Hairy Issue

I’m not sure what’s happened.

Besides turning 40, working full-time, and having kids – absolutely nothing has changed about me.

Except my hair. Actually this is not my hair. This is brillo that started growing on my head about a decade ago.  The hair that I was born with has left the building. I shrug and pretend not to care – while being totally and completely obsessed with it (sound familiar? story of my life?)

Last year – I found gray brillo.

So I decided to take the leap and get my hair highlighted – something to jazz myself up a bit.

You will or won’t be shocked to find out that coloring your hair results in über brillo hair. Who knew?

Apparently everyone but me knew. So I’ve been on a mission to debrillo.

I’ve tried expensive shampoos, deep conditioners – I’ve slapped on the Keratin, the agave, the coconut oil.

If you are my husband reading this – I’ve spent almost no money on all this. If you are everyone else reading this – I’ve spent a small, compact, American made car’s worth of money on it.

I think I’ve found it. IT. Actually – two its.

First of all – you can buy whatever shampoo/conditioner you want. . I think that all shampoo is the exact same.  And if you think it’s different or have proof otherwise, please don’t tell me.  I use a 2in1 in the shower – come out and use this little baby. About the size of a quarter’s worth worked through my hair. Smell it once – you’ll be hooked. It’s like my hair’s true soul mate. They belong together. I meant to take a picture when it was still full – but I use it fanatically.

Then, after you Biosilk it – but before you blowdry/iron/tease/shellac – spray this baby on.  You don’t tease your hair? You aren’t a 60′s housewife? Stop trying to edit this blog please – and read on.

And it really is a 10. It’s perfect in every way.

My hair isn’t what it used to be pre-kids, pre-marriage, pre-life … but it’s better. It’s less heavy-duty scrub pad.

Meatloaf memory

There’s a few posts that have been stuck in my brain – one of them is about my J.O.B – but it’s Saturday, and I really don’t want to think/write/delve into work right now. Even though I love my work to bits, we’ll save that for another day.

I’ve been meaning to tell you about the awkward, long, frustrating courtship that my husband and I had in college. To clarify – I consider “courting” everything that happened before we got together.

Let me set the scene – I was 19, he was 21. I think I’ve told you all that I met him through a friend, who had grown up in the same neighborhood. The only thing she’d told me about him was that he was….quiet, a loner. She was surprised he was even talking to her then – but apparently they were in the same class and he needed notes.

It turned out that he lived in my dorm – on my floor – across the hall from me. We started hanging out, going to lunch, going to dinner, walking to class, meeting up between classes etc. We talked about movies, family, music. He couldn’t believe that I had never listened to Neil Young, Led Zeppelin or any of the classic rock he considered Bible. Back then he was Elton John obsessed – the Springsteen obsession happened much later, during his 30s.

He made me tapes upon tapes upon tapes. I considered each one a secret message conveying his love and desire for me. But weeks, months into the talks, the walks, the chats, the meals – nothing. Not one little hint that he liked me.

I decided it was because we were never alone. My roommates, friends, etc. were always around when we were together. So I started plotting “alone” time. No go. Nothing. It was like I was stuck in a French film – all we did was talk. I was pissed. I didn’t even like all that music I was being forced to listen to – and I couldn’t deal with one more conversation about why The Godfather was the shit!

It was time to let it go. Almost.

At the end of October we heard that we’d have a concert on campus. Someone named Meatloaf was coming to perform. Huh? Who? Never heard of him. But the campus went crazy – apparently he was a corny, cheesy classic. All my gal pals started singing his “hits”. Paradise by the Dashboard Lights, I’d do Anything for Love, etc. I chalked this up to a New York thing.

Then something crazy happened – the boy told me that he’d buy me tickets to the concert because I had to go, I needed to hear him live. Now ladies, am I crazy or does this sound like a date to you? I was thrilled. Like a bat out of hell yeah I’d go (sorry).

