Impulse Dye

I am not sure why I wanted to be a redhead... my sister is a redhead, so you would think that it wouldn't be such a mysterious color. But brown is just so... brown. So I finally did it. I dyed my hair red. And it is... interesting.

I went to a salon that a friend of mine recommended. Her hair is fabulously colored... she's Italian genetically, and now has very natural-looking blond highlights - so I trusted her recommendation completely. Now I know that you're supposed to have a consultation, and bring photos, and chat with your stylist about what you want. But all that seemed fairly boring to me. I basically thought, "I have hair. She dyes hair. I've never dyed my hair. Who am I to tell her what will work?"

I walked into the salon and the woman at front desk was very nice... "come this way, and I'll show you the elevator" and I was whisked into the conveyor-belt-atmosphere of the salon. I'm not kidding that there were at least 30 stylists/colorists at work on this bright, shiny Saturday morning. And there were at least that many clients getting their hair done.

So I asked the colorist - a lovely lady named Elena - what she thought about red. She said "I think it would be gorgeous! It would really compliment your eye color... oh by the way, do you have virgin hair?"

Virgin hair?

I'm going to *guess* that you mean that no colorants have ever touched my follicles. Sure enough, that's what it means. So I was about to pop my hair's cherry? How appropriate that I was asking for red.

Elena said she knew the perfect color. I said "no strawberry blond" and she said "I've got it, don't move" and ran off into the back room. The door was cracked, and I could see rows and rows of boxes, presumably filled with hair color. She was gone for - I kid you not - 20 minutes, and I thought perhaps they simply didn't have any other hair color other than blond. Maybe she had run down to the local CVS to pick up a bottle of $8.99 John Frieda Radiant Red. (Maybe she did.... who knows. I wish she'd have told me - it'd be cheaper that way.)

Finally, after I'd had plenty of time to mentally back out, opt in, chicken out again, and do a gut check, she returned with a small bowl of raspberry yogurt. True enough, my "perfect color" (according to the stylist) was "way in the back, under some boxes" (let me guess - boxes of blond?) She'd mixed it up and was ready to go. I just hope it hadn't expired... who wants moldy yogurt in their hair?

She first spread what felt like Vaseline around my hair line and over my ears (not a very pleasant feeling) then proceeded to unceremoniously paint raspberry yogurt on my scalp. It was a very odd feeling. It was like having cool mud slathered on your scalp. First reaction: "EWWWWW".

Yes, at first, it was gross feeling, but it's kind of like mixing ground beef with your hands - after you resign yourself to the feeling, it can be quite a fascinating sensation. And the sound... do me a favor, and stick your hands into some yogurt sometime and squish it through your fingers while you lean your head very close... every once in a while, spread some on the tips of your ears. Odd.

Once she did my scalp-parts, she told me to walk over to the rinsing sink because she wanted to "pour the rest on"... and sure enough, she poured the rest over my head. Imagine a cool bunch of... well... raspberry yogurt being literally dumped onto your head and massaged around. It's like the grown-up wet dream version of a 6 year old's mud-fight-in-the-back-yard.

Then, my head was wrapped in plastic, and I was stuck under a dryer with some magazines. I felt like I should have been in a hair salon in the 1950's. This is the first time I actually looked around at my fellow salon dye-victims... And I realized that I was the only one in the salon who WASN'T GOING BLOND. I felt like I was in a room of clones... and I was the only one not going blonder. 30 women in the room, and all of them were some shade of blond-ish-ness. Eerie. Stepford Wives. Big time.

After my timer buzzed (yes, I did have a timer, and yes, it buzzed), they took me back to the sink and "reclined" me into the rinsing sink. But something kicked me in the back. Oh wait! It's a massage chair! At this moment, I think I have finally realized why so many people on this planet get their hair colored... for the massage chair. And for the "conditioning treatment." The woman who rinsed my hair color out, and conditioned my hair gave me a head massage. If I wasn't straight, I may very well have run off with this woman... as long as she promised to bring the massage chair.

