Dear Quarantine Diary -Week #25

Tags

bad hair, baking, blue hair, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, hair, humour

Dear Diary – We celebrated Father’s Day on Sunday – with one kid in another city, and my folks in another. It sucked! But we did our best to celebrate anyway. And, as with all celebrations, that included the pre-requisite gifts of tees, snacks and undies, and more food.

Great gift, Big Guy!!

Dear Diary – Hubby and I went looking for something to watch one evening and we found a perfectly ridiculous movie:

Planet Terror (2007) A one-legged go-go dancer and her ex-lover join forces with other survivors to battle a horde of flesh-eating zombies invading their Texas town.

I may be creative but even I can’t come up with this stuff!

Dear Diary – I overbaked! In this instance, I do not mean that I consumed an extraordinary amount of maryjane, but that I baked too many sweets AND consequently, with so much sugar now at my disposal, all hope of sweating off that covid weight is flitting away faster than a gold finch! Those extra pounds will party around my middle longer and likely invite friends. I’ll be sweating, but not in a good way. I immediately chucked the donuts, jelly busters, cookies and muffins in the freezer, so at least I have to venture into the batcave basement to retrieve anything, which will cause me to sweat…

Speaking of sweat, I still wake up in the night, tossing and turning, and sweating. A few years ago, I made a commitment to my love, my bed, that I would work on our relationship. I bought new sheets. I’ve tried sleeping with my head where my feet should be, the sheets a tangled mess by morning. Conscious of the alarm clock’s jealousy, I’ve cloaked it at night to dim its light, its presence when we’re together. But alas! I’ve held on, longer than I probably should have, hoping it wasn’t over. A relationship takes two and I’m just not feeling the love. When things open up, I think (sob), I think I have to kick it to the curb. It will be so hard, but I’m ready to begin again.

Dear Diary – It’s going to be a long summer. My noisy neighbours have taught their loud, elephant of a daughter, how to play Marco Polo. It’s a game where one person keeps their eyes closed and searches for the other players by yelling “Marco”. They reply by yelling “Polo”. My Mom came up with the perfect solution – confuse them by hiding in the yard and playing Marco Polo too.

Dear Diary – This.

This has to stop.

The tears, the tangles, the tearing… Every morning. After every shower. When I walked outside on a breezy day. Thursdays.

The combs get stuck in the rats’ nests, the rats themselves nasty invisible things. I pull hairballs from my brush that would rival Garfield, and fill my garbage can with enough balls to knit a sweater. We’re finding long strings on everything. It clings to Hubby’s socks on the clothesline, and occasionally, he finds it in his dinner.

And once the knots are removed, I look like a muppet version of an 80’s rock band. Frizzy. Blue. Out of control.

No amount of hair product or appliances can tame the mane. Colouring has become an hours’ long production. It’s nice to have long hair in the summer because I can put it up, but with a shoulder that’s taking forever to make a comeback in physio torture therapy, I start to sweat. Which heats the house, the humidity from which causes the frizz to really pop. It’s a never ending cycle. I need “hair-apy” and soon!

It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve had a haircut.

I googled “how to deal with bad hair”. One solution was to wear a low-cut blouse. Geniuses everywhere. Sigh…

You can’t control everything! Your hair was put on your head to remind you of that.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #16

Tags

blue hair, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, hair, home, humour, toilets

Dear Diary – It’s week “Sweet 16” and I feel like there should be cake!

This week I started my course on Writing Humour (becaue Hubby says I need some)! I was really nervous and really excited. I mean, it’s being taught by a celebrity from the Arrogant Worms. I fixed my hair, put on make-up and laid out my pen and pad in plenty of time. I took a pic with my computer (which was terrible so I took another one on my ipad).

Ready to learn

When I went to join in, my keypad wouldn’t work. I couldn’t log in, shutdown or open the directory to find out why. I yelled for Hubby, but he had gone for a walk. So I did a hard shutdown and made tea…

Hubby set up his laptop for me but I missed the first 10 minutes. As for my laptop, Microsoft decided to delete the driver for the keypad so I have to use a mouse. I hate it!