What I didn’t realize until that night is that the loner, the shy guy, the dude who was really on his own for the most part – decided to go with 80 other people. I’d never even seen him talk to all these people – where did they come from??

Thank goodness that one of the peeps was his sister. I’d find out later that they were (and are) very close and nothing made them happier than sharing a concert together. She was the opposite of the boy. Like oil and water opposite. She was easy to smile, laugh, and be silly. I immediately loved her. She made you feel like you were her best friend the moment you met her – unlike her brother who had you go through a long, slow interview process to earn his time.

By then I was so over the weirdo courting/hanging out that I decided to just let loose and have some fun. There was cheap beer involved. We all went to the concert (where he DID NOT sit next to me, I’m just sayin’) – and then back to his room. Again – who are all these people? His sister and I spent most of the night talking – and I spilled my beans. Everyone knew I liked her brother – except her brother.

She was giddy with excitement. She begged me to tell him – she begged me to let her tell him. And because I was tired, and had just sat through the most heinous concert (where an actual meatloaf was thrown at Meatloaf) and again – cheap beer was involved – I gave in. Fine. Tell him. What did I care. Nothing was going to happen. Trust me, besides jumping him, I’d tried everything else.

So she told him. And it turned out that he liked me too. The very next night he kissed me and it was all over, for me. He told me that all those days, weeks of talking he just didn’t know. And that he wanted to be sure, really really sure that he wouldn’t be rejected. Dummy.

This is us – circa Meatloaf concert.

oh boy

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

That’s what we should have named these three.

Watch out 3rd grade – here they come.

Actual overheard (ok, eavesdropped) conversation between them:

Trouble 1 – “You know what we should do? We should take our bikes to the river and catch fish with our hands.”

Trouble 2 – “What river? Oh you mean the pond?  There’s only dead fish there. Once I did that and brought home a fish and my mom screamed.”

Trouble 3 – “Yeah – let’s make them scream!”

Then they get distracted by building the greatest Lego city that ever was, have a juice pack and call it a day.

Love them.

Arty Farty Party

Because most of Pennsylvania has turned Caribbean – it rained this morning, hard.  Now it’s sunny, hot and sticky. I had warned the kids that I’d be on work calls for a good 6 to 10 hours and they’d need to fend for themselves – just another Tuesday around here.  So they came to me with a unified plan of attack to occupy the morning, and because I was still half asleep, distracted and we had most of the supplies – I agreed.

They found an art project on YouTube.  See – the internet isn’t evil.

If you’re a mom (or me) you know that moment when your kid comes to you with an art project….sheer dread. The mess, the fights, the….the glitter. The horror.

But this was different. Only a few steps needed – and it was something they could really do on their own.  Here’s what the finished product looks like:

Here’s what you need: a plain white canvas, a glue gun (or two if you don’t want fights) and a box of crayons (or two…you know why). You’ll also need a hair dryer.

Cover your work area with newspapers or garbage bags.  I tried to cover the kids with garbage bags too but they wouldn’t let me.

Line up all the crayons on the canvas in whatever pattern you like – we went with rainbow order. Hot glue gun them into place. This is the point where my boy decided he’d had enough and left all the heavy lifting to his sister.

Once all the crayons are glued on – stand the canvas up,  zap with the hair dryer and watch the Jackson Pollackesque magic.

Look at that beauty. I always knew my kids were special.

Once you have the hang of it – you can crazy – look at the possibilities!  I see a Christmas card in here somewhere.

Pop Culture Vulture – part deux

The Oxford English Dictionary just added the word Pop Candy to the next printing. Defined as “information that is not relevant but is hugely interesting on a surface level”.  Finally. A motto I can live by.

On that note – here’s all the non-relevant but interesting (to me) information that’s been churning around in my head – SPOILERS AHEAD!

