.
My boobs hurt.
Last Friday, I went to the doc for random stuff, and he found a lump in my right breast. Nothing major, he said, prolly just a cyst. But with my family history, better safe than sorry. Whoopie.
So this morning, I was up at 5:45am to catch a crazy-hour train to NYC for a "we'll squeeze her in" appointment.
The usual paperwork later, I was escorted into the examining room, where the doc did a breast exam. Then...the fun part. The mammogram.
I've had a mammogram before - about 10 years ago after my mom was first diagnosed. But it still baffles me that they can actually do this to my breasts and still have them be attached to my body. I couldn't watch as they turned them into boob-pancakes this-way-and-that-way. Wow. Ouch. I'll never think of pancakes the same way again.
But after the doc looked at the first set of films, she wanted another take on another device, which the lovely lady told me would be "slightly more uncomfortable" than the first takes. (I think in helpful nurse-and-doctor language, "slightly more uncomfortable" describes what you feel when you amputate your arm with no anesthesia.)
After that fun time, she still wanted to check me out more, so we did a sonogram. First off, I can't tell you how depressing that my first sonogram of my life was looking for boob lumps. But at least it was "slightly less uncomfortable" than the mammogram / torture machine we started with.
The exams were quick - I felt like I and my boobs were on a conveyer-belt of boob-imaging along with about 30 other women in the office and their boobs. And in the end, $785 dollars later (why doesn't insurance cover this again?) the doc says my "denser than normal" breast tissue looks normal, and no bumps, lumps, or anything to be concerned about. See you next year.
I'm relieved - obviously - that the girls are healthy. But I had to take some aspirin for my poor boobs when I got back. And I'm already dreading next year.
.
30 October 2007
10 October 2007
39 miles later...(part deux)
.
Yes, I know the walk ended a while ago...but it's taken this long for my sister and I to get back to the point that we actually want to remember it. We're still limping, and bleeding... but let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Checking in on Friday night was crazy - thousands of people, milling about the hotel, some still holding signs that said "Need $400 for the walk!" (we all had to raise a minimum of $1,800), and the lines for medical check-in, quick check-in, and yes, even the bathroom, was filled with pink-clothed people toting bags and baggage. We scooted through that, hoping the next day would be a little less overwhelmingly loud.
The early alarm on Saturday morning wasn't fun, but when we arrive at Pier 84 to check in for the walk at 5:45am, we were surrounded by happy, perky, well-meaning people who seemed to be bursting with energy. My sister and I were... cranky and cold... but happy to be there. After eating some rubbery bagels and canned OJ, we walked close to the stage for the opening ceremonies. I will be the first to admit that we did that in the hopes that being surrounded by people would block the wind and warm us up a little... but the front-row seats had some drawbacks which I'll get to in a moment.
To paraphrase a friend of ours who has done similar walks, we were probably prepared for the physical turmoil we were about to embark upon. We were not prepared for the emotional turmoil. We listened to moving stories of cancer survivors, both those in remission and those who are still living with the disease. We heard moving speeches, and held hands with one another, and were led in a few lame stretching exercises before we were given the go-ahead to begin our 26+ mile hike for day one.
This is where we goofed. By being in the front of the crowd for the presentation, we ended up being in the back of the crowd for the beginning of the walk. Not important, since it's not a race, right? Obviously you don't understand my sister and my sense of competition. It's far from passive. We spent the next 2 hours walking on the edges of curbs, cutting corners NYC style, and in general being fairly aggressive walkers in order to "get ahead." We succeeded, though later I would wonder at what cost to our long-term endurance.
On day one, we took a 26-mile long meandering path through some of the coolest, and weirdest parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn... Through Union Square, Washington Square Park, Chinatown, Little Italy, across a foggy Manhattan Bridge into DUMBO and back on the island via the Brooklyn Bridge, through the Flatiron, and past Lincoln Center to hug Central Park West up through Harlem, across the GW Bridge and finally arriving some place in NJ for our overnight camping.
