Hello Gorgeous

Tags

blue hair, gray hair, hair, humour, music

They say blondes have more fun, and I’m going to have to take them at their word because I’m happy being blue.

People in whose circle I don’t usually run, make the same statement: “still blue, huh?”

It’s been just over 2 months since I decided to rebel and I have no regrets. I also have no intention of changing any time soon. Get used to it!

But just in case you’re considering rebelling too, there are a few things you might want to know first.

1. Wash it in cold water. Hot water lifts the outer cuticle layer of your hair, releasing the colour faster. There’s nothing more refreshing than soaking your head under the tap with ice cold water first thing in the morning. So I usually have a hot shower with a shower cap…and wash my hair later in the day once the caffeine from my first pot of tea has kicked in.
2. Be committed to your colour. Get used to blue fingernails, blue hair brushes, and blue towels. Like most home dyes, the colour comes out…and not just under the tap. Oh, it often washes out with a bit of scrubbing when it’s fresh, but if you want pretty nails, I suggest getting a manicure and invest in nail polish.
3. Speaking of things turning blue…rain is not your friend. Neither are night sweats. Wet hair can sometimes run, especially if you’ve just refreshed the colour. The first time I refreshed my colour at home, I remembered to put a towel on my pillows. Imagine my horror when I woke up with a blue neck. What can I say? It was a sultry, summer night and I am still wrestling with the raging inferno of my dying youth.  It washed off, but it was a terrific way to kickstart my day. Right up there with ice cold water, baby!
4. Pay attention. Just like the seasons, colours change. Or rather, like my motivation, they fade. Which isn’t so bad until it’s bad. One day, you’re sporting electric blue…the next, you’re sporting a gross shade of algae-covered pool water. Just like those pesky extra pounds that keep coming back (and bringing friends), you have to be vigilant and refresh before little kids refer to your haircolour as “cotton candy”.

Invest in your hair. It is the crown you never take off.

1. Make time. Make time to refresh it, and maybe plan a relaxing activity for the 20-30 minutes you’re waiting for the dye to work its magic! Hair dyes have improved a lot, even from the days that I started experimenting. They have cream dyes now. Less mess…but still a mess. Wear old gloves. Wear old clothes (or none at all). And keep assorted old towels, face cloths, and plastic hair clips handy. Blue ears are only cute on a smurf. And no one wants to explain the blue hand prints on your porcelain sink 5 years from now.

It will never look as good as the moment you step from the salon feeling like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

And it doesn’t matter. Whatever the style. Whatever the length. Whatever the colour.

 Be your own kind of beautiful!

 

Happy Weekend!

B&W Challenge: Cinderella Shoes

Tags

black&white Photography, high heels, Photo Challenge, photography, shoes

If you don’t think shoes are important, just ask Dorothy or Cinderella.

OK, the challenge wasn’t specifically “Cinderella Shoes” but what girl could resist pulling out her wedding dress (which still fits 23 years later – thank goodness!! ) and some sparkly shoes.

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Chocolate is good, but shoes are sugar-free!

If I were to get married again (which I have no plans to ever do again), would I stick with white, or would I dare to be different? Judging on how much I’ve changed since I started my mid-life crisis, I think the answer is “yes”! Maybe…red?

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Forget the prince…keep the shoes!

Playing dress up begins at age 5 and never truly ends. – Kate Spade

I may just have to stay in these for awhile…Happy Friday!

This is in response to Cee Nuener’s black & white photo challenge: Shoes!

 

 

It’s All About the Shoes

If you don’t think shoes are important, just ask Dorothy or Cinderella.

My house is a mess and my garden is a disaster. I don’t even want to think about the state of my kitchen floor (crumby, sticky floors are a huge pet peeve because I prefer to run around not wearing shoes…you’ll find this ironic in a moment)!

I’ve been busy baking for a good cause…the annual community yard (& bake) sale at church to raise money to help the homeless! This year I baked cupcakes, brownies, lemon loaf, banana bread, cookies, fudge, muffins, butter tarts, and lime shortbread cookies. I even packed ingredients and bowls when I visited my folks last weekend so Mom and I could bake together! I’m so thankful for all the bakers who helped out!

We set up Friday night. I was icing cupcakes when Cate* came tearing into the kitchen bearing a shoe.

