Body Wash, Razors & Good Hair Days

As most Saturday mornings go, I drank way too much Washington Apple on Friday night and woke up feeling like something my cat yacked up.


Blindly, I wander through the lair to the bathroom where my downstairs coffee pot lives.
1/4 cup fresh ground kona beans
+ 10 cup aqua
------------
100% delicious caffiene rush

I AM top barista even in a hungover state.

I'm only as good as the java I brew... which is mighty damn fine.....

Anyway...

That's when it happened. I turned around and my eyes opened just in time to catch a glimpse of the corpse looking back at me in the mirror.

Scary.

Dear God, who knew middle age would be swift and evil on a Saturday morning?

Last night's make-up looks like water paint on my face now.

SHOWER STAT!

Hot water streams down over the shower poof which is now cocked, locked and ready to rock with Black Vanilla Current body wash.

*sniff sniff*

Eyes fly open. Wide awake instantly.
YES!! A gift from the shower gods!!

Make up removed... thanks Clinique
Hair de-sprayed... thanks Aveda
Smooth legs....... thanks Soliel razors

I feel human again.

So, I proceed to dry my mop.

As a rule, my hair is short and way out of control.

Especially when I help it along with all the crap in my cabinet.

And the hair-do god looked down and smiled, and it was all good.

Now, I don't know about ya'll, but I noticed how the whole tone of my day is set forth by whether my hair behaves or not.

I mean, when I'm having a good hair day, I feel like a Disney princess prancing with my little animal friends in the forest all happy and shit.


But oh hell..... look out if the hair gods don't shine down and decide to play a practical joke.

They don't know who they're dealin with...


Which brings me to this morning. Yah, the jokin started early.

I showered and blow dried and hit it up with product....

No good. Bad day.

Accept, I have a rook card in my pocket...

Abby.

The love of my life on days like these...

My hair dresser..

Abby is my hero.

This is Abby. She's always happy and she does the best scalp massage...


See, she knows me. 8 years doing my hair.

It took her 5 years and a hotline number to keep me out of the haircolor aisle at Wal-Mart.

She fixed some hellacious bad botched hair color jobs.

She works right next door from my office.

I go in there without an appointment holding scissors and a box of Wal-Mart hair color and she springs into action like the The Bionic Woman.

"Grab the box of bleach from her hands, STAT!!!" and off to work she goes, being my protector against the hair gods.

She loves me. I tip well.

Therefore I don't even need an appointment. God bless her.

The moral of the story is... be nice and tip your hair dresser well.

Chancing a bad hair day is nothing to trifle with.

Piss Off, Buzz Kill

I've finally figured out that most of my knee shaking epiphanies hit me while my ass is firmly planted on a bar stoll. This past weekend was, without doubt, no different.
I finally realized why, in fact, my past few months have been, how shall I say, like stink on shit.

Although I'm extremely happy with Big T, I feel like I have lost myself somewhere along the way... I've packed on 20 pounds since I got married and my clothes are too tight... which has led to me being severly annoyed at everything... which led to my lack of tolerance to drama in any circle in my life. I got enough drama dealing with my ever expanding ass to deal with anybody elses bull-caca.

I've decided that all the petty bullshit and disharmony must be flushed from my life like a Biore strip removes the blackhead on a super model's ass.

I was in the midst of three different people, on three seperate occassions, having three separate issues during the long weekend, who, for whatever their reason, seem to tote sadness, misery and all out drama in their purses.

Swear to God, after number 2 acted up, I was seriously considering becoming a recluse and avoiding all humanity until these three got it together. Jeez.

My advice to them, get happy. Nobody wants to be around somebody who can't smile and just share in the happiness. The world does not spin on its little axis simply for you to be in the center of it, no. Your problems are no bigger than anybody else's. Get a grip, get a job. It's life, get one.

There is absolutely no sense what-so-ever in all this crap.

How's that? I just needed to get that off my chest. I'll put on my hater blockers, go have some Chai Tea and meditate.

Adreneline Bubble Has Burst...

Just down in the dumps. Don't feel good. Blah. Miserable and on a self serving pity party.

A Little Insight into Women

In general, women are emo-kids in adult wrappers. At least I am, and I know alot of other women (my age, younger and older) that are the same way.
Everybody has baggage. By the time you make it into your mid-30’s, if you don’t have baggage, you must not have been doing a very good job at having a life. Many folks, men and women, by the mid-30’s have been married, had children and (in many cases) suffered through an ugly divorce or split with a significant other.
I for one have dished out my fair share (if not much, much more) of questions as to whether my significant other really loves me. I’ve tried to push him away several times, because it’s easier to let go and hurt a little than to really fall in love and get hurt ALOT in the end.
Why did I hit him with the ever present question, “Do you love me?” “Why do you love me?”????
Because I had a life, a past. And the experience wasn’t all good. Not that my life was stricken with hardship on a constant basis, but I was married to a man who had no clue about anything but drugs and video games. Yes, I chose to stay in it a lot longer than was advised. Yes, I could have packed up and left. But, I married him, and I was hellbent to stick with it or die. He was nice to me when he wanted something from me. Otherwise, he said little and did even less.
Then I grew up. I realized it wasn’t healthy and I had to get out. So, I got out. But I found out I had trust issues when I finally jumped. My significant other has NEVER done the first thing to make me think he’s going to hurt or leave me. He has never done anything but open doors for me and treated me like I am his equal.
Could I accept that? Simply put, no.
I ass-u-me (d) that there was no man out there that is genuine. There was no man out there that could really love me, for rowdy old me. There was no man out there that really would ask how my day went just because he wanted to share a few minutes together after work. ETC, ETC, ETC….. the list could go on forever.A woman wants to be happy with a man. Companionship, intimacy… yes, please. But sometimes getting her to accept that not all men are the same is a real challenge. Even if she knows it’s true. Her past may be a horrible, scary monster that must be slayed before she can go on. It can be done if there is room to work on these things in the relationship. If not, it’s doomed, go on.
Men can carry the same baggage, but due to ego and other manly things, it may not be as apparent.