The first 10 miles were tough, and if you had asked me at the time how I felt, I'd have told you I was an 8.5 out of 10. Looking back, I was closer to a 9.999. The hip hurt a little, and my ankle was twinging, but nothing that slowed us down too much. By mile 13 we were doubting the wisdom of our outing, and by mile 18, we were playing "which body part is killing you now?" regularly. My ankle was in constant pain, and the hip tendons (weird, right?) were annoying. sis' knee was acting up, and our toes were feeling weird.
By mile 20, we were wondering how the heck my sister's husband was going to run a marathon, since we were basically falling apart at the seams. The GW bridge offered a mental respite - as we crossed the truckers and cars blew their horns in support. But the 5 miles after that were pure and unadulterated pain. Most of it was downhill, which on initial thought sounds good, right? No, we decided long ago that FLAT was the least of the evils, while uphill came in second. Downhill was pure pain, and the only reason I wasn't limping was because both legs hurt just about equally.
Though it was excruciating, we were in good spirits, and didn't harp too much on too many things, really. After all, the pain of breast cancer and chemo makes our walk seem like a bubble bath...and that's really the point, right?
The camp was tent-city. And at first we lamented the fact that our little square of land was just about as far away from the central point of activity as we could get. Even walking to it - about 100 yards - was too much for us to think about, and we sat on the grass of the baseball field trying to figure out how to get there without actually moving. We couldn't figure it out, so we crept over, and found some nice Girl Scouts to set up our tent for us, and then hobbled to dinner, and hobbled to the medical tent to get ice. Curious about my new found ankle pain, I saw a doctor who, after some poking, diagnosed me with "tendinitis due to overuse." It's a good thing the consult was free, cuz I could have told her that. Ice packs were in huge demand, so we horded them.
One thing that did make us smile was that when we arrived at 3:30pm - after 8 hours of walking - almost none of the other people at the camp had actually walked the entire distance. Most had stopped and taken the bus from mile 13. While we knew it wasn't a competition, it just felt good to have accomplished a goal that day that was a significant achievement. It also made me feel pretty good about not being sure I would be able to walk the next 13 miles the next day. My ankle was killing me, and the hips were nearly immobile. Thank goodness for ibuprofen.
We passed out in the tent floor around 9pm, and slept a solid 10 hours. Thankfully we were away from the evening's festivities (and floodlights), and slept in relative peace. The only exception were 2 trips to the loo in the middle of the night (1/2 liter of water every 45 minutes will do that to you). The loo trips wouldn't have been important to write about, except that every time I had to go, I literally shuffled like a 102-year-old woman because of the pain. Except for a brief spat of rain, it was a quiet evening.
The next morning, we had recovered surprisingly well, though we decided that avoiding the pain killers would not be an option. Popping two more ibuprofen, and breaking down the tent, we headed to breakfast, and then proceeded to walk the 4 miles uphill back to the GW bridge. The uphill wasn't too bad, but the pain came back earlier than the day before, and basically the 13 miles on Sunday were similar to the second 13 miles on Saturday - painful, long, and hard. But at the end of the road, a cheerleader squad welcomed us across the finish line and we were congratulated by spectators, which made it almost ok.
It took a few days to get back to normal, during which time we realized (warning: gross stuff ahead) that we got blisters underneath our toenails. Sis' got infected, and later required antibiotics, but other than that, it realistically took us about 3-4 days to get back to normal-ish (except for the toes, which are still recovering.)
But all in all, it was an amazing experience, which I'm hoping to do again...one day...far in the future. And next time, I'm getting stronger pain medicine to take with me.
Yes, I know the walk ended a while ago...but it's taken this long for my sister and I to get back to the point that we actually want to remember it. We're still limping, and bleeding... but let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Checking in on Friday night was crazy - thousands of people, milling about the hotel, some still holding signs that said "Need $400 for the walk!" (we all had to raise a minimum of $1,800), and the lines for medical check-in, quick check-in, and yes, even the bathroom, was filled with pink-clothed people toting bags and baggage. We scooted through that, hoping the next day would be a little less overwhelmingly loud.