A woman with good shoes is never ugly. – Coco Chanel

“Jenn, what size are your feet? Look at this shoe!”  Then she showed me the original price  tag still attached to the underside. She laughed when my jaw hit the floor.

I won’t find this at Wal-Mart!

“Try it on!” I peeled off my orange sneaker, the one with a crack the width of the sole that sucks up rain faster than a thirsty cowboy in the desert. It fit like it was made for me!

“Come to the gym and try the other one too. I need a picture.”

A group of ladies had already gathered around a neat row of beautiful shoes, like flies on garbage…not only was Cinderella’s shoes at this table, but Cruella Deville and…could it be? Christian Louboutin?

Someone asked, “where would you wear shoes like that?” Um…my house!?!

I firmly believe that with the right footwear one can rule the world. — Bette Midler

“Jenn, you have two boys. They ‘re going to get married soon, and you’re going to need shoes,” Cate said matter-of-factly. Who was I to argue?

I told Hubby about it when I finally dragged in at 10:30 that night. I told him I was going to the sale early. He laughed and laughed.

Dear men – it’s always about the shoes. – jennsmidlifecrisis

O foolish man!

I arrived before the vendor, so I left a note. And checked back every 30 seconds between selling the baking and icing more cupcakes.

A woman can carry a bag, but it is the shoe that carries the woman
– Christian Louboutin

Meet Christian Louboutin!

I probably can’t wear them for more than 5 minutes at a time and my chiropractor will hate me.

But I can dance in Cinderella’s shoes.

Total cost: $20!

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world. – Marilyn Monroe

Look out, world!

CFFC: Eyes

Tags

fashion, Photo Challenge, photography

Every morning, open your eyes and chase your dreams…in cute shoes.

This is my response to Cee Neuner’s Fun Foto Challenge: Eyes!

Happy Wednesday!

Tarts on Tour

Tags

fashion, food, humour, shoes, sweets

I recently made a last minute decision and attended a Tart Festival with a friend.

No, not that kind of tart, although based on some of my recent encounters, like the guy who called me at work and my cell number popularity, I can see why you might be raising your eyebrows. Then again, you also don’t know my friend!

This Tart Festival involved butter tarts. An entire outbuilding in the Fair Grounds lot lined with bakery kiosks displaying nothing but butter tarts. Each bakery had won trophies in their local Fairs, and they were duking it out for the title: Queen of Tarts.

 

Judges were blind tasting tarts from every bakery, looking for things like colour, thickness of pastry and ooziness.

 

 

 

 

There were some interesting flavours involving alcohol (Kahlua and Fire Whiskey), meat (bacon), and candy (marshmallow and skittles). But, like my Dad, I’m a traditionalist, so I brought home 6 butter tarts: plain, pecan, maple, maple walnut, raisin…and pecan again (because I like candied nuts)!

It only seemed appropriate (when you’re at a tart festival) to slink over to the Designer Shoe Sale next door. We weren’t willing to pay designer prices, even designer sale prices, but we had fun checking out the fashions. Rows and Rows of shoes.

My pick!

Sweet Tarts

Feathers and ruffles. Sunny golden suns and sweet tarts. Patent leather and satin. Chunky heels and super spikes. Buckles and straps. And things I couldn’t quite identify!

Now that’s a pair of killer heels!

We also amused ourselves by checking out the heavily-laden  baskets of some of the shoppers. “Lady Gaga” amused us the most. She was a tiny, heavy set middle aged lady with thin, greasy grey hair. But she was following my manifesto and who am I to judge?

 

Sweet tarts and sexy shoes… a perfect weekend tour for a couple of “tarts”, right?

If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun. – Katherine Hepburn

Happy Weekend!

Little Shop of Horrors

Tags

bathing suit, fashion, humiliation, humour

As if facing the hated shopping trip for undergarments wasn’t enough to tax the stalwart, in less than a week, I also forged into bathing suit territory with iron determination to come out with my dignity intact.

