Category: pondering

Observations from under the dryer

Every six weeks, I have to take the opportunity to have my grays covered by my stylist. And by grays, I don’t mean aliens. Or maybe I do. (Only my hairdresser knows my real hair color for sure!)

Once the color paste is on my head, I have to sit under the hairdryer to let it “cook”. This is about fifteen minutes of precious down time in my busy days. So while just sitting there, I take the opportunity to catch up on what they call these days, The Goss (as in, short for gossip).

My hairdresser works in a lovely, calming salon. Fun music plays and they have stacks of the most current gossip mags. Getting hairs done and riding a plane are my opportunities to catch up on People, OK! and US magazines. I also get a great chance to observe other women of the species in their element. Chemicals flying along with catty remarks.

And herewith, my observations:

1) In a section in US Magazine, stars gave their secrets to beauty. Penélope Cruz says her tip is to sleep more than nine hours a night. So when Penélope does it, it’s beauty enhancing. When I do it, I’m called “lazy”. Hmmph!

2) There is no woman, no matter how pretty she is, who doesn’t look ridiculously hag-ish when sitting there with color or bleach paste applied to her roots, plastic bag on her head and chemical fumes making her squint.

3) Angelina Jolie isn’t human. There was a picture in OK! Magazine of her walking out of some random building hand in hand with her Adonis-like boyfriend.

She is a few months away from delivering twins. Her face isn’t puffy. Her ankles are normal size. Her hair glistens. Her face is dewy fresh. No pregnancy mask, acne or wrinkles. Her tummy is sort of big, but no bigger than a woman with just one in there at late term. She isn’t pregnant from chin to ankles like many women loaded with twins look and feel.

I’m sure she’ll carry them both to term, deliver them naturally and easily and produce two more picture perfect children.

*sigh*

4) Having your head massaged when it’s being washed under warm water is a really nice thing. It makes you forget that your skin looks worse than that of a woman pregnant with twins.

5) Miley Cyrus is scandalous. Jennifer Anniston is “getting lucky”. American Idol is almost over. McDreamy thinks McSteamy has nice pecs. Ashley Simpson is probably pregnant. Tony Romo may or may not have broken up with Jessica Simpson. Ellen Degeneres is getting married. So is George Takei. The pregnant (and also not human) Jessica Alba just did. Katie Holms looks spooky. Jude Law snogged Kimberly Stewart at a club. And Kate Hudson may or may not be dating Lance Armstrong.

Phew.

All said and done, my nice little life looks pretty good. I have fresh hair, an amazing fiancée and the ability to go to the grocery in my crappy sweats without someone taking and publishing my photo.

Perspective. What a kick!

Milk truck, stat!

Ok, no one was hurt so I’m allowed to joke…

Crash strews Oreos over I-80.

First of all, who uses the word “strews” anymore?

That said, traffic in Chicago was stopped in a delicious way when a truck carrying 14 tons of double stuffed Oreos overturned, tossing deliciousness in “plastic sleeves…into the median and roadway.”

This is a tragedy.

First, gas prices go up. Due to transport costs, milk prices go up. And now this utter devastation means a shortage in the Oreo supply.

It ain’t right, folks. It just ain’t right.

Gotta have my Vitamin O.

Where has all the good taste gone?

Chalk it up to the fact that Tim Gunn’s faboo style book is currently on my bedside table.

Or maybe blame it on the fact that I’ve been looking over The Good Man’s shoulder as he’s doing research on a tux for our upcoming nuptials.

Perhaps the fault lies with the fact that The Good Man and I attended a “semi-formal” wedding yesterday.

In any event, I’ve been thinking a lot about men’s suits lately. What works and what doesn’t.

I realize “fashion” is surely a subjective thing. But Mr. Gunn, of “make it work” fame, emphasizes fit and perspective when wearing clothes (and I agree).

And the old idiom, “don’t let the clothes wear you”.

So when a link titled “GQ’s best suits under $500” came across my blog bleary eyes, of course I clicked with alacrity to see what’s doin’.

The Good Man and I had just been talking about how it’s totally possible to buy a nice, well fitting suit for not a terrible amount of cash.

And here was a link to a slideshow to perhaps prove the point.

Oh was I disappointed when I took a look.

All of these suits listed as “the best” were all sort of…eh..: shoulder shrug : to me.

There is a trend lately to have only the top button fastened, which is fine by me, but if the suit fits well, you don’t get as much of the terrible pucker as seen here:

Also, look at this one. From what I can tell, it’s not a cotton suit (rayon blend the website says), but damn, look at all those wrinkles (all down the arm and the pants).

Did I miss a memo? Are wrinkles in? If so my crow’s feet are ready to take flight.

