I don't know what it is but for the last week or so I have been having some really interesting dreams. Some good, some bad, some that made me ask "What. The. Hell" when I woke up.
Not last night but the night before (when 24 robbers came knocking at my door), I was having a really lovely dream about a certain NHL player, I think I've mentioned my predilection for hockey players, and oh, it was a lovely dream and Hockey Player and I were having such fun when all of a sudden I am jolted out of my wonderful dream because someone decided to call my house at the unGodly hour of 6:30 IN THE MORNING. A Sunday morning. When it should be illegal to call anyone before 9:00am. And the thoughtless, insensitive person had the nerve to hang up before I could answer the phone. Bastard.
So I was able to fall back asleep and tried to get back to my lovely dream and just as it's starting to happen, TheManTheMyth's cellphone starts ringing and I'm all "What the hell, people!" And that was the end of fun and games with a hot hockey player. Even if it was only in my dreams. I'm still pissed at whoever called and interrupted such a fine dream.
Dreams are weird things. Years ago, when I was in my early 20's and was recovering from an emotionally devastating event, I started having nightmares and would wake up in a cold sweat at the same time every single night. I just chalked it up to the emotional upheavals in my life. Eventually, the nightmares and middle of the night wake ups stopped.
Several years later, I was visiting my mom up in Washington and one of her friends came by and somehow we got on the subject of dreams and nightmares and I mentioned my period of nightmares and middle of the night wake ups and she said, "You know what caused that, don't you?" and I'm all, "yeah, my fiance died" and she tells me that it was something else entirely. She tells me that the reason I was waking from nightmares at the same time every night was because, you better sit down for this one, I had been abducted by aliens at that particular time of night. Hand to God, that's what she said.
Yep, abduction by aliens was the cause of my nightmares, according to Crazy Frannie. And all this time I thought it was because a) my fiance had died and 2) I had read "Pet Sematary" and dreamed that G was coming back from the dead all changed just like the dead people buried in the Pet Sematary. Seriously, that was one of the scariest books I had ever read, mostly because of when I read it, right after G died, which probably wasn't the smartest move.
Last night I had a nightmare that I can't quite recall but I'm pretty sure that the cause of it was not because I was abducted yet again by aliens but because I had 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with a pretty strong vodka and Fresca nightcap about an hour before I went to bed.
That combo would give anyone nightmares. Even aliens.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
It's a little bit cooler in Hell these days
Didja miss me? Didja miss me? Waddya mean, "What, you've been gone?" Ok, technically I didn't "go" anywhere; I just haven't enthralled you with my humor and shenanigans in a few weeks.
So, you're probably asking yourself, what has been going on in Kelly's World that she can kvetch about? I'm so glad you asked.
As I mentioned in a previous post, we've been going through refinancing hell. And last week I got both good news and bad news about our refinancing. The good news: our house appraised $40,000 HIGHER than That Bank had estimated. And this was after the house a few doors down just sold for almost $100,000 less than our appraised value. High five!
Now, the bad news: we don't qualify for refinancing. 2009 was a really, really dismal year for self-employed people in the Construction Industry and That Bank is not so enthusiastic about approving loans for people with low income. Who knew? And to make matters worse, That Bank sent notice to our bank telling them we were closing our accounts, without my knowledge by the way, and I found that out the hard way when I tried to access my accounts and discovered they were frozen on account we were closing them. Say whut? So I got to spend a couple of hours on the phone with this bank and That Bank and escrow agencies and yeah, it's been swell. Bastards.
Ok, what else is going on? OH! My family members who read my blog had better sit down for this one. Guess what I did this week? I'll give you a hint, it's something I haven't done in 18 years. No, I did not enter a wet t-shirt (again). And no, I'm stalking anyone (again. Although things might change when the NHL season starts back up). Give up? I applied for, wait for it, a JOB. Yes, just one. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. No, I'm not telling where and based on the online application process experience I probably won't even be called to interview but I actually applied for a job. Can you believe it? The temperature in hell may have dropped a degree or two.