She rinsed out the yogurt, wrapped my head with a towel, and then brought me over to a mirror and plopped me down and said "okay, dry your hair out, honey" and gave me a hair dryer and three brushes. Dry my hair out? I gotta do it myself? Didn't these people know that the last time I blew dry my hair was about 1 year ago? Okay, here goes... unwrap the towel, and ...

I giggle. I'm not naturally a giggler, but I started giggling, and I couldn't stop. I looked like I'd spilled Pom juice on my head... my hair looked BLACK. I started blowing it dry, and besides the fact that I think half of my hair fell out in the process ("that's natural for some follicles to release the hair") my hair was slowly turning from Pom juice color to Crayola brick red color. I started laughing... and I couldn't stop. The rinse lady came over at one point and asked me to stop laughing. I didn't.

The colorist finally took pity on my pathetic, giggly attempt at blow drying my falling-out-hair, and took over. She blew it out a little more, and I couldn't stop staring at myself in the mirror. I loved it, but MAN it was STRANGE and completely unnatural looking.

I left feeling a little buzzy, and as I exited the salon, the woman at the desk who had escorted me to the elevator said, "Oh, My, GOD! You're RED!" and she poked the girl next to her and said "When she came in, she was blond. But now she's RED!" I imagine she's never seen anyone leave the salon red before. They've all been blond.

Later that day, I went back to my sister's house. She said she liked it (and I believe her, even though she may be lying), but the best comment came from my nephews:

Nephew #1: Hey Beth! Oh wow. Look at your hair!
Me: What do you think?
Nephew #1: Well, Mom said you were going to come back with red hair. But it doesn't look red. It looks... WEIRD.

Nephew #3: Beth, your hair is red. But a funny red. Not like mama's.
Me: What do you mean "funny"?
Nephew #3: Funny. Like a good funny.

My sister told me I had to wear more makeup now. After all, she said, "Your hair is like a new, bold accessory. You have to dress for it now."

It's true. So now I'll have to ask my fashion peeps what makeup and earrings go best with a Crayola "Brick." And according to my sister, I apparently I can't wear my favorite maroon skirt any more because it's too "matchy-matchy." Oops.

It's going to take me a while to get used to it, but believe it or not, since it's on my head, I don't really see the color that much (usually it's pulled back off my face.) I tend to forget about it, but whenever I walk by a mirror, I am rather startled and can't stop staring. I must look really odd on the subway staring at my reflection in the glass. But that's OK.... I like it. A lot.

(P.S. Don't forget to wash that yogurt off your ear.)
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#57 - Check

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So I can now check #57 off of "The List" which is Be a redhead... what do you think?

Before:

After:

The stylist said it really brings out the green in my eyes... uh, I mean... in my rubber-duck-shirt.

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Escape to Alcatraz

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I know, I know... the blog has been quiet. But a quick life update: I love my job but it's crazy busy and I nearly had a mental breakdown last week (but no worries now...). The social life is crazy but who cares, and there's so much on the horizon that I can't keep up... The bad days are still pretty bad, but the good days far outnumber them so it's all getting better. Overall, all is well with the world, and the forward focus is beginning to become a fabulous reality.

My new favorite headache: Popcorn, by Hot Butter. Dunno why... it's like crack for eardrums (though I know it drives the boy crazy... sorry.)

Anyhoo, I did manage to escape to Alcatraz for a few days last week, after my training week in San Fran. Here is a quick n' dirty look (and yea, I know there's schmutz on my camara lens... so shoot me.)

The Isle itself:
"Only bad people help bad people escape..."
The welcome sign... (yes there were Native Americans there in 1969. Google it for details.)
Sparse quarters...
At the intersection of Broadway and Times Square:
The recreation yard, where apparently, many very competative and intense games of bridge were held regularly. Peek
Cells on top of one another...
The old Warden's house (I think):
It just doesn't look like it's that far away... I can see how they thought they could make it to the city...Entrance to Admin:

I like this shot... taken from the dining hall:
The Guard Tower:
Blah blah blah
Alcatraz Island is now a bird sanctuary. Lots of birds here. And lots of bird poop.

Toys...

Oh, what is it about new electronic gadgetry that gives me such a thrill?! Really, after the angst of shorting out my cell phone last night by dropping it in the bathtub, I went out and bought the phone that I've been lusting after...