You may be thinking…didn’t you just buy a bikini last year? Yes, I did! And it’s perfect for swimming in my Mom’s pool. My parents have said they’ll love me no matter what, and I have already scarred my kids for life. I mean, they were doomed from the moment they were conceived. But this year we’re going to a beach where I can only assume will be covered with half-starved babes with perfect hair in brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. And where there are beach babes, there will be men of all ages lusting after them. Hopefully not also wearing brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. [shudder]

“I feel attractive in a bathing suit”, thought no woman ever. “Let’s go bathing suit shopping” said no woman ever. Not unless she is suffering the serious side effects of starvation. [If this happens, feed her immediately!] No woman enjoys the experience of stripping nearly naked in a tiny cubicle with unkind lighting and multiple mirrors. Something happens once we cross the dressing room threshold and close the door. Our femininity transform into something troll-like and our confidence puddles around our ankles. A dainty gazelle becomes a floundering hippo. No amount of chocolate can truly soothe the bruising our self-esteem takes when the (unrealistic) image we have in our mind of how this beautiful item will look on us, is crushed like a spider with a shoe. It’s a swift slap that stuns and stings. Long after we’ve left the dressing room.

Monday morning, I ventured into the store minutes after it opened. Fewer witnesses to see me sweating through my dress. The 12 year old, size 0 store clerk was cheerful and not pushy, which I appreciated. I browsed…and left the store. Baby steps.

Bathing suit stores are Little Shops of Horrors.

An hour later.

After some deep breathing exercises, I returned to the store, much to the surprise of the store clerk, and bravely explained my concerns. I need support! Moral and for the girls! Since it’s the beginning of July, most of their stock is gone [winter stock is on its way], but the store clerk earned her pay pulling a few suits that were close to my size, and whisked me to the back. They were all black [except one that made me look like an obese worm].  I guess black is slimming?

I tried her first pick, a tiny black number that required 3 tiny hangars. My inner babe had high hopes. This suit was cut as an “X” and looked amazing. On the hangar. Instead, it was amazingly difficult to figure out. Once the hangars were removed, I was confused. How am I supposed to wear on a slingshot? Which strap went where, and why isn’t that covering there. Suddenly an albino hippo was oozing out around the waist. Other things were oozing out too. It got so ridiculous, I actually laughed out loud. I think I scared the little clerk hovering beyond the blue curtain. I know I scared my sexy inner babe! She may never be seen again!

There was also this:

After nearly half an hour of sweating, grunting, moaning and elastic snapping, I did find a simple black suit that will do. That was the good news.

The bad news? I cheated with Henry again. And I enjoyed it.

Happy Weekend!

 

Humiliation

Tags

fashion, humiliation, humour, lingerie

Avoiding humiliation is the core of tragedy and comedy. John Guare

There’s no way around it! Shopping for undergarments is always a humiliating experience. From trying to judge the correct size inconspicuously on the sales floor, to stripping down in those tiny cubicles, to trying to squeeze into said item…and sometimes getting stuck. There’s nothing inspiring about your reflection under the harsh lighting. You look more like a ripe Anju pear with one arm, squatting awkwardly with one the arm flailing aimlessly over your head, your body trapped in a mini dress with a size tag double what you tried on the last time!

 Humiliation!

 So whatever possessed me to try on a “slimming garment”? Was it the sleek lines it promised? The price on the tag? Or the brand name? I think it was mostly the brand name: Marilyn Monroe. And it whispered to me. Marilyn was sexy with real lady curves, and men still have dreams about bringing her home to meet Mom. I instantly flashforwarded to a slimmer, trimmer me in a little black dress, batting my lashes over a cocktail, with a row of men adoring drooling on my feet.

Which is weird.

 When and where would I ever have the occasion to wear a little black dress, much less drink a cocktail!?! As for men, I have one, and quite honestly, one is enough!

 But…I do have a little black dress, and should I ever have the occasion to wear it, like a high school reunion (that I wouldn’t attend anyway), I should be prepared.

 I carefully read the label. Twice. I didn’t want to humiliate myself after all!

 According to the label, based on my bust size and hip size, I should be a size small. Hmmm….Though my rib cage is only 30”, not 36” as listed, I knew I’d take it up…elsewhere! Right? Typically bras under  32” only come in A cups and I’m way, way past the beginning of the alphabet. As for waist size, it was a few inches over where I am so I surmised this was a reasonable estimate.  Can you see where this is going?

 I handed the garment over to the perky 12 year old at the change room counter and blushing, followed her to the back. The curtain scraped, “sheesh”, as I closed it. Even the walls were skeptical, and don’t get me started on the lighting. I stripped down…winter coat, winter boots, sweater, pants.  And I paused, staring at my reflection, with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. There seemed to be more of me staring back than this morning. I’m certain of it.

