNOW WHITE!”

 

Post Script: I got a lot of the blue-black bleached out……which took the color from ‘undead black’ to dark brown….which eventually faded to reddish brown. But I think that was the first time I ever scared a child by looking like a cartoon. Not that it was the last!!!

Later, kiddos!

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Fat Lip Days…

I realize, of course, that with this being my first ‘official’ blog, I should be writing a Welcome Message, extolling everyone to come and play, read my random thoughts and ideas, and generally starting the ball rolling, but……….

I woke up this morning with a fat lip.

Nasty, horrific cold sores, oh how I despise you!!! There’s nothing in the world like having some gratuitous, undeserved, unearned, and truly foul virus that sporadically comes back to haunt and taunt you when you’re pretty much ALREADY feeling like crap-on-a-stick…..

Pre-period week? WHAM!…….. “Oh, hey there my host, did you forget about me?”

Cold/flu/stomach virus? BA BAM!……. “Hi, my host! Just dropping by to leave you a little reminder that I’m here, and I won’t ever leave you!”

To make matters worse, I somehow either ended up with a strange variation of the herpes simplex 1 virus, or my body/ immune system ‘reads’ it in a different way………..yes, I eventually end up with the┬áyucky, crusty, easily identified mouth lesions. But before that happens, whichever lip is so lucky as to rate the newest visitor SWELLS UP, like I’ve been popped a good one in┬áthe mouth by a hasty fist whose owner didn’t take well to my sarcasm.

Which reminds me of a story………….

Several years ago, I woke up with a fat lip. It was my lower lip……….and since I’m one of those lucky individuals that seem to have┬áno UPPER┬álip, to speak of, it looked……..atrocious. You know that feeling you have when you’ve been to the dentist, and your lower lip is still numb, and feels like it’s protuding at least an inch from your face in a grotsque parody of a Neanderthal? That’s what my lower lip looked like. Lovely.

At the time, I had four children living at home, and it soon became apparent that I’d put off going to the grocery store for way too long. Yes, kids, I was going to have to venture out to Walmart…..

Since you can’t really go into a Walmart with your lower face wrapped in a scarf, a la terrorist chic, I tried to at least make myself more presentable than a usual Walmart run warrants. Ergo, I did not set out in pajama pants and sweatshirt, but instead put on ‘real’ clothes, fixed my hair, and made an attempt at naturalizing makeup. This was a relatively small town, and I was pretty much guaranteed to run into people I knew, at which point I would then have to make inane, herpes-deprecating comments to get the hell away on my business, and get the hell out of Dodge, as quickly as possible. This, I knew and expected……….

After several obligatory exchanges with acquaintances, during which I almost WISHED I’d come swathed in a scarf, Taliban references or no, I finally came to the last stop I had to make……the bread aisle. As I hunted up the standard bread items I needed, I noticed a woman…….a stranger to me…..that seemed to be watching me. All herpes-activated paranoia aside, I kept catching her staring at me, and lingering on the aisle, when she clearly was no longer looking for bread-related products. One of the times that I glanced her way, and caught her looking at me, I gave her that automatic, polite, yes-we’re-both-in-Walmart-hell smile that you give……….which seemed to give her the opening she’d been waiting for.

While I was reaching for the five-grain wheat bread, I realized that the woman was right beside me. In my area….you know, that special little bubble of space that only friends, family, and grubby children are supposed to enter. ACK!

As I tried NOT to look like I expected a knife to the ribs, she leaned even closer to me, and said, sotto voce, “Get out NOW, while you still can!” She didn’t step away.

I stared at this stranger with what I know looked like abject terror on my face………she had looked away, as if checking for anyone that had been eavesdropping, and then she turned back to me. With an expression of pity and ‘understanding’ glued to her features.

I’m usually pretty quick, but that one got me…………..it took me a couple of seconds, but I finally GOT IT. She had noticed my fat lip, and probably my hunching, hurrying posture (which, in reality, was get-me-the-fuck-outta-this-store-as-quickly-as-possible body language, but which she had read as abused-woman-hurrying-from-embarrassment body language)………..

She had stepped out of the traditional stranger-politeness role, to try to help me.

So I did the only thing I could do, at that moment………I glanced down, smiled a small, tremulous smile, and said, “I am getting out. Thank you.”

She patted me on the back, and walked away.

I bought my eggs, milk, Pop Tarts, and bread………..and got the hell out of Walmart.

Some of you might think, as I did that day while driving home, that it wasn’t the right thing to do. After all……small town. But the conclusion I eventually came to┬áregarding the whole deal was this; a perfect stranger saw someone she thought was being hurt……she tussled with herself, debating whether to intercede, or not……..evidently, she came to the decision that it was wrong not to at least try……..by my going through a long, drawn-out explanation of my herpes lip, she would have been embarrassed, and would have felt the need to apologize………

Did I do the right thing? I have no idea.

One thing I can tell you, though, is that Fat Lip days suck large.

Later, kids!