The early alarm on Saturday morning wasn't fun, but when we arrive at Pier 84 to check in for the walk at 5:45am, we were surrounded by happy, perky, well-meaning people who seemed to be bursting with energy. My sister and I were... cranky and cold... but happy to be there. After eating some rubbery bagels and canned OJ, we walked close to the stage for the opening ceremonies. I will be the first to admit that we did that in the hopes that being surrounded by people would block the wind and warm us up a little... but the front-row seats had some drawbacks which I'll get to in a moment.
To paraphrase a friend of ours who has done similar walks, we were probably prepared for the physical turmoil we were about to embark upon. We were not prepared for the emotional turmoil. We listened to moving stories of cancer survivors, both those in remission and those who are still living with the disease. We heard moving speeches, and held hands with one another, and were led in a few lame stretching exercises before we were given the go-ahead to begin our 26+ mile hike for day one.
This is where we goofed. By being in the front of the crowd for the presentation, we ended up being in the back of the crowd for the beginning of the walk. Not important, since it's not a race, right? Obviously you don't understand my sister and my sense of competition. It's far from passive. We spent the next 2 hours walking on the edges of curbs, cutting corners NYC style, and in general being fairly aggressive walkers in order to "get ahead." We succeeded, though later I would wonder at what cost to our long-term endurance.
On day one, we took a 26-mile long meandering path through some of the coolest, and weirdest parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn... Through Union Square, Washington Square Park, Chinatown, Little Italy, across a foggy Manhattan Bridge into DUMBO and back on the island via the Brooklyn Bridge, through the Flatiron, and past Lincoln Center to hug Central Park West up through Harlem, across the GW Bridge and finally arriving some place in NJ for our overnight camping.
The first 10 miles were tough, and if you had asked me at the time how I felt, I'd have told you I was an 8.5 out of 10. Looking back, I was closer to a 9.999. The hip hurt a little, and my ankle was twinging, but nothing that slowed us down too much. By mile 13 we were doubting the wisdom of our outing, and by mile 18, we were playing "which body part is killing you now?" regularly. My ankle was in constant pain, and the hip tendons (weird, right?) were annoying. sis' knee was acting up, and our toes were feeling weird.
By mile 20, we were wondering how the heck my sister's husband was going to run a marathon, since we were basically falling apart at the seams. The GW bridge offered a mental respite - as we crossed the truckers and cars blew their horns in support. But the 5 miles after that were pure and unadulterated pain. Most of it was downhill, which on initial thought sounds good, right? No, we decided long ago that FLAT was the least of the evils, while uphill came in second. Downhill was pure pain, and the only reason I wasn't limping was because both legs hurt just about equally.
Though it was excruciating, we were in good spirits, and didn't harp too much on too many things, really. After all, the pain of breast cancer and chemo makes our walk seem like a bubble bath...and that's really the point, right?
The camp was tent-city. And at first we lamented the fact that our little square of land was just about as far away from the central point of activity as we could get. Even walking to it - about 100 yards - was too much for us to think about, and we sat on the grass of the baseball field trying to figure out how to get there without actually moving. We couldn't figure it out, so we crept over, and found some nice Girl Scouts to set up our tent for us, and then hobbled to dinner, and hobbled to the medical tent to get ice. Curious about my new found ankle pain, I saw a doctor who, after some poking, diagnosed me with "tendinitis due to overuse." It's a good thing the consult was free, cuz I could have told her that. Ice packs were in huge demand, so we horded them.
One thing that did make us smile was that when we arrived at 3:30pm - after 8 hours of walking - almost none of the other people at the camp had actually walked the entire distance. Most had stopped and taken the bus from mile 13. While we knew it wasn't a competition, it just felt good to have accomplished a goal that day that was a significant achievement. It also made me feel pretty good about not being sure I would be able to walk the next 13 miles the next day. My ankle was killing me, and the hips were nearly immobile. Thank goodness for ibuprofen.
We passed out in the tent floor around 9pm, and slept a solid 10 hours. Thankfully we were away from the evening's festivities (and floodlights), and slept in relative peace. The only exception were 2 trips to the loo in the middle of the night (1/2 liter of water every 45 minutes will do that to you). The loo trips wouldn't have been important to write about, except that every time I had to go, I literally shuffled like a 102-year-old woman because of the pain. Except for a brief spat of rain, it was a quiet evening.