 Bracing myself, I inhaled the aromas from Cinnabon (conveniently located right outside the store), mixed with stale sweat from past patrons’ efforts to release their overheating bodies from designer brand names (that made unbelievable promises).  And I took the plunge.

 I slipped my feet into the head hole and slid that black stretchy hot number all the way up…to my knees, where is clung to me like a snotty 2 year old! I pulled, I wiggled, I heaved. I pleaded silently. I started sweating profusely and turning red in splotches. But it held on like a vise. It took several efforts to peel it off and I stood there, holding it up in front of me, and I thought:

 “I would like to see the girl who thinks she needs this, who can actually wear it…and I need to feed her”!

Of course this isn’t me! There’s a reason this post is called “humiliation”! 🙂

Happy Weekend!

‘Struggle’ is just another word for growth. – Elle Sommer

Jeans, Glorious Jeans

Tags

fashion, humour, jeans

I object! In fact, I strongly object!

I have not struggled all these years with Booty Blues, trying to find the perfect pair of jeans (I’m still looking, by the way), only to be told that I have less than a decade to find them!

As if it wasn’t bad enough to learn the horrible truth about heels and flip-flops, according to the most recent British survey of 2.000 people, people “should retire their jeans at age 53”!

Even the director of the surveying company was shocked by the results! Yes, jean shopping is stressful. We’ve all been there. One in ten consumers will try on up to 6 pairs at a time (which is smart because no 2 pairs of jeans are alike), while 6% of consumers will end their shopping trip in tears (I only cry when I shop for bathing suits and bras).

It gets worse!

Another British survey early in the year concluded that 47 was the actual age to stop wearing jeans and shears long locks! In fact, the earlier study concluded that women over 38 shouldn’t get tattoos (oops – I was 40!), women over 34 should stop taking selfies (oops – did that last week), women over 44 should’t go clubbing or attend music festivals. Finally, women over 40 should stop trying to learn how to use new technology! Twitter shouldn’t be used over the age of 47 and Facebook accounts should be deleted by age 49 (did you know in 2014, 56 percent of online adults over 65 had Facebook accounts?).

Which begs the question – who are these people? Because I want to ask them these questions again when they turn 40!

“You can be the chicest thing world in a t-shirt and jeans – it’s up to you!”
– Karl Lagerfeld

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http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/most-annoying-study-reveals-age-when-women-are-too-old-for-jeans_us_581a31fae4b0c43e6c1d98dd

http://www.today.com/video/the-age-at-which-you-re-too-old-to-wear-jeans-is-799048771812

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/the-age-when-women-are-too-old-for-long-hair-and-skinny-jeans_us_5787a4b0e4b0867123dfdd87

 

Pr-Eyed

Tags

fashion, humiliation, humour, midlife crisis

I’d like to add something to the end of the expression “Pride goeth before a fall”…I’d like to add “or public humiliation”. (I’m an expert on public humiliation!)

I started noticing about a year ago that I needed to discreetly peer over the top of my glasses to read the really small print, like the instructions on a pill bottle. No big deal!

By this Spring, I found myself taking off my glasses at bedtime, to do my Italian lessons on my iPad. Again, no big deal!

Three weeks ago, I was leading the “kids’ time” during church. I was trying to share a story while also balancing a flashlight and my Bible (while one exceptionally precocious child was misbehaving)…and then I had to precariously balance my glasses in my already full hands, just to read to 2 verses of scripture (while keeping one eye on one misbehaving child). Did I mention that this was in front of the congregation…and a guest speaker?

Pride didn’t want to admit it was time to get bi-focals! Pride didn’t want to wear what I was envisioning – the oversized 1980’s lenses with the tell-tale magnified half-moons gracing the bottom of the lense, screaming “OLD”.

I saw my 12 year old optometrist the next day, and he assured me that a lot has changed in lense “technology” since the 1980’s. It was no big deal!

This morning, I picked up my specs and I wish I had done this sooner. I’m ashamed to admit I let pride (or pr-eyed) get in the way! My new “transitions” lenses are no big deal!

Speaking of public humiliation, the Moms held a “Dance Off” after Bible study last night! Little Guy is still young enough that he wasn’t embarrassed to see his Mom bustin’ some moves. I can’t say the same for some of the older kids. Give him a few years. Oh, by then, I’ll still be bustin’ some moves (or an ankle…or hip….) and I won’t have any pride left. It’ll be no big deal!