To Wed or Not To Wed...That's the Question

That was the question.

I was blown completely in a direction that I had never even fathomed in fall of last year.
Like many kids my age, I have found myself all grown up, family raised, divorced and running completely wild. Kind of like turning 21 again, kinda.
I was pretty content with how life was going. My kids are grown up and I can come and go as I please.

Running around with the girls… you bet.
Acting extremely silly and pirate like… wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But, then it happened. My bestest friends introduced me to the man that would forever change my being. As fate would have it, things moved along rather rapido. And BAM - the question came…

Wanna get married? Of course, it was much sweeter than that. It was a very touching a precious moment. YEP! Let’s get married. GAME ON!
This happened last October.

The holidays went by smoothly and we were still getting to know each other pretty well.
I met his family. They seemed to like me. I passed the test.

Then it was set!! June 2nd. Invitations ordered. Cake ordered. Dress ordered. Church on hold. Preacher with a Bible. You name it, it was ordered. You get the picture.

But as days went by, I started to get scared. In typical Diva fashion, I flipped out, and decided that maybe we needed time to get our ducks in a row and everything ironed out both in our personal lives (kids and whatnot) and with our life together (roof over head, combining of households… ya know).

I put my entire wedding party in a holding pattern like a jumbo jet circling La Guardia during rush hour on Monday morning in Manhattan. I have never felt such pressure or such fear and I’ve had some pretty self-induced dramatic experiences in my life.

Everybody had some sort of input. A slight few of my closest friends were very understanding and supportive and just went happily into the holding pattern.
Others decided that it didn’t need to happen and actively gave opinions over and over.

You see, planning of the wedding ceremony was all set up and in place. But the cold feet I ended up being the proud owner of got the best of me. The wedding ceremony was the easy part. After it was all planned out and ready to go, I had time to stop and think. Which in this case, turned out to be a good thing.

I started to think about how different we are. How our views on alot of things are completely in the opposite. The way we treat and raise our kids is totally ass backward from one another.

One of the biggest fears I’ve got: becoming a wicked step-mother.
His son had always been nice to me, until the plans started to come together and it was apparent to him that this was really going to happen. Silently but surely, I knew he was sabotaging it. At least in my non-rational mind I’m sure he was.

But, I found out, when I started to keep my fella at arms length due to fear and wasn’t seeing half as much of him, just how important he is to me.

In the last week of my self-promoted hiding phase, I started to really ponder on all of the little things he does just to make me smile.
**The 100 mile-round-trips he makes in the middle of the week just to say hi and give me a kiss**
**Being serenaded in front of everyone by him and his bluegrass buddies as they sing “You are My Flower” because he wants me to know how much he loves me**
**Jumping in his big ol’ truck to ride around and do nothing but look and talk**

That man loves me. He’s not trying to tame me or make me into something I’m not. He takes my bitchy and ever-so-slightly sarcastic tone with a teaspoon of sugar and loves me anyway.

I finally got enough courage to talk to him.. To tell him I’m a freak and that I was scared of what was happening. You know, face-to-face verbal communication is way under-rated.
We both had answers to all the questions that were looming. We came to agreement on alot of subject matter.

So, I guess the answer to the above question is….

TO WED. Yes.

We have decided that a fall wedding is in order and that we are going to have a
most wonderful, beautiful ever after together.

Details to follow soon. I need to pull my wedding party in from the holding pattern and in for a landing before I go and shout from the roof-tops.

Lame Things I've Heard

Okay. By now, we all know I am a big mouth girl, with an even bigger personality and a colossus opinion about most everything. So, it seems that lately, I’ve had plenty of time to sit back, watch and listen. And some of the things I have heard recently make me want to say, “Um. What?!?!?! Get a grip, you ditz!” This is merely one of them.

***You don’t like me because I’m fat, huh?***

During a discussion about male/female carrying ons, a male friend of mine, Spike*, told me that some girl had said this one to him because he wasn’t paying her the attention she felt like she deserved or wanted.

Oh, please, honey!

Will somebody please explain to me how women figure that if a man is not paying attention to them, or not “liking” them, or not fawning over them, then it’s surely because of that big ass attached to their backside???

First off, I wonder if she ever stopped to think, if a brother isn’t giving her skins, that maybe it’s not her fat butt… maybe it’s the beautiful personality that she displays constantly… You know, the personality that rivals Peyton Manning’s dripping wet sweat sock midway through the 4th quarter of the Superbowl?

B- What man is going to want you when you are oozing ickee-ness all over the bar, grocery store, or library by hitting on and trying to make out with anything and everything with a penis? Seriously, if I was a dude, and I saw a girl (any girl) hitting on one guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot… I’m not so sure I’d be into her either. That’s just icky.

Thirdly and lastly (as if I don’t wrap it up here, I may keep going on and on)- Diva isn’t exactly a petite, Barbie doll sized girl of perfection. Now Diva knows that, although men do dig up on the arm candy, they also love women who will laugh with them, talk to them and have a great time doing whatever it is they are doing. Diva does not, nor has she ever, suffered from lack of attention from the opposite sex. Because regardless of the size of her blue jeans, Diva has no lack of esteem.

Why?

It’s a little thing called self-confidence, sister. You might try looking that one up and studying on it for a minute.

Yup, yup. You don’t dig me because I’m fat…..That’s one of the lamest things I think I’ve ever heard.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent AND the guilty.