The next morning, we had recovered surprisingly well, though we decided that avoiding the pain killers would not be an option. Popping two more ibuprofen, and breaking down the tent, we headed to breakfast, and then proceeded to walk the 4 miles uphill back to the GW bridge. The uphill wasn't too bad, but the pain came back earlier than the day before, and basically the 13 miles on Sunday were similar to the second 13 miles on Saturday - painful, long, and hard. But at the end of the road, a cheerleader squad welcomed us across the finish line and we were congratulated by spectators, which made it almost ok.
It took a few days to get back to normal, during which time we realized (warning: gross stuff ahead) that we got blisters underneath our toenails. Sis' got infected, and later required antibiotics, but other than that, it realistically took us about 3-4 days to get back to normal-ish (except for the toes, which are still recovering.)
But all in all, it was an amazing experience, which I'm hoping to do again...one day...far in the future. And next time, I'm getting stronger pain medicine to take with me.
07 October 2007
04 October 2007
Can you OD on Vitamin C?
.
The two-day "am I insane" walk starts Saturday... and - as my sister says - we're both in complete denial of its existence. The only training we've really taken seriously is the carb-loading part... oh, and I bought us each a pair of 'blister-resistant' socks. Hopefully that means it'll resist giving our feet blisters, as opposed to resisting giving the socks blisters. We did pack our bags today, which consisted of things like antacids, pain killers, muscle relaxants and water bottles. Note to self: Be sure to google the nearest location to the finish line where we can find a wheelchair... or a spa.
It's going to be fun, I swear... especially when it's over. And I'm sure we're over-packing or under-packing or something, but hey, what's an adventure without some element of surprise? I've also caught a nice little cold, so I have been slamming vitamin C... I kid you not, I have had - in the last two days - 7,000% of my recommended daily allowance of Vitamin C each day. I don't know if it's making me feel better (or maybe that's what's giving me these muscle aches and headaches?) but hey, it's worth a shot.
We're taking a camera, but I won't promise that we'll remember to take photos... or if - after walking so long together - we'll be able to stand each other long enough to ask to share the photos. But I'll see what I can do...
In other news:
- Yes, I'm still alive.
- No, I don't have an apartment... yet... but it's getting closer!
Okay... that's it for now. I off to geek out for a while.
.
The two-day "am I insane" walk starts Saturday... and - as my sister says - we're both in complete denial of its existence. The only training we've really taken seriously is the carb-loading part... oh, and I bought us each a pair of 'blister-resistant' socks. Hopefully that means it'll resist giving our feet blisters, as opposed to resisting giving the socks blisters. We did pack our bags today, which consisted of things like antacids, pain killers, muscle relaxants and water bottles. Note to self: Be sure to google the nearest location to the finish line where we can find a wheelchair... or a spa.
It's going to be fun, I swear... especially when it's over. And I'm sure we're over-packing or under-packing or something, but hey, what's an adventure without some element of surprise? I've also caught a nice little cold, so I have been slamming vitamin C... I kid you not, I have had - in the last two days - 7,000% of my recommended daily allowance of Vitamin C each day. I don't know if it's making me feel better (or maybe that's what's giving me these muscle aches and headaches?) but hey, it's worth a shot.
We're taking a camera, but I won't promise that we'll remember to take photos... or if - after walking so long together - we'll be able to stand each other long enough to ask to share the photos. But I'll see what I can do...
In other news:
- Yes, I'm still alive.
- No, I don't have an apartment... yet... but it's getting closer!
- My boyfriend and I are no longer together. Bleh.
- Work is nuts... but I still (mostly) love it.
- I suck at retail therapy.Okay... that's it for now. I off to geek out for a while.
.
27 September 2007
three things
.
there are three things you should never do when you break up with someone:
1. spend the night alone at a ghetto hotel in a city you don't know
2. watch sex and the city - the one about how they're getting "old" (i.e. the same age as you) and are alone and unhappy
3. write a blog.
oops. note to self: follow own advice.
there are three things you should never do when you break up with someone:
1. spend the night alone at a ghetto hotel in a city you don't know
2. watch sex and the city - the one about how they're getting "old" (i.e. the same age as you) and are alone and unhappy
3. write a blog.
oops. note to self: follow own advice.