I was disappointed in the online application process. I know I have the skills, knowledge AND experience for this job but the online application didn't give me the opportunity to present myself and my skills, knowledge AND experience properly. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed that somehow, someone says, "Oh what the hell, let's call her for an interview" and I can dazzle them with my skills, knowledge AND experience. Or baffle them with my bullshit. Either way, keep your fingers crossed for me.
Oh. My. God. Some guy just came to my door offering to paint the numbers on my curb (we get those offers on a weekly basis) and the alcohol fumes emanating from him just about bowled me over. Good thing there weren't any open flames. Dude. Sober up before you start knocking on doors at noon.
I leave you with a photo I took at a Civil War reenactment I attended at our local park a few weeks ago. This has nothing to do with anything but I thought it was a cool shot. Get it? "Shot?" Ah, never mind.
So, you're probably asking yourself, what has been going on in Kelly's World that she can kvetch about? I'm so glad you asked.
As I mentioned in a previous post, we've been going through refinancing hell. And last week I got both good news and bad news about our refinancing. The good news: our house appraised $40,000 HIGHER than That Bank had estimated. And this was after the house a few doors down just sold for almost $100,000 less than our appraised value. High five!
Now, the bad news: we don't qualify for refinancing. 2009 was a really, really dismal year for self-employed people in the Construction Industry and That Bank is not so enthusiastic about approving loans for people with low income. Who knew? And to make matters worse, That Bank sent notice to our bank telling them we were closing our accounts, without my knowledge by the way, and I found that out the hard way when I tried to access my accounts and discovered they were frozen on account we were closing them. Say whut? So I got to spend a couple of hours on the phone with this bank and That Bank and escrow agencies and yeah, it's been swell. Bastards.
Ok, what else is going on? OH! My family members who read my blog had better sit down for this one. Guess what I did this week? I'll give you a hint, it's something I haven't done in 18 years. No, I did not enter a wet t-shirt (again). And no, I'm stalking anyone (again. Although things might change when the NHL season starts back up). Give up? I applied for, wait for it, a JOB. Yes, just one. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. No, I'm not telling where and based on the online application process experience I probably won't even be called to interview but I actually applied for a job. Can you believe it? The temperature in hell may have dropped a degree or two.
I was disappointed in the online application process. I know I have the skills, knowledge AND experience for this job but the online application didn't give me the opportunity to present myself and my skills, knowledge AND experience properly. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed that somehow, someone says, "Oh what the hell, let's call her for an interview" and I can dazzle them with my skills, knowledge AND experience. Or baffle them with my bullshit. Either way, keep your fingers crossed for me.
Oh. My. God. Some guy just came to my door offering to paint the numbers on my curb (we get those offers on a weekly basis) and the alcohol fumes emanating from him just about bowled me over. Good thing there weren't any open flames. Dude. Sober up before you start knocking on doors at noon.
I leave you with a photo I took at a Civil War reenactment I attended at our local park a few weeks ago. This has nothing to do with anything but I thought it was a cool shot. Get it? "Shot?" Ah, never mind.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Party now, sleep later.
So last night, Thing 1 and a couple of his cronies were sprawled out on our couch, watching something Shark Week related and they were struggling to keep their eyes open. Yawns were flying left and right. They were some lives ones, let me tell you. Life of the party, they were. Staying up until the sun came up the night before kind of drained their energy resources.
In between yawns, they were asking each other, "So what do you wanna do?" "I dunno, what do you wanna do?" "I dunno, what do you think?" and on and on. And I'm looking at these 3 burnt out slugs and I say, "Hey, why don't you just stay HOME tonight instead of going out and burning the candle at both ends?" and they all look at me like I'm some sort of crazy lady who has NO IDEA what she is talking about and that motivated them enough to go out and find some trouble somewhere instead of staying home with some old lady who has no idea what it was like to be Young.