I loved the class though. After brief introductions, we collaborated on a silly song about Apps. Trevor, our instructor, added a tune and by the end of the night, we were singing along. Our homework is to write down funny things that we notice during the week, something I do naturally because coming up with blog material, particularly during covid lockdown, is pretty darn hard to come by!

It didn’t hurt that our chronic lazy toilet issue is back with a vengeance. Instead of running slow once every few weeks, it’s almost a daily thing. One afternoon, I heard Little Guy struggling so I took on the challenge. I couldn’t get it! Hubby couldn’t get it! After 9 buckets of warm soapy water, I tried again. I will not be bested by a toilet!

After my success, Hubby made the comment that when it came to all of us trying to clear the toilet with a plunger, “Mom is the queen”. Without skipping a beat, I replied, “Yup! I’m Queen of the Latrine”.

I ran with the idea and started my own country song/poem:

1) A man’s home is his castle and the toilet is his throne
His children are all grown now but he is not alone
His wife, she is a beauty, and to him, she is a dream
Because this lovely lady is the Queen of his latrine.

chorus:
When the water slows to a trickle or the flappy thing is broke
When the methane gas is arisin’ and it’s not safe to smoke
Armed only with a plunger, oh! the nightmarish things she’s seen
She’ll conquer, that’s why he’s thankful
‘cuz she’s the Queen of his latrine

2) His wife is smart and pretty, her figure is the charm
But cookin’s never been her strength and that may cause the harm
To thinning pipes he’s addin’ beef and pork and beans
But he knows that she loves him ‘cuz she’s the Queen of his latrine.

Bridge: Logs and bogs and meadow muffins,
Drops and plops or squirts
Whatever’s left behind him, she’s cut out for her work

3) Maybe it’s the plumbing, the house is getting old
The bathroom paint is peeling and the stains are growing bold
But their love’s forever, though their match is strange it seems
Faithful to the end, she is the Queen of his latrine

What do you think? Maybe I should stick to my day job…

Dear Diary -This weekend we woke up to 10 cars in the driveway of our neighbour across the street. And people wonder why there are hundreds of new covid cases in our region every day? Way to social distance. Please…stay at home.

Dear Diary – If the sun shines when it’s raining, we get a rainbow. What do we get when the sun shines and it’s snowing???

Dear Diary – Last night, Hubby was scowling and looking at the bottom of the laundry basket. He turned it upside down and shook it. I told him everything would be ok. In a few days, the basket would be full again, with clean clothes, as if by magic.

Dear Diary – This week I finally coloured my hair. But, I was lazy and my arms were really tired so I didn’t comb it out or dry it before I stuck it in a bun on the top of my head. Now I have “Muppet Hair Syndrome”. It’s been 3 days since and whenever I let my hair out, I look like a female Grover who was struck by lightning. All I’m missing is the smoke!

As if that wasn’t frightening enough, last night, when I leaned forward to turn off the light, my hair was apparently tangled in the wrought iron headboard. I’ve had my hair caught in my zipper before, and a car window, the seatbelt, and the fridge door…my hairbrush, my necklace and my curling iron…but this was a new one for me. I’m scared to look in the mirror because there might just be a bald spot!

If this lockdown lasts too long, I’m going to become this…

…ONLY BLUE!

but I’m not crazy I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
but stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
a different side of me

Matchbox 20, I’m not crazy

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!

The Golden Touch

Tags

hair, haircuts, humour, little old ladies, midlife crisis

Spring has sprung, and I have no longer lost my will to live…outside of the confines of my warm bed. Another inevitable year has passed, so I decided it was time to kick-start my midlife crisis again, before I’m starting my golden years.