24 September 2007
Launches, Lurches, Lunches
.
Hello blogger-readers... it's been rather quiet on this front, I'll admit. The new job is crazy, but the beast launches tomorrow... so hopefully the internet won't blow up or anything. If it does, don't tell anyone it's because of me, deal?
I'll admit being kind of excited. It's kinda weird to have excitement about a job again.... and I'll also admit that I like caring about my job again. I need to keep this going for a while, I think. It is kind of hard to tell what your bosses are feeling about your work when they are thousands of miles away.
What else... in other news, the apartment-buying process is taking it's usual sluggish pace... but hopefully things will be resolved soon. I am not sure that buying a place that needs work was such a good idea at this point in my life. But hey, too late now. Low-VOC paint, here I come.
The 39-mile walk for breast cancer is in a week and half, and it's going to hurt. Badly. My sister and I decided a few weeks ago that we needed to "train"... and since then, we've probably walked a total of 20 miles. We did have a good two-day training streak - two days of 6-mile walks each. We were hurtin' though... and at the end, decided that we'll be fine, but we'll be sore. I mean, I'm excited at the challenge, and I'm sure it's going to be an amazing adventure... but 39 miles is a looooooong way on foot. Please feel free to stop along the route and bring us brownies... or adrenaline shots... or just a stretcher. After I'm done I'm going to get a brain transplant to make sure I don't have any of these stupid ideas again.
Other than that, depression seems to be the running theme in my life. I guess all the upheaval of the last 2 years is still draggin' me down. (*sigh*). Tired of this. Really. C'mon. Is this whole "depressed for 2 years" thing supposed to be a joke? Cuz I'm not friggin' laughing.
.
Hello blogger-readers... it's been rather quiet on this front, I'll admit. The new job is crazy, but the beast launches tomorrow... so hopefully the internet won't blow up or anything. If it does, don't tell anyone it's because of me, deal?
I'll admit being kind of excited. It's kinda weird to have excitement about a job again.... and I'll also admit that I like caring about my job again. I need to keep this going for a while, I think. It is kind of hard to tell what your bosses are feeling about your work when they are thousands of miles away.
What else... in other news, the apartment-buying process is taking it's usual sluggish pace... but hopefully things will be resolved soon. I am not sure that buying a place that needs work was such a good idea at this point in my life. But hey, too late now. Low-VOC paint, here I come.
The 39-mile walk for breast cancer is in a week and half, and it's going to hurt. Badly. My sister and I decided a few weeks ago that we needed to "train"... and since then, we've probably walked a total of 20 miles. We did have a good two-day training streak - two days of 6-mile walks each. We were hurtin' though... and at the end, decided that we'll be fine, but we'll be sore. I mean, I'm excited at the challenge, and I'm sure it's going to be an amazing adventure... but 39 miles is a looooooong way on foot. Please feel free to stop along the route and bring us brownies... or adrenaline shots... or just a stretcher. After I'm done I'm going to get a brain transplant to make sure I don't have any of these stupid ideas again.
Other than that, depression seems to be the running theme in my life. I guess all the upheaval of the last 2 years is still draggin' me down. (*sigh*). Tired of this. Really. C'mon. Is this whole "depressed for 2 years" thing supposed to be a joke? Cuz I'm not friggin' laughing.
.
18 September 2007
What gets my goat...
.
Things that get my goat:
Being thirsty and having to pee at the same time.
Melting ice watering down a $12 drink.
Uptime and downtime being indistinguishable in their levels of stress.
Non-thong giving a wedgie. (Why else would you wear grannie-panties except to avoid a wedgie?)
Switching to online billing to save paper, and still getting junk mail from the credit card company. (I'm talkin' to you, AMEX.)
Being surrounded by people and feeling lonely. (And then being filled with guilt because I shouldn't feel lonely.)
People who claim online "friends" aren't real friendships.