Ah yes. It may have been a few decades since but I remember (Vaguely. I did a lot of drugs back in the day) going out every single night during my early 20's. I had a job where I worked from 12:00pm to 9:00pm so I could stay out all night and still get (barely) enough sleep. Every. Single. Night. If I didn't go out at night, every single night, then I felt like a social failure and I might miss Something. One time, my dad, who I was living with at the time, looked at my exhausted face and asked me why didn't I just stay home that night for a change and of course I looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, like he had just asked me why didn't I stick my finger in a light socket while standing in a pool of water. Stay home at night? That was just crazy talk!
And then one night, I decided to take a walk on the mild side. I stayed home. On a Friday night. And watched TV with my dad. Dukes of Hazzard. My dad loved Dukes of Hazzard, especially Enos. Anyway, my dad looked at me all funny and asked if I was sick or something. Nope, says I. I just feel like staying home for a change. Add in the fact that I had kind of gotten sick and tired of the same bunch oflosers people I'd been partying hanging out with and I'd had my fill of Taking a Walk on the Wild Side.
College starts in just a couple of weeks so let Thing 1 and his cast of cronies enjoy what's left of their summer. There's plenty of time to sleep later. Like, in their 40's. Like me.
In between yawns, they were asking each other, "So what do you wanna do?" "I dunno, what do you wanna do?" "I dunno, what do you think?" and on and on. And I'm looking at these 3 burnt out slugs and I say, "Hey, why don't you just stay HOME tonight instead of going out and burning the candle at both ends?" and they all look at me like I'm some sort of crazy lady who has NO IDEA what she is talking about and that motivated them enough to go out and find some trouble somewhere instead of staying home with some old lady who has no idea what it was like to be Young.
Ah yes. It may have been a few decades since but I remember (Vaguely. I did a lot of drugs back in the day) going out every single night during my early 20's. I had a job where I worked from 12:00pm to 9:00pm so I could stay out all night and still get (barely) enough sleep. Every. Single. Night. If I didn't go out at night, every single night, then I felt like a social failure and I might miss Something. One time, my dad, who I was living with at the time, looked at my exhausted face and asked me why didn't I just stay home that night for a change and of course I looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, like he had just asked me why didn't I stick my finger in a light socket while standing in a pool of water. Stay home at night? That was just crazy talk!
And then one night, I decided to take a walk on the mild side. I stayed home. On a Friday night. And watched TV with my dad. Dukes of Hazzard. My dad loved Dukes of Hazzard, especially Enos. Anyway, my dad looked at me all funny and asked if I was sick or something. Nope, says I. I just feel like staying home for a change. Add in the fact that I had kind of gotten sick and tired of the same bunch of
College starts in just a couple of weeks so let Thing 1 and his cast of cronies enjoy what's left of their summer. There's plenty of time to sleep later. Like, in their 40's. Like me.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I don't get it
I am totally stealing this idea from Cupcake Murphy because my well of creativity seems to have dried up and I can make this a regular entry whenever I can't come up with anything original or when I think my loyal follower(s) want to know what else I don't "get." Yeah, because it's what they live for.
So, without further ado, here is the first installment in Things I Don't Get and by that, I don't mean I'm unable to obtain these things, I mean I don't get the appeal, so to speak. Get it? All righty then.
Things I Don't Get:
1. Anyone over the age of 8 liking Hello Kitty.
2. What harem girls/belly dancers have to do with Elizabethan England at Renaissance Faires.
3. All those virtual "gifts" on Facebook.
4. Facial and body piercings.
5. The color "puce."
Ok, then. So goes my first installment. Stay tuned for the next round of Things I Don't Get, brought to you by cynicism, plagiarism and PMS.
So, without further ado, here is the first installment in Things I Don't Get and by that, I don't mean I'm unable to obtain these things, I mean I don't get the appeal, so to speak. Get it? All righty then.