  • Breaking Bad is breaking me down. Did you see last night’s episode, Dead Freight? They went there. They did it. What I thought was going to be a lighter episode about an old-fashioned bank heist – designed by Jesse so no witnesses would have to die  - led to one of the most disturbing scenes in the whole series.  They killed a kid. In the last 60 seconds of the episode – they killed a boy.  It happened so fast – seemed so unconnected – and then all the pieces from the opening scene fit. The newest member of their crew, a ginger who looked like he couldn’t harm a fly, Todd – did the deed in a flash.  Jesse was the only one who cried out. Walt just stood there and watched quietly.  Holy Shit.  All the other things about the episode – Hank’s office being bugged by Walt, Jesse’s obvious crush on Lydia, Walt, Jr using his middle name Flynn, the funny/anxious train robbery – all forgotten.  The show just went down a dead end street – which I guess is the point, since this is the last season. There is no turning back now – no redemption.  Walt, Mike, Todd and even poor Jesse have to go down. Hard.
  • The Real Housewives of New York.  Oh stop smirking – I have to watch this crap to get images of dead kids out of my head! I’ve been with this series since they began – I’ve been there when Jill and Bethany had it out, through all of the Ramona’coasters fueled on booze – even when Kelly went crazy, again, on a tropical island and started popping jelly beans. Those were good times. But Aviva and her fake leg chronicles (I told you there were spoilers ahead) , LuAnn and her pretend pregnancy issues and that other chick whose name I can’t even remember. I dunno. I’m bored. Sonja has gone off the deep end – she’s a caricature now – and not in an entertaining way. They are all pandering to some sort of post show career they hope to have.  The only episode that was slightly fun was the one with Aviva’s ridiculous father. Can’t dentures be ordered to fit your mouth? It’s not one size fits all right?
  • The Wendy Williams Show. Where have you been all my life? Sassy, funny, corny – and so NYC (ok, bridge and tunnel but still)  I’m not sure how it translates around the country (is it even on around the country?) – but man it’s awesome.  I told a friend that I just started watching and she said,”uh huh” and hung up the phone.  Brain candy people. Or maybe just candy.  Sticky, gooey, rots-your-teeth candy. Bring it!

If I had a TV in my kitchen I could watch even more of this crap. Sigh.

The eating nook

This is the spot. I usually have at least two of my 4 meals here (2 breakfasts, lunch, and dinner – what?).

This is me eating in my spot.

The gods created this spot for me. It’s perfect. I have the sink to my right for easy disposal, the stove to the left for refill access – and a view of any shenanigans happening at the table or in the family room. The only thing that would make this better is a kitchen TV. But that’s just nuts. Or is it?

That’s my boy and his pal after a sleepover enjoying their pancakes. These are my boys leftovers. If you have kids you aren’t disgusted. You know that sometimes whole meals consist of what’s left on the kid’s plate. Another bonus to eating leftovers while standing up? Those calories somehow don’t count. Truth.

Do you have an eating nook? Or do you always eat nicely at the table with a folded napkin with your pinky up?

 

Like a fish

I taped the above after he’d already done it 100 times. I had said, “that was awesome.” a 100 times. Is that how I sound in real life? I thought I had more of a sexy, smoky voice. No?

We are blessed with a very cool community pool.  Lots of fun slides and high dives to hurt yourself on.  But no one does get hurt. Because the pool is literally overflowing with lifeguards. You have to work hard to have fun there without a whistle going off and a high schooler yelling at you.

My girl is pretty much over going there and hanging out – unless she can bring a gaggle of girls with her. But my boy, he loves it. And since she’s away and I ignored him all morning with work calls – we ran to the pool this afternoon.

He loves it there. He told me today that “the pool is my home mom”.  He’s in Phelps/Olympics mode (minus the bong).

He’s got the bug. Just like all helicopter parents in the world, we usually try to capitalize on these fleeting fancies. Who knows – this may be his thing. His passion.  Or not. And in reality, I’m no helicopter parent. Shocked? Didn’t think so – although I try.