(Wait... I feel the need to back up a little. First off, no, I'm not that desperate to stay in touch with the world that I have to keep the phone by the bath... I'm just desperate to stay in touch with one person in particular - The Boy - so back off the whole "geez, can't you live without your cell phone for two seconds?" commentary, 'kay? Second, no, I didn't get the iPhone, which I still don't understand why you people with actual human-sized fingers are fascinated with. I met the iPhone. I played with the iPhone. I used the iPhone to make a call. And while I may risk being stoned to death here by the masses, I have to say that the coveted iPhone still seems - gasp, dare I say it? - very limited to me in terms of actual functionality, durability, and, to be honest, intuitive functionality. Plus, it only works with AT&T cellular service? Huh... what-ev-er. So until the iPhone technology - and the stupidity of exclusive carrier rights - catches up to the normal workings (and digit size) of modern humans, I'm going to curb my techno-lust for that little gadget.)

So back on track, yea, I guess I did fry my phone in the wonders of a lavender-scented bubble-bath. Oops. So after spending an hour on line at the wrong store, I finally tracked down a Verizon store and after a little flirting with the customer-service-dude, I managed to score an "early upgrade" price tag on my new phone (as opposed to the "new phone cuz you're an idiot" price tag that the surly customer-service-dudette quoted me at the other desk) and viola, new technology! I was so excited I could hardly bring myself to remove that weird protective sticky-plastic-cell-phone-condom-stuff from the screens and buttons. (But I did.)

And... ooh, this is like extra chocolate sauce on a sundae... it came with a built-in GPS!!! Oh I'm SO screwed when the 2-week free trial runs out on that little feature. I played with it until the battery died. And even though the locator is a little off sometimes (weirdly haunting female GPS voice: "Proceed to Vessey Street"... Me talking to my phone: "I'm ON Vessey Street!")... it was awesome, and lead me quite nicely from (yes) Vessey Street to the West Village with very few problems.

Aaaah, this is the thrill one receives while indulging in ones geeky tendencies... And it almost makes me think that my subconscious dropped my (old, crappy, not-having-a-keyboard-when-you're-texting-kinda-sux) phone in the bubblebath on purpose... but don't tell the dude at Verizon that...

P.S. I recycled my old phone. You can do that, you know... just take it to any cell place and they're required to take it. It's better for the environment than tossing the things in the land fills, and they recycle used phones for people in need. Just sayin' that if you're going to indulge in geeky tendencies, make sure you also indulge in good causes at the same time.

Peace out... and text me if you're bored.

egg-zausted

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hey y'all...

i know that i've been sadly remiss in my blogging duties... there are no excuses except that i am simply exhausted. the trip to san fran was fabulous (except for a few weirdos - see the previous posting)... but otherwise, the new job is awesome and i'm seriously having a fabulous time. i'm so excited and energized and invigorated ... but the travels back to the right coast were exhausting, the upcoming workload is daunting, and a few emotional things on the home front are definitely draining. i'm quickly coming upon what will be one of the most painful and awful and unfair moments of my entire life, and even just the anticipation of the event is sucking life out of me. grrrr.

this, combined with the 'no home' factor is a bit weary, and having been forced to rely upon the generosity of others to this extreme is creating a constant guilty feeling that is making me act ridiculously (walking 2 miles home at 1am from the train station with a rolling suitcase? pricelessly dumb.) i wonder what my brain is thinking sometimes.

that being said, i love being back in NYC. my new job allows me to wander about the city and find super-cool, uber-fabulous places, and today i took a trip out to williamsburg (brooklyn) for dinner and two desserts... (hey, i could get used to this kind of research!)

still, sitting still at night by myself isn't relaxing... and my back is killing me from the stupid suitcase safari. for the first time in about 2 years, i wish i had some brainless tv to watch.

i need a massage.... badly....