Things I Don't Get:
1. Anyone over the age of 8 liking Hello Kitty.
2. What harem girls/belly dancers have to do with Elizabethan England at Renaissance Faires.
3. All those virtual "gifts" on Facebook.
4. Facial and body piercings.
5. The color "puce."
Ok, then. So goes my first installment. Stay tuned for the next round of Things I Don't Get, brought to you by cynicism, plagiarism and PMS.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln
Ok, so back in March, my bank approached ME with an opportunity to refinance my existing 15 year mortgage at a much lower rate. This was to be an "easy" 3 step no cost refinancing that did not involve tax returns, appraisals, points, etc. It would drop our monthly mortgage payment by about $300.00. American dollars.
Great, said I. Let's do this "easy" refinancing. Easy peasy, right?
WRONG!!!!!
This had turned into a nightmare of epic proportions although not as epic a nightmare as BP's fucked-up handling of the Gulf oil spill but still it's been pretty bad.
I'm not going to go into the exact details but it involves the title to my property, my living trust, an escrow company that took my paperwork and disappeared, a mortgage consultant who would assure me that everything was on track going smoothly and then would become MIA for several weeks, not answering e-mails or phone calls and then would reappear with an entirely different offer than had been agreed upon, then being denied because that offer was now only for "special" customers, then being re-approved because I raised holy hell and this morning I find out that my easy peasy refinancing would be for the same interest rate I am paying now which means Stagecoach Bank's (not the real name but that's the logo...you figure it out) offer is completely worthless and I have wasted MONTHS trying to get this taken care of and coupled with some major screw ups with my business accounts and my kids accounts on the part of the bank, I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand of a banking institution.
So this morning, I wake up and look in the mirror and see that either I'm suffering from a rather severe case of adult acne on my cheek and upper brow areas or something has been snacking on me in the middle of the night. Add some swell PMS symptoms including breasticles that haven't ached this bad since I was nursing a hungry baby 18 years ago. Seriously, every time I hear a baby cry, I look down expecting to see two wet spots spreading on my shirt, that's how sore and achy the F Troops are. Oh, I'm a real prize these days, let me tell you. How TheManTheMyth is able to keep his hands off me is a wonder, I'm that much of a beauty.
Last week, we actually had several days of heat, here in my neck of the coastal woods. And we had humidity added to it. It was bad enough that I caved in and turned on the A/C. Air conditioning is a wonderful thing, I say to you. Even though we probably only turn it on maybe a total of 2 weeks a year but it's nice having it when we need it.
The weather turned back to June Gloom conditions and who is not complaining one iota? That'd be me. Right now at 12:15PM, PST, we are socked in with a heavy marine layer and I'm just fine with that. It was even drizzling pretty good when I took Miss Gracie Lou for her morning walk. Seriously, you just can't beat the climate of Coastal Southern California.
The racing season is on its summer break which means TheManTheMyth will be home on weekends which means he'll be bored which means he'll want to build something, demolish something or a combination of both which means I'll need to insist he make his annual pilgrimage to Mecca (riding at Kennedy Meadows in the Sierras) despite his insisting there's no money for it. I'd sell a body part if it meant him going to his Happy Place. He NEEDS this which means *I* need this for both our sanities. Especially after our banking/refinancing nightmare which is making my blood pressure rise just thinking about it all over again.
But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?
Great, said I. Let's do this "easy" refinancing. Easy peasy, right?
WRONG!!!!!
This had turned into a nightmare of epic proportions although not as epic a nightmare as BP's fucked-up handling of the Gulf oil spill but still it's been pretty bad.
I'm not going to go into the exact details but it involves the title to my property, my living trust, an escrow company that took my paperwork and disappeared, a mortgage consultant who would assure me that everything was on track going smoothly and then would become MIA for several weeks, not answering e-mails or phone calls and then would reappear with an entirely different offer than had been agreed upon, then being denied because that offer was now only for "special" customers, then being re-approved because I raised holy hell and this morning I find out that my easy peasy refinancing would be for the same interest rate I am paying now which means Stagecoach Bank's (not the real name but that's the logo...you figure it out) offer is completely worthless and I have wasted MONTHS trying to get this taken care of and coupled with some major screw ups with my business accounts and my kids accounts on the part of the bank, I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand of a banking institution.