Phlegm and swollen sinuses. (Really, what is the evolutionary purpose of a sinus headache?)
Computers that don't do what they're supposed to do.
Cleaning up my room, and then not being able to find anything I'm looking for.
Lies and the lying liars who tell them.
People who can't separate work and play... and people who can't enjoy that separation.
The fact that you can't have long fingernails and play the piano.
Places that run the heat or A/C based on the date and not the temperature.
Smokers.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I think that's it for now. Meanwhile, my sister and I are "training" for our walk in two weeks... yikes!!! Wish us luck!
.
Things that get my goat:
Being thirsty and having to pee at the same time.
Melting ice watering down a $12 drink.
Uptime and downtime being indistinguishable in their levels of stress.
Non-thong giving a wedgie. (Why else would you wear grannie-panties except to avoid a wedgie?)
Switching to online billing to save paper, and still getting junk mail from the credit card company. (I'm talkin' to you, AMEX.)
Being surrounded by people and feeling lonely. (And then being filled with guilt because I shouldn't feel lonely.)
People who claim online "friends" aren't real friendships.
Phlegm and swollen sinuses. (Really, what is the evolutionary purpose of a sinus headache?)
Computers that don't do what they're supposed to do.
Cleaning up my room, and then not being able to find anything I'm looking for.
Lies and the lying liars who tell them.
People who can't separate work and play... and people who can't enjoy that separation.
The fact that you can't have long fingernails and play the piano.
Places that run the heat or A/C based on the date and not the temperature.
Smokers.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I think that's it for now. Meanwhile, my sister and I are "training" for our walk in two weeks... yikes!!! Wish us luck!
.
13 September 2007
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12 September 2007
Yep, Nope
.
Yep, I'm still alive.
Nope, I don't have an apartment yet.
Yep, I'm still a redhead.
Yep, I love it and might stay a redhead for a while.
Yep, I still have a job.
Nope, I haven't stopped working since I started it.
And Yep, overall, I'm pretty happy....
... and in desperate need of a massage.
.
Yep, I'm still alive.
Nope, I don't have an apartment yet.
Yep, I'm still a redhead.
Yep, I love it and might stay a redhead for a while.
Yep, I still have a job.
Nope, I haven't stopped working since I started it.
And Yep, overall, I'm pretty happy....
... and in desperate need of a massage.
.
06 September 2007
A Conversation on Sharks
.
Nephew #3: (running to his mom, upset and on the verge of tears)
Mama, sharks can't go out of the water... But he says no, they can!
(points accusingly at nephew #4)
Mama: (to nephew #4)
Sharks can't go out of the water or they'll die.
Nephew #4: (puzzled)
But then how do they get on boats?
Mama:
They don't.
Nephew #4: (tears welling in eyes)
But Mama, they HAVE to...
Mama:
Honey, they can't.
Nephew #4: (pouting)
I don't wanna play this game any more.
(stomps towards tire swing)
.
Nephew #3: (running to his mom, upset and on the verge of tears)
Mama, sharks can't go out of the water... But he says no, they can!
(points accusingly at nephew #4)
Mama: (to nephew #4)
Sharks can't go out of the water or they'll die.
Nephew #4: (puzzled)
But then how do they get on boats?
Mama:
They don't.
Nephew #4: (tears welling in eyes)
But Mama, they HAVE to...
Mama:
Honey, they can't.
Nephew #4: (pouting)
I don't wanna play this game any more.
(stomps towards tire swing)
.
01 September 2007
27 August 2007
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.)
.
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.)
.
26 August 2007
#57 - Check
.
So I can now check #57 off of "The List" which is Be a redhead... what do you think?
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.
.
22 August 2007
Escape to Alcatraz
.
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.
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.
14 August 2007
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.
(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.
13 August 2007
egg-zausted
.
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.
.
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.
.
10 August 2007
San Fran - WTF?
.
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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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.
.
07 August 2007
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.)
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.)
31 July 2007
Masochistic Hair Stylist
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I got my hair cut today. And I think my stylist was taking out her life frustrations on my head... my scalp is still throbbing.
