The Infamous Question Returns

It happened again. The infamous question. This time I can absolve my hairdresser of all guilt. I had spent an hour in the chair, chatting, getting cut and styled to perfection. I had just finished telling "my man" about my brilliant find & perfect match in Frederic Fekkai's at home hair color only to have it taken away before I could start stocking up for when the time came to cover those nasty grays. I think he felt my pain.

I was just about finished. Out of the chair, shake the hair, get that final spray. Damn I was looking pretty fine. Well, at least my hair was. I turned to walk away when I heard it. Off to the side, that question. I wasn't sure if I heard correctly so at first I ignored it. It came from the salon owner. Hhhmmm. I turned back in time to see my guy smile, shrug and say "You'll have to ask her yourself". Nice save. He probably forgot. Owner repeated, "Is that your natural haircolor?" I replied yes. "Wow, that's a great color, I wish we made that here", Owner said. I sighed. Damn, that answers my question. I replied, "So do I".

Hindsight - I should have told him Fekkai makes it. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone.

French 101

I love France. More specifically Paris. Yes, I am indeed a Francophile. Always have been. Why, I have no clue. I chalk it up to being part French although my brother doesn't feel the same way I do. Hey, what can I say? Not everyone can be as stylish and trendy as me. The brother just doesn't get it. There is just something about Paris that is magical. It can't even be described which always makes it so hard to write about. Waking up to the smell of crusty breads fresh from the oven, the sounds of shops opening up, bicycles pedaling by your window. Nope, doesn't do it justice. Each time I went back I found something new that made me fall in love even more. I walk on clouds when I'm there. Literally. I have pictures to prove it. Paris is amazing.

I am always excited to find a product to bring Paris or France into my home. Whether it's a picture to hang or a dress that screams "Parisian lady walking down the Champs Elysees", yes, I'm going to buy it. Which is why I was thrilled to find a product called Votre Vu. It's a double bonus - a fabulous product that works amazingly well on your face and body AND here's the clincher.....IT'S FRENCH!! You can imagine how happy I was to discover this. Not only is it from France, but the labels are also in French (also in English) Brilliant. Every morning and night when I open my medicine cabinet I see those perfectly lined bottles of Votre Vu smiling back at me and it's almost as if for a moment I can lose myself in the ultimate French dream - living in Paris. And at affordable prices!

For now, I must be content with my face full of French cream until the day comes when I finally make it happen and jump the pond to the other side. But now it's time to prepare for Bastille Day. French restaurant here we come.

*Disclaimer - I don't speak or read French. Love carries me through.....

A coastal difference

I have always loved to throw parties. Notice the use of past tense here. When I lived in NYC, my house was the place for all of the gatherings, year round. That's just the way it was. Invites went out, whether by mail or phone or word of mouth and RSVPs always came back. Always. That too was just the way it was. As I've annoyingly discovered over the past few years living in San Diego, this is another one of the huge differences I have found between the east coast & the west coast. At first I thought it might just be a sign of the times. I know how busy things are, how hectic things can be, how some things just aren't top priority. F*ck that. This is about common courtesy people.

Since the first party we have thrown on the west coast, we have noticed that most people just don't care. Okay, so it's not everyone. There are a few people that are great - they respond to invites, whether it's yes or no - and we appreciate the courtesy and respect that they show which is why they get repeat invites and which is also why we attend their functions. But there are those that ignore or even worse, just don't show up. I forgot is not a valid excuse. This was a basic lesson taught in high school.

Right up there with the non-RSVPer is the "I changed my mind" guest. They say yes and as the date gets closer they decide they either have a better option or they just don't feel like coming anymore and come up with a usually lame reason for why they can't make it. What makes both of these types of invitees great is that at some point I have gone out of my way to attend functions for them. My favorite is this - both types of these guests will actually think nothing of what they've done and then invite you to they're next party or event and expect you to come. Seriously? I must have dumb ass written across my forehead. Well, actually I used to but no more. I got out the washcloth and scrubbed that sh*t off. So go ahead and invite me. Guess what the answer will be.

Kickstart my Heart

There are two things I have always known about myself. I have wanted to be a writer since I was 5 and I have wanted to travel the world - forever. A nomad. That's about it. Sure, things have come and gone in between. I've wanted to do so much more, be so many other things, but those two have always remained the constants in my life, the dreams I always come back to.
Am I living the dream? No. Am I close? Um, no. Getting close? Again, no. It seems like I'm getting further. How the hell did that happen? How did my life get so far off track from what I always envisioned myself doing?

I think I fell asleep one day and when I woke up someone had dropped a house on me. Literally. I need to get this freakin' house off of me so I get moving again. I'm a nomad, we don't live in houses. They keep us down, keep us from moving around. We can't be free. I need my freedom. When most people buy houses they are overcome with joy at what will be. My initial reaction was, shit, I won't be able to travel like I used to, or move around like I want. That should have been a warning.