Here he is pretending to be a diver – except landing on his back, with a thump. It’s the anti-olympics – the person who makes the biggest splash wins! He’s golden. (sorry about the grainy shot).

Tropic of Pennsylvania

To top off our 100 degree summer – we’ve been getting crazy midday storms! Island weather without the drinks with pretty umbrellas.

So of course we have to keep the house like the tundra.  My sister brought me these beautiful flowers – look at them after a night in the house. They’ve gone and shriveled up.

Too hot outside. Too cold inside.

What’s this post about? I don’t know. I’m too hot. And cold.

Danke

Liebster is German for beloved, favorite or darling.  It’s also a blog award – who knew you could get awards for public rambling?  Well you can. And I did.

A big thank you very much to squirrelcircus.wordpress.com for thinking of me.  You shouldn’t have, but I’m so excited you did. Could it have been pity for my pathetic day yesterday? Maybe.  Maybe Liebster really means you-poor-sad-fool-you-need-this-badly.  I’ll take that too.  All of you should check her blog out – it’s funny, smart and sassy.

Per the “rules” I have to answer the following questions.  I love an award that forces me to be even more self focused and self obsessed.

Favorite quote, and why? 

“Demented and sad, but social” — The Breakfast Club

I don’t know why.  I can recite the entire movie with no explanation too.  Every time I meet a really messed up person at work or at life – I always think of this line.

One thing about you that people wouldn’t assume by looking at you?

I have a mini obsession with Jay Z. No. Not with Beyoncé. With J.  Nuff said.

Would you rather forgive something said about you or verbally lash the person who said it?

I think I would say I forgive – and others would say I lash out.  Tomato – potato.

Something about you that makes you really proud

Easy.  The two little Scorpios that rule my world.

A single favorite book you wouldn’t mind reading twice or thrice. Why?

hmmmm. Does a really long Vanity Fair article count?

One person whose death would change you? Why?

One person? There’s a list of people whose death would derail me for all the human reasons that you can imagine.

What’s that which you desire the most from life?

Happiness and safety for the aforementioned Scorpios.

Your favorite word.

Yes.

Beauty comes from ______ ?

wine colored glasses.

Five things that life is about.

In this order: laughter, family, friends,  cheese, and chocolate.

Fail!

It’s been that kind of day. Took a day off from work to drive my daughter into the city – she’s spending a week with her aunt on the beach – lucky ducky.  We were supposed to get there nice and early, have a breakfast with her grandparents that live in the city (please note, as stated before, the phrase “the city” always means NYC. Everything else is…not “the city”), get her on her way, take my son to a/the museum, have quality bonding time, etc.

FAIL.

Took a day off from work but ended up working just enough to piss off the people I work with AND my family.

Hit traffic. Missed breakfast – had to grab her something from Starbucks and she was only able to see her grandparents for a whole 5 seconds.

On the way to the museum my son said,”I really just want to go home.” Awesome.

On the car ride home he asked for fritters, like the kind my mother makes. What? This is a boy who only asks for one food – spaghetti with butter. That’s it. Once I made it with olive oil and he revolted. I was so happy.  This would turn my day around. Fritters? Coming right up! Yes, it’s true, I’ve never fried anything at home before. But so what! I can do it! I will try!

FAIL!

Here’s the batter – I put stuff I think I kind of remember my mother putting in there – sort of. I don’t have the heart to do a recipe list. Besides – it was a huge failure, did I mention that?

 

In the hot oil it looked ok….

 

and then there was this.

 

I tried making them smaller, turning down the oil, making a different shape, saying a prayer – I did it all.  All I got was a house that smells like burnt oil and absolutely, positively no fritters.

Sorry I didn’t take pictures of us being late, not having breakfast and everyone being angry with me. Maybe tomorrow.

Waaaaaaaaa!!!

Good night.

 

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