So this morning, I wake up and look in the mirror and see that either I'm suffering from a rather severe case of adult acne on my cheek and upper brow areas or something has been snacking on me in the middle of the night. Add some swell PMS symptoms including breasticles that haven't ached this bad since I was nursing a hungry baby 18 years ago. Seriously, every time I hear a baby cry, I look down expecting to see two wet spots spreading on my shirt, that's how sore and achy the F Troops are. Oh, I'm a real prize these days, let me tell you. How TheManTheMyth is able to keep his hands off me is a wonder, I'm that much of a beauty.
Last week, we actually had several days of heat, here in my neck of the coastal woods. And we had humidity added to it. It was bad enough that I caved in and turned on the A/C. Air conditioning is a wonderful thing, I say to you. Even though we probably only turn it on maybe a total of 2 weeks a year but it's nice having it when we need it.
The weather turned back to June Gloom conditions and who is not complaining one iota? That'd be me. Right now at 12:15PM, PST, we are socked in with a heavy marine layer and I'm just fine with that. It was even drizzling pretty good when I took Miss Gracie Lou for her morning walk. Seriously, you just can't beat the climate of Coastal Southern California.
The racing season is on its summer break which means TheManTheMyth will be home on weekends which means he'll be bored which means he'll want to build something, demolish something or a combination of both which means I'll need to insist he make his annual pilgrimage to Mecca (riding at Kennedy Meadows in the Sierras) despite his insisting there's no money for it. I'd sell a body part if it meant him going to his Happy Place. He NEEDS this which means *I* need this for both our sanities. Especially after our banking/refinancing nightmare which is making my blood pressure rise just thinking about it all over again.
But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Where America Shops
I like catalogs. No, let me clarify, I LOVE catalogs. I've always loved catalogs. I don't always order things out of catalogs, mostly because I'd go broke if I did and end up having enough stuff to hold a garage sale, but I love me some catalogs.
I used to get tons of catalogs in my mailbox all the time. Harriet Carter, Lillian Vernon, Wireless, Newport News, Signals, etc. and there was always something I simply HAD to have. And there was always things I had to ask myself, "Who in their right mind would EVER want something like this?"
One of the best catalogs I ever got was called, "Ruby Montana's Pinto Pony" and it was full of Swell Stuff. Really. It said so on the cover, "Swell Stuff." I loved RMPP and one time, when I was up in Seattle, I had to stop in at her store and I actually met Ruby herself. I told her I came all the way from California just to visit her store and she was all, "That's great, you whackjob, get a life!" Ok, she didn't really say that but I know that's what she was thinking. I was sad when Ruby closed up shop.
I received a catalog in the mail the other day called, "As We Change" and it's aimed at women who are, oh, let's call us "Pre-and-Post Menopausal." And along with the clothing and undergarments and spa-type of things, there's some, how shall I put this, interesting items offered in this here catalog. Oh sure, they have fancy names for these items, like "Feminine Personal Trainer" and the "Kegelcisor" but we all know what they REALLY are. There's even some pyramid looking thing called "The Cone" that on one hand I'm dying to know how this thing works but on the other hand I'm not sure that I do because it looks pretty dang uncomfortable. And weird. And it's supposed to be for both men AND women and I'm all, "Uh, ok?"
I also got the Vermont Country Store catalog and talk about nostalgia. I saw a dozen things in there that I don't need but am simply itching to have and not one of them is a Kindle. I know, that's just crazy!
Speaking of books (books, Kindle = same thing), years ago (early 80's) I received a catalog from a bookseller I had never heard of. There were so many great books in that catalog that I never saw at my local bookstore. I thought I had died and gone to Book Heaven. And based on the number of books I ordered and the amount of money I spent, I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for Barnes & Noble's success today.