* * *

This was the second (of what I hope to be many) 10 Minute Monday posts – write for 10 minutes on whatever, no editing (ok, maybe just a little…)!

Canadian Black Friday (a.k.a. Misery)

Tags

fashion, humour, shopping

How do you block the terror out… when it’s already invited itself in?

I went shopping with my Mom last Saturday (which was, according to the stores’ signs, “Canadian Black Friday”). Our goal was to shop the big sale in one of our favourite stores before heading over to visit my Grandmother.

We were greeted at the door by a cheerful sales representative at the door. She was 5’4”, in her 50s with short red hair. She wore black pants and a floral top in classic Fall colours. The colour suited her; the size did not. By all other appearances, she was normal.

She asked if she could “help us”, and we told her we were “just looking”, and continued chatting as we slowly moved from rack to rack. She followed us, jumping into and monopolizing our conversation. It was strange, however, she was friendly and clearly enthusiastic about their product and we let her prattle away. That was probably our first mistake.

She overheard my comment that I liked some of the clothes with a peacock feather print. That was our second mistake. She then proceeded to show me every single item that had a peacock print…and then some. Like jackets – even though I said I don’t wear jackets. And if I happened to escape sneak away, she would hold things up and get my attention by yelling across the store.

Mom and I tried splitting up. We thought that without conversation or comments to “feed her”, she’d become bored with us and latch onto someone else. It almost worked! She did start a conversation with a wizened lady with a walker. Our plan failed, however, when we came together again to compare notes on what we have seen (our third mistake) and another young sales rep. approached us. She barely finished asking “can I help you?” before her face turned pasty white, her eyes widened and she quickly backed away from us. A chill ran up my spine and I knew…she was right behind me! I was like Paul Wilkes in Misery, and she was “Annie Wilkes”.

We ignored our better instincts and discarded the “never leave a man (or woman) behind” rule, in order to take turns chatting with her so the other could shop unmolested. That was our fourth mistake. If we zigged, she zagged. If I touched the hem of a skirt, she would swoop in to ask me if I wanted to try it on. I distinctly remember mouthing “help me” more than once, as Mom circled around me. “Annie” was slowly draining our physical and emotional resources!

The mistakes started piling up fast. We started grabbing selecting items to try on, which bought us some time as she ran back and forth between us and the dressing rooms. But when it came time to try our selections on, we couldn’t identify our rooms. That’s because “Annie” had become our personal shopper and had added a few items to our collection – skirts, tops, purses, necklaces and jackets.

I thought I was safe in the dressing room; instead I was trapped. She kept bringing me more items to try on. She kept asking about sizes. By the time my boots and pants had come off and on several times (I had to be polite and try everything), I was light-headed and sweaty, and starting to panic.

Then my mother asked the unthinkable – was I decent? Could I come out and give her an opinion on the pants she was trying on? By that point, I was dressed in my own clothes again, sitting on the footstool in the fetal position, gently rocking. I knew…I knew that if I stuck my nose out that door, I would be assaulted by a barrage of questions. And I was correct. As soon as she saw me, she practically ran from the front of the store to the back. I admit that I failed as a daughter, nay a human being! I offered Mom my opinion and ducked back into the safety of my cubicle, leaving her in “Annie’s” clutches.

Once it had grown eerily quiet, I gathered my wits about me. I decided the only person who should cause a 40+ woman to cower in her dressing room is an over-bearing mother (or mother-in-law), and I don’t have either one. It was time to put on my Big Girl Panties…and run for my life! I was prepared to use all the tactics I had learned playing hours of Halo – even a melee with my elbow – if it meant getting out alive!

I yelled to Mom that I was heading out. Then I grabbed the sweater, the one item I wanted to buy and focused on the mission – the check-out counter. Mom was close behind me. “Annie” moved fast; I moved faster. I dodged more hangars (and questions) and stayed on task. I bought my sweater.

I left that store with my pocketbook intact, my dignity restored, my sweater bagged, and my Mom…

Mom almost didn’t make it, but the Manager recognized the look of fear in her eyes and saved the day. We fled with our bags clutched in our hands, heading to Tim Horton’s for a restorative cup of tea, and we never looked back!

Why didn’t I just flee the store once she joined our party and started dogging our every step? I’ll tell you why…Canadian Black Friday sale!

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“Everyday you need a bulletproof vest
To save yourself from what you could never guess!” – Skillet, Rise