That is also about the same time that I stopped writing, of any form. My creativity was nipped right along with that freedom.When someone drops a house on you, it's pretty heavy. It squashes a lot inside. I'd say ask the wicked witch but you know how that ended. At least I didn't get killed.

I'm working on it. I know it will take time but I have plans in the works. Dusting off the old stories for some reworking, getting that passport ready for action - Paris, it's been way too long - and not procrastinating. That last part is going to take some work. Unfortunately, that's the one I'm the best at.

Furry little man strikes again

Thankfully I did not marry a man who snores. Considering I am also a part time insomniac, this is definitely a good thing. Part time you wonder? Yeah, yeah, I'll explain. I generally have no trouble falling asleep. If you were to ask the husband he would tell you that I've missed many good shows but I can't help it - the couch is too damn comfortable. So the falling asleep part is not as hard. It's the staying asleep part that is hard.

I'm a lite sleeper. Always have been. This came in very handing while babysitting. It might come in handy some other day - if a burglar is in our home, if zombies take over the world, if we're on the run in a lawless society and must take turns resting. I can't figure out any other benefits at the moment although I'm pretty sure if zombies do come into play I'll be extremely happy about my heightened sleepless skills.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I've been waking up every night at 4am. It's been a regular occurrence for the past month. I went to bed a few nights ago feeling pretty tired. This could be the night. I thought I was in until morning. I might make it. Imagine my irritation when I woke up at, yes, 4am, to the sound of snoring. You've got to be freakin' kidding me. I'm getting ready to prepare the old elbow catapult when I rolled over and saw Mike sound asleep. No noise, no movement. Just sound sleeping going on next to me. Yet, there was that noise. Wait. The snore. That pitch. It was coming from down below.....

All 10 pounds of snoring beast - Charlie was at it again.

Man Finger Resolution

Yes, the saga of the man finger continues. When we left off, my little digit was the size of sausage proportions. It looked like it belonged on a platter at an Italian restaurant. I was waiting for my blood work to come back - all was normal - so it was off to the Orthopedist for me.

After going through my history and how I had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (or as I now found out "allegedly" had), I inform him that I will not take any medicine that will make me gain weight. I have my priorities in order. I'm told it's most likely tendinitis but with my history it's best to see another doctor and it's off to the rheumatologist I go.

At Doc #3 we get right down to business, I waste no time. I tell him I don't care what the problem is I won't take anything that is a weight gainer. He gives me a little laugh; I seem to have that effect on people. I elaborate so he doesn't think I'm too crazy. I've already gone through the steroid fat stage once and I don't need to relive that. I know pain and I know fat. I'll take pain hands down any day.

Weeks of worry are now over - final diagnosis - tendinitis for sure. That's it. Nothing more. Sure, they don't know what caused it, why it started or where it came from. Who cares, it's nothing that can't be fixed with a little shot of cortisone. Which is what I got. Pain, not fat. First choice every time.

Pity - Party of One

I used to think I was destined for great things. There is a name for that - Delusions of Grandeur. Reality has finally sunk it. Reality sucks. Badly. Maybe it was a rocky delusion. Perhaps it came and went. I don't really know when it started. Ok, I'm lying, I know. The first time I didn't die was when it started. I was 12. Although I didn't realize it right away - it took years for that to build up.

I won't bore you with the details but a childhood illness left me fat, angry & depressed. For years I blamed my mom for not letting me die. By the time I was in my late teens I figured if I hadn't died, I must have been saved for something great. Enter car accident #1. The car was totalled and yet, not a scratch on me. Here's where I'm starting to wonder that greatness must be headed my way. Still, years go by and nothing. What the hell? College comes and goes. Nothing, but I'm having a great time so no worries. Enter car accident #2. This one's not so bad. I can let it slide as just a warning.

Graduation. Real world. Crap. This part is not fun at all but greatness must be around the corner. I can feel it. New York City is my playground. It's waiting for me to conquer it. Nope. Not so much. Enter car accident #3. This one, well, not so good. But damn angels must be flying all around me. The car is a goner. We rolled a few times - I'm all banged up, broken rib here, puncture wound there but I'm generally ok. Do you know why? I'm destined for greater things! Those angels were all over me because there's no way with all of these things happening I can still be fine. Greatness is getting closer. I can feel it! Um, where are you greatness?

I'm still waiting. It hasn't happened the way I planned and then I realized that I was waiting for great happy, wonderful, joyous things. Sure, I got greatness all right. I got great pain, great debt, great drama, great bad luck, great miserable jobs & now I bequeath myself a great big pity party. I'd have myself a big glass of wine but I'd get a great migraine.