One of the things about ordering from a catalog is that you get put on mailing lists for other catalogs and sometimes, you get a catalog that comes in a plain brown paper wrapper and you have to hide it from the kids and when you do look at it you're all, "No WAY!" and wonder if people actually DO that kind of stuff and then you go to throw it away but then you worry that the trashman is going to see it and tell all the other trash guys that the people who live at my address have some pretty weird and kinky tastes even though you know that the trash men don't even get out of the truck to empty the trash cans anymore because it's done with a robotic arm so that the trash guy never even SEES what he's dumping but what if he did? A spiced up sex life is just not worth the stress is what I'm saying.
And who can forget the ne plus ultra of catalogs, the Catalog to end all Catalogs, the Catalog that every. single. kid in the USofA waited anxiously for every year. That's right, the Sears Christmas Wish Book. The Wish Book was the greatest catalog ever made. Ever. Forget Needless Markup Neiman Marcus with their luxury items and His-and-Her examples of Conspicuous Capitalist Consumption. The Sears Wish Book had toys. Hundreds of pages of toys. And craft stuff and sporting goods and really tacky home decor items and musical instruments and dress up costumes like a Miss America costume with a tiara and sash and cape and silver-and-gold "toned" jewelry and oh! All sorts of Christmas decorations so that you could make your house look like the North Pole vomited up on it, what with plastic Santa sleighs with reindeer and boy and girl choir singers and giant candles and that thing you put on your front door to make it look like Santa Claus himself has just opened the door to welcome you in, although that door thing always kind of scared me for some reason.
Ah, Sears. It's where America Shopped.
I used to get tons of catalogs in my mailbox all the time. Harriet Carter, Lillian Vernon, Wireless, Newport News, Signals, etc. and there was always something I simply HAD to have. And there was always things I had to ask myself, "Who in their right mind would EVER want something like this?"
One of the best catalogs I ever got was called, "Ruby Montana's Pinto Pony" and it was full of Swell Stuff. Really. It said so on the cover, "Swell Stuff." I loved RMPP and one time, when I was up in Seattle, I had to stop in at her store and I actually met Ruby herself. I told her I came all the way from California just to visit her store and she was all, "That's great, you whackjob, get a life!" Ok, she didn't really say that but I know that's what she was thinking. I was sad when Ruby closed up shop.
I received a catalog in the mail the other day called, "As We Change" and it's aimed at women who are, oh, let's call us "Pre-and-Post Menopausal." And along with the clothing and undergarments and spa-type of things, there's some, how shall I put this, interesting items offered in this here catalog. Oh sure, they have fancy names for these items, like "Feminine Personal Trainer" and the "Kegelcisor" but we all know what they REALLY are. There's even some pyramid looking thing called "The Cone" that on one hand I'm dying to know how this thing works but on the other hand I'm not sure that I do because it looks pretty dang uncomfortable. And weird. And it's supposed to be for both men AND women and I'm all, "Uh, ok?"
I also got the Vermont Country Store catalog and talk about nostalgia. I saw a dozen things in there that I don't need but am simply itching to have and not one of them is a Kindle. I know, that's just crazy!
Speaking of books (books, Kindle = same thing), years ago (early 80's) I received a catalog from a bookseller I had never heard of. There were so many great books in that catalog that I never saw at my local bookstore. I thought I had died and gone to Book Heaven. And based on the number of books I ordered and the amount of money I spent, I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for Barnes & Noble's success today.
One of the things about ordering from a catalog is that you get put on mailing lists for other catalogs and sometimes, you get a catalog that comes in a plain brown paper wrapper and you have to hide it from the kids and when you do look at it you're all, "No WAY!" and wonder if people actually DO that kind of stuff and then you go to throw it away but then you worry that the trashman is going to see it and tell all the other trash guys that the people who live at my address
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Gray Gardens of Hair
I don't know how many times in the last week that I've typed up a blog post only to look at the finished but unpublished product and have thought to myself, "This is crap." I don't know what is wrong with me but I seem to have lost my mojo for having something, anything funny or witty or interesting or intelligent to say.