(later that night...)
so... i decided to take a bath. and while i was running the water, The Boy called, and set the phone a-vibrating... and *ploop* right into the bathtub it went. one phone... drowned. it spit sparks at me and everything... very impressive stuff for such a crap phone.

end result - dead phone. and i think we can safely assume, ladies and gentlemen, that i am experiencing a personal revolt against my person lead by the small electronics of the world. i'm going to go to bed before my ipod decides to poison my Pom juice.

bytes, unite.
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San Fran - WTF?

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So. San Francisco... We gotta talk. Cuz seriously - I gotta ask you a question.

You have a gorgeous city. The architecture is stunning, the restaurants are fabulous, the music is incredible, the bar scene is seriously hot, the touristy stuff is cool, and the laid back intellectualism is awesome. Your weather leaves a bit to be desired, but I can overlook that.

So my question is...

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR MEN????

I have lived in NYC for 12 years. I have been in San Francisco for four days. And in the last four days, I have been heckled, harassed, stalked, followed, had my butt pinched, and had drinks spilled on me by more men than in the last decade in the Big Apple.

What, exactly, is supposed to be appealing to me when a taxi sedan driver pulls up and says "Hey baby, you look great... like you're ready to go salsa dancing... wanna ride with me?" First off, I'm wearing a business suit skirt that goes down to my knees, sneakers, a sweater, and a scarf - I do not look anything like I'm going salsa dancing. Second, do you honestly expect me to say "yes"? Really? Am I supposed to be flattered that your overweight ass is staring at mine and you're actually holding up traffic while you follow me down the street? And third, you want me to now GET... IN... YOUR... CAR? Are you friggin' kidding me?

If I walk by you on the street while you say "Hey baby, you looking for a date?" and I ignore you... do you think I want you to follow me for three blocks while you keep asking? And when you ask me "how you doin'" and I say "I was fine, until you started harassing me," is that not clear enough that I would really appreciate you leaving me alone?

If I'm at a bar, and you spill a drink on my shoulder (on purpose - yes, I could tell) and I say "No, I don't want you to buy me another drink"... do you think that's an invitation to keep following me around the bar and trying to spill a second drink on me in a lame (and really unimpressive) attempt at starting up a conversation? Hint: It's not. And here's another helpful hint - take off the wedding ring when you're trying to pick up women. I've had enough experience as a victim of a two-timing bastard to know that's the first rule. (As an informative aside, the second rule is don't use the cell phone that your wife pays for. Just sayin'.)

So San Fran boys, let me give you a little piece of admittedly unsolicited advice from NYC... unless I make a great deal of obvious eye contact (combined with a smile and not a scowl), offer to buy you a drink, or flag you down while you're driving a taxi, then the answers are "I'm not interested," "I'm definitely not interested," and "No I won't get in the car with you" to whatever it is that you're shouting in my direction.

Take a hint... back off! I guarantee that you'll have a much better chance at getting laid that way.
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Updates & Adventures

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Whew! Gotta love life... it keeps you on your toes...

I started my new job today... (technically, I started yesterday, but that was basically a cross-country "commute" day to California where I began actual "training" today.) Besides the obvious contradiction in starting a "save the environment" job with a cross country flight (I'll be making up for that carbon load for a while, I can feel it), I am having an AWESOME time. The company is inspiring, the job is fantabulous, and I have an amazing amount of control, creativity and crafting to do in the upcoming months. Technically, the launch is end of September, but there's so much to do before then it's kinda creepy...

The up side - I have so much to look forward to and so many exciting things that I'm responsible for... this is the first time in a LONG time that I've felt inspired and creative and excited about my job... YAY! (The pay cut is incidental - after all, I've tried the "good paycheck, crap job" combo, so now I'm going to try the "crap paycheck, great job" route... and so far (the first 36 hours) have been perfect. Hee!)

The old life is nearly concluded, and the future is wide open. Just a few more days until the old apartment is sold, and the baggage is out the door.... Then, it's on to a new apartment for myself, and the road ahead is truly paved with dreams.... no regrets...

The adventures, ladies and gents, are just about to begin... and life... is... just... GRAND...

(I blame my flippantly optimisitc mood on a killer beverage I had this evening - which was definitely not organic - and the fact that a crazy boy is actually flying out here so that he can be with me for one day.... wow, not used to someone putting in that much effort into me... kinda weird.)