When I start my golden years, however, I don’t intend to be like the “lady” I met today on my commute home from work. She was in a pretty ordinary blue sedan, and crawling along at 40 km/hr in a 70 km/hr.  I waved a couple times, as if shooshing a fly, and then I changed lanes to pass her. No biggie! As I passed her, I glanced over to see who was driving. Was the driver new? 112 years old? That’s when this well-healed, mature woman with white hair and Jackie O sunglasses, gave me the finger. I didn’t tailgate or peep the horn. I didn’t gesture in any rude manner, or swerve around her like a crazy person. I may become a sassy old broad who intentionally crosses at a crosswalk slowly out of spite, but that was just rude!

So back to my midlife crisis… Every stereotypical cartoon old lady either has silver hair or blue hair. So naturally, I had to choose one or the other. Flip a coin (and consult my hair stylist)!

My stylist’s last name is Golden, so I can now say, I’ve received “The Golden Touch”!  Time to start planning some adventures for this year! Any suggestions?

Happy Wednesday!

For Better or For Worse…

Tags

family, gray hair, hair, humour

I mentioned it earlier this week…I got my hair butchered cut…and I’m not happy about it.

In my first blog post in January 2012, I wrote “I wore my “new” sassy green boots on Saturday – an incredible find- and was feeling fabulous, when it dawned on me – I need a new hair style too, edgy with colour? Hmm…” Well, the blog continues, my mid-life crisis is happening, and I’m still feeling fabulous in my sassy green boots…but the haircut didn’t happen.

I’ve almost always had long hair. I grew up with a twisted notion that guys like to get their hands tangled up in a thick mane of lustrous locks. I have always thought that scene in the gag-me-with-a-dump-truck until-I-vomit-my-insides-out movies where a guy gently traces a girl’s face and sweeps a lock of hair off before uttering some nonsense that makes her melt, was romantic. I’ve been married 18 years; if those moments haven’t happened now, they’re not going to happen. I’m over 40 now. It’s time to grow up and move on.

I booked the appointment. I researched the requirements for donating hair to the Cancer Society and medium-length haircuts. I washed it and asked my Mom to snap a “before” picture…

I thought I was prepared. It was only hair after all. It would grow back. I had already confirmed that the stylist couldn’t do the colour as well, but I could add it later. I only had to lose 8”.

I thought I had been clear; I had a picture after all…

But hair is never just hair. It’s a woman’s nemesis and her definition. It’s sexuality and beauty, a “crowning glory”. It’s not just hair…

She cut off 12”.

“Once upon a time there was light in my life, but now there’s only love in the dark…nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart” – Bonnie Tyler/Jim Steinman, Total Eclipse of the Heart

My mother thought it was “cute”. She kept saying it over and over again, as if that somehow made it all better. I hate the word “cute”…have always hated it. Kittens are cute. Little girls with curls are cute. 40 year old women are not “cute”.

I looked like a used Q-tip. I looked like I was wearing a brown helmet. Where’s that dump truck?

Hubby first saw my new haircut Saturday evening. He never said he didn’t like it…but what he did say built upon my rapidly diminishing ability to keep a stiff upper lip, and his words haunted me until bedtime…that hour when all reason slips away quietly, just like the setting sun. And faced with my reflection in the glare of the fluorescent bathroom lights, I could see the truth.

First, came the gentle weeping, the slow trickle of tears from the corners of my eyes. But like a summer storm, the heavens opened with a torrential outpouring of unreasonable sorrow. I breathlessly sobbed a cacophony of unintelligible words behind my hands. I knew Hubby was probably panicking, grasping for something to say while knowing fully that nothing was going to stem this flow. His wife had turned into a monstrous behemoth of volatile emotions, and he may or may not be partly responsible. (I’m pretty sure he was amused as well, so don’t feel too sorry for him). Like a banshee, I cried , “I just wanted to be pretty…this is where you’re supposed to say ‘you are pretty’…even if (repeating Hubby’s humiliating statement)”, which succeeded in making us both laugh, even as I was hiccupping into my damp pillow. I fell asleep hoping my pillow didn’t grow mould in the humid room as I slept.