I'm not a wuss when it comes to pulling hair. For my entire life I've had long hair (except for one unfortunate experiment with the "short hair is easier" myth in college - and no I don't have photos. I burned them.) With said locks, it's inevitable that you have to be rather stalwart, since it usually comes with plenty of painful associations. A few examples that come to mind are:
My stylist (who shall remain nameless), started out well, even though avoiding catching the comb in hoop earrings seems to be a perpetual challenge for her (note to self: next time you're entering haircut combat, remove all jewelry.) But the pain really started when she started blow drying. As anyone with any hair probably knows, wet, sticky hands running through your hair is NOT pleasant. Add scorching hot air and it's enough to want Novocaine scalp injections.
Then came the combing... and apparently in style school, the remedy for tangled hair is to pull really hard until the knot (or the hair) comes out... preferably with a large-tooth comb that has no flexibility whatsoever. I wouldn't be surprised if at some point, she had a professor for whom having a piece of bloodied scalp stuck to the ends was worth some extra credit. This went on for about 30 minutes.
I was never so happy to be done with a hair cut. And I was never more perplexed as to why this torture would cost me $80 (and you want a tip for this????) My head throbbed for hours. And while I've been known to be slightly sarcastic in my humor, I am not lying when I say that I took an aspirin later to cure my hair-cut hangover headache.
I was thinking of dying my hair red in the next few weeks... but maybe I'll find a gentler stylist before I do that. One that uses a chainsaw or something.
.
I got my hair cut today. And I think my stylist was taking out her life frustrations on my head... my scalp is still throbbing.
I'm not a wuss when it comes to pulling hair. For my entire life I've had long hair (except for one unfortunate experiment with the "short hair is easier" myth in college - and no I don't have photos. I burned them.) With said locks, it's inevitable that you have to be rather stalwart, since it usually comes with plenty of painful associations. A few examples that come to mind are:
- Boy on bus in 7th grade pulling my hair from the seat behind me. I caught him at one point and dug my nails into his hand. Yes, the hair pulling was annoying, but he suffered more than I did. Aaah, a feminist even then.
- Hoodie- or turtleneck-induced "rat's nests" at the base of the neck, usually occurring in the winter months, and taking about an hour to release the hair, usually accompanied by much swearing and the desire to take a scissor and just hack the sucker out (after all, who would notice? It's underneath the rest of my hair!)
- The classic "fell asleep with gum in my mouth and then it fell into my hair" issue. I don't even want to tell you how we got that out... but I will tell you I smelled of many choice chemicals for a few days.
- Catching hair in car doors or closing windows on a few choice strands while cruising around town. (And why is it that the hairs that get caught are directly attached to the nerve endings that shoot pain into your eye?)
- I grew up with a sister. We didn't wrestle, we pulled hair. 'Nuff said.
My stylist (who shall remain nameless), started out well, even though avoiding catching the comb in hoop earrings seems to be a perpetual challenge for her (note to self: next time you're entering haircut combat, remove all jewelry.) But the pain really started when she started blow drying. As anyone with any hair probably knows, wet, sticky hands running through your hair is NOT pleasant. Add scorching hot air and it's enough to want Novocaine scalp injections.
Then came the combing... and apparently in style school, the remedy for tangled hair is to pull really hard until the knot (or the hair) comes out... preferably with a large-tooth comb that has no flexibility whatsoever. I wouldn't be surprised if at some point, she had a professor for whom having a piece of bloodied scalp stuck to the ends was worth some extra credit. This went on for about 30 minutes.
I was never so happy to be done with a hair cut. And I was never more perplexed as to why this torture would cost me $80 (and you want a tip for this????) My head throbbed for hours. And while I've been known to be slightly sarcastic in my humor, I am not lying when I say that I took an aspirin later to cure my hair-cut hangover headache.
I was thinking of dying my hair red in the next few weeks... but maybe I'll find a gentler stylist before I do that. One that uses a chainsaw or something.
.
30 July 2007
When you just can't choose pink
When they said "Pick a color", I just couldn't bring myself to say "pink".... this is the end game:
(at least it wasn't my hair... this time)
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(at least it wasn't my hair... this time).
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