I've had a topic in mind but didn't put it into writing and then I'll go read someone else's blog and see that they wrote about the very topic I was going to write about and I'm all, "Great, I can't write about that, people will think I'm a copy cat" and I have to come up with something else and the same thing happens all over again and it's a tough job blogging, even if nobody reads it.
Anyway, right now I'm sitting here with Garnier Nutrisse hair dye on my head, "Sangria" is the shade, and I can't remember how long it's been on my hair but I figure with the amount of gray hairs on my head, the longer the better although sometimes if I leave the hair color on my head too long I end up with magenta hair which would be ok if I were a 23 year old Goth chick instead of an over-the-hill NOT Goth mother to two teenagers, one of whom is going off to college in a month but is being a total slug in the meantime. One time, my then-teenage nephew was looking at my hair with a funny look on his face and finally he blurted out, "Dang Aunt Kelly, your hair is purple!" and everyone laughed and I was all haha but at least the gray was covered up and that's what's important here because I got lots of gray. Probably more than both my sisters combined and I'm the youngest. It's so not fair.
Every so often I wonder what I'd look like if I were to stop coloring my hair and embrace my "natural" look and then I snap out of it. It would be one thing if my gray was a lovely silvery-white like Heloise from Hints From Heloise but because it's Me, it's more of a dingy yellowish gray that would make me look like I should be wearing hemp clothing and Birkenstocks with white athletic socks be surrounded by cats and my own sculptures created from Budweiser cans and empty mascara tubes and well, that's just not who I Am.
Ok, I took a break from typing this so that I could go and rinse the hair color out of my hair because I realized that it was starting to kind of dry which means it had been on just a bit too long. The good news is that my hair has only a slightly purplish tinge to it. The bad news is that I always seem to miss a small section in front of my ear and I don't notice it until it's too late.
I hate it when that happens. It's like my gray hair is mocking me and is all "You can dye but you can't hide. I win, Gypsy."
Bastards.
I've had a topic in mind but didn't put it into writing and then I'll go read someone else's blog and see that they wrote about the very topic I was going to write about and I'm all, "Great, I can't write about that, people will think I'm a copy cat" and I have to come up with something else and the same thing happens all over again and it's a tough job blogging, even if nobody reads it.
Anyway, right now I'm sitting here with Garnier Nutrisse hair dye on my head, "Sangria" is the shade, and I can't remember how long it's been on my hair but I figure with the amount of gray hairs on my head, the longer the better although sometimes if I leave the hair color on my head too long I end up with magenta hair which would be ok if I were a 23 year old Goth chick instead of an over-the-hill NOT Goth mother to two teenagers, one of whom is going off to college in a month but is being a total slug in the meantime. One time, my then-teenage nephew was looking at my hair with a funny look on his face and finally he blurted out, "Dang Aunt Kelly, your hair is purple!" and everyone laughed and I was all haha but at least the gray was covered up and that's what's important here because I got lots of gray. Probably more than both my sisters combined and I'm the youngest. It's so not fair.
Every so often I wonder what I'd look like if I were to stop coloring my hair and embrace my "natural" look and then I snap out of it. It would be one thing if my gray was a lovely silvery-white like Heloise from Hints From Heloise but because it's Me, it's more of a dingy yellowish gray that would make me look like I should be wearing hemp clothing and Birkenstocks with white athletic socks be surrounded by cats and my own sculptures created from Budweiser cans and empty mascara tubes and well, that's just not who I Am.
Ok, I took a break from typing this so that I could go and rinse the hair color out of my hair because I realized that it was starting to kind of dry which means it had been on just a bit too long. The good news is that my hair has only a slightly purplish tinge to it. The bad news is that I always seem to miss a small section in front of my ear and I don't notice it until it's too late.
I hate it when that happens. It's like my gray hair is mocking me and is all "You can dye but you can't hide. I win, Gypsy."
Bastards.
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