I wanted to stay in bed the next day but I had to help lead worship. I had to start facing my world again…So, here I am world. Smiling on the outside…while still dying a little inside.

It’ll grow back, right?

I should have reminded Hubby he married me for better or for worse…

 

 

Now I remember why…

Tags

gray hair, hair, humour

Now I remember why I don’t wear my hair down very often.

Determined not to look like the walking dead (even if I still felt like it), I got up a bit early and straightened my hair. For the one time this year, my hair had actually dried before bed last night and it had stayed relatively untangled and frizz-free, so it was an easy job. But would it last?

By the time Little Guy and I left the house, my hair was still perfect – perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny, perfectly in place. Then I opened the door. The wind hit me first and made the air feel close to -30C. So a few strands were blown out of place, it was still good, right?

The parking lot at the school was relatively empty; the school yard was completely empty. I popped the buckle on the seat belt and as it retracted, I felt a sudden tug and then…then it slowly dawned on me, as the tug turned to pain, that a large fistful of my hair had retracted with the seat belt and I was now hopelessly snarled. My claustrophobia started to kick just as Little Guy started singing “Everything is awesome” for the quadrillionth time…Everything was not awesome…

I walked Little Guy to the school door, with tears streaming down my white face, as I nursed the balding spot on the side of my head. I was still confident that I could run a comb through it when I got to work; it could still be alright.

I needed caffeine so I stopped at the grocery store, which just happened to have a Tim Horton’s. I bought my strong and steaming elixir of heavenly morning goodness. Then I headed to the back to grab a 2L carton of lactose-free milk and a dozen large eggs (might as well make the trip really worthwhile). Tim Horton’s used to double-cup their hot tea, but not anymore. It required a delicate balancing act to carry a 2L carton of milk, 12 eggs and a very hot, very large tea from the back of the store to the only cashier open at that hour…on the farthest side of the store possible. By now, I could feel the frizz started to build up. As I struggled to pack my one bag, juggle keys and mittens, and fight with the purse strap that kept sliding off my shoulder (my hair must have been shinier than I realized), I dropped a tissue. Not wanting to litter, I bent down to pick it up. As I bent down, my purse strap snagged a hunk of hair on the opposite side to where my head was still smarting…I roared, scaring the aging gentleman behind me. I apologized profusely, confessed I wasn’t have a very good day, and stormed out to the car. Too bad the hairs that were ripped out weren’t gray. I wouldn’t have minded so much…

By the time I got to work, over a dozen single strands of hair clung to my face. It was stuck in my lip gloss. It was hooked in the hinges of my glasses. I tried to wipe it off with my red woolen hands, only to end up gagging at least one hair. It didn’t taste good. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a gray one…

Fortunately, I didn’t meet anyone when I first arrived at work. I was able to head to the bathroom relatively quickly to see if my beautiful hairstyle could be redeemed. It couldn’t! I looked worse than if I had just climbed out of bed after a really bad night.

And that – that is why I now remember why I don’t wear my hair down.

Bad Hair

Tags

fashion, hair, humour

So here’s the “before” self-portrait…before my radical hair cut yesterday. Frizzy!

And here’s the “after” self-portrait” about 2 hours after the hair cut…in the car at the school while waiting for Little Guy to get out…

Ok, so not that radical but I’m probably 10 lbs lighter. There have been worse styles…

Pigtails, pony tails, the “Princess Diana” flip, and the curly “mop top” of my youth. And who can forget ringlets?!?!

There were several years of the ’80’s permed “Big Hair”…

And the various shades of red – carrot red, copper red, oxblood red (do you think I like red?)…combined with 80’s “Big Hair” (I really wish it would come back…)

…and more red…

By 2005, my hair was down to my waist, but I cut it shorter when Little Guy was on the way. And then I tried blonde highlights, that turned my hair pink…which led to very blonde….

Ugh! And we’re back to the present. I have no point. I hate my hair – regardless of the length, style or colour. Maybe I really should just shave it all off?