I don’t mind a casual suit like that, but it needs to fit! It also looks a little tight across the model’s tummy. My rule of thumb…if it makes the model look fat, it ain’t doing ANY favors for you.

Have we lost the concept of pants that break, jackets that fit and lay nicely, and a color that accentuates the coloring of the man wearing it?

A suit doesn’t need to be spendy to get the job done.

You can take a scruffy, fashion challenged guy and put him in a suit that fits and it’s simply awe-inspiring.

None of those listed as GQ’s “best” gave me even one *sigh* of appreciation.

I like this one the best, but even still, it’s not firing me up (and oh those SHOES! But that’s a whole OTHER post for another day).

Either I’m an ol’ fuddy, or we’ve lost our sense of style.

I blame (appreciate?) my maternal grandmother for giving me at least a modicum of a sense of style. Her tenet was that no home should be without a full-length mirror. No domicile of mine has ever failed this rule.

You can TELL it when someone doesn’t have one. The outfit looks good until your eyes travel below the knees then it’s a mess.

Lines, people. Check the lines.

Ah well, let’s head off to the weekend. It promises to be sweltering in the Bay Area, so my fashion will be reduced to flip-flops and the minimum acceptable amount of clothing.

Oh, and socks of any sort with flip-flops are a NO. Honestly, I’ve seen people tuck the sock between the toes and slide on the flips. Not ok. That’s the fastest way to see my “bit into a lemon” face.

I once saw a lady at work who did this with *pantyhose*. Tucked ’em between the toes and slid on toe divider sandals.

I almost passed out.

Just say no.

I’m feeling lucky!

Does anybody ever actually use this feature on Google?

Having nothing to blog about today, I was trolling about looking at odd news, top news, entertainment news, blah.

So then I started putting in random words and hitting “I’m feeling lucky,” which takes you right to the top hit for the search term.

You know what I found? Wikipedia is most often the top hit for whatever random general search term you can think up. This is, of course, unscientific.

When I did “feeling lucky” the search term “New Mexico” it took me to newmexico.org.

Search term of “Albuquerque” took me to www.cabq.gov.

Hmph. Boring.

Like this post.

Slow news day…………

Forbidden love.

I have lust in my heart.

It’s a new lust, a fresh start.

This fascinating new thing caught my eye just less than two weeks ago when we moved into our new building. Ever since, I can’t stop thinking about our encounters.

They leave me giddy. Happy. Jittery.

I’m lovestruck baby, I must confess.

And the object of my adoration is this strong, powerful, steely beast.

What’s that, you ask?

Why, it’s a coffee machine. But not just ANY coffee machine. Not the typical office industrial device that pushes brown water out of tired dried up grounds. No.

Gaze toward the top of that lovely thing. You’ll see two plastic hoppers that contain WHOLE beans.

You select size, leaded or no, and push start and it takes beans, grinds them RIGHT THERE, and brews one delicious cup of coffee.

Now see, I’m not actually supposed to drink coffee.

For one, I can’t handle the caffeine. High blood pressure and tired adrenals and just, I can’t take the buzz.

So ok. Decaf.

I also have terrible reflux. And coffee, even decaf, is terribly acidy.
Problem is that I *love* coffee. And giving it up is difficult.

I usually limit it to on the weekends. Some decaf with breakfast or maybe an iced decaf from the local purveyor of deliciousness on a Saturday afternoon.

Last week we moved into the new office building and everyone was raving about this new coffee maker. I was like “feh!” Office coffee? No.

But when I arrived my new cubicle was not configured correctly and also my network didn’t work, so for the first hour of my day, I stood around while people fixed the problems in my workspace.

So while waiting, I toddled down the hall to try out this new thing.

When I sipped the fresh ground, fresh brewed concoction, even with the crappy dried up powder creamer they have, I was like “hey…that’s tasty!”

Tuesday, I brought in a real mug and a carton of half-n-half. Added a splash to my fresh ground love and siiiighed. So. Tasty.

I tried to keep it to a cup a day habit.

But this week slipped away from me. Suddenly I was having two in the morning. And another mid afternoon for a little “lift”. Then I was drinking a cup on my way out the door to go home.

The Good Man commented on my coffee breath, so unusual for me!

It’s probably time for rehab.

But I just…can’t. All day long I hear the distinctive clicking of my new crush. It calls to me. Beckons me to the sea of warm half-n-half sweetened love.

If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Did I mention my crush also brews hot chocolate?

A nod to my oldest niece for the imagery of forbidden caffeinated romance. Thanks! How you drink a chai with espresso is beyond me. I’m scared to try, I might further my addiction…..:)