Friday, July 31, 2009

No More Dye For Me!

I've always wanted red hair. And I've dyed it for the last 13 years, not counting while pregnant twice. And, with my HS reunion coming up (I'm completely Romy & Michelle about it too) I had to dye it. SO last weekend I popped open a couple bottles and poured it on. Now, I have super-thick hair so two bottles is not as much as it might sound, and it turned out to not be quite enough. After I finished and rinsed it out and it dried, I had missed spots. Last night I realized that, I can't go to my reunion with spotty color so I took a third bottle and dumped it on just the top, to cover the roots and the brownish spots. I've done this before and been fine. But not this time.

I rinsed it and dried it and . . . I look like someone painted the top of my head Crayola red! So today I had to go uptown in a ball cap and confess my idiocy to my hairdresser. So she re-dyed me. Then she darkened the length of it. Then she lightened the roots. And now I have perfectly even haircolor. Approximately the same shade as a brand new penny. Under orange lighting. Ugh. But it's even, and the Ronald McDonald-ness is gone.

I am choosing to read this as a sign from God. I am going to embrace my gray roots and age gracefully. Hair color is not meant for me. It was a good run, until the end, but no more for me. Mousy brown and gray may just be my fate, and I will have to accept it.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

It's about freaking time!

I smoked for almost 20 years and the absolute worst part of it, worse than the coughing or the expense or being told to go outside in sub-zero temperatures, was getting health lectures from tan people. I hate tans now, and for good reason. Tan people who scowl at smokers are all hypocrites.

The tanning industry, that means tanning beds and lotions and even the fake tan guys with their sprays and lotions, is just as bad as the tobacco industry ever was. They promote tanning to kids, they promote tanning as glamorous and beautiful, and they perpetuate the myth of the "healthy" tan. The fake bake guys still promote the idea that pale is ugly and tan is the way to be and if they can take candy cigarettes off the shelf then the bronzers have to go too. They need to be held accountable. And now, it seems, they might be.

A recent study has found tanning beds to be as deadly as arsenic. The radiation they put out is carcinogenic, no two ways about it. And if some clever lawyer can prove that the tanning bed companies knew about this and didn't tell anyone, then there's a class-action suit in the future. I can't wait.

I read somewhere that the movie ratings people were considering giving an automatic R rating to any movie where a person smokes. That means that the old 101 Dalmations cartoon movie, if made today, would be given an R rating because of Cruella's cigarette. I think that eventually the same should be said for tans. If a naturally pale person like Scarlet Johanson has a tan in a movie, there should be, at the least, public outrage. Skin cancers are ridiculously prevalent in our society, precisely because people (women especially) are embarrassed to be seen with a natural skin color. Even me. I'm pale and I don't wear shorts because of how pale my legs are. And I wear spf 85 when I go out!

Say what you will about men in black eyeliner and nail polish, or women with black hair and blond roots, the goth movement at least brought pale back. I too, like Martin Luther King Jr., have a dream where people are no longer judged by their skin color. Especially when the alternative seems to be irradiating teenagers for prom.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

I wish I were better at the housewife thing.

I wish I were better than I am. I know what I want to do, but I can't ever seem to remember to do any of it, or find the motivation to. I envy people who wake up with a full to-do list in their head and then just commence doing it. Me, I can't even remember the date, and I keep trying to check my watch for it when I haven't worn a watch that gave the date in almost 20 years. Here are just a few things I want to do, but never seem able to.

I want to plan meals out ahead of time, so that I'll actually have all of the required ingredients, or maybe just have the food thawed. I would love to go to the grocery store and buy all the things, and only the tings, I need to make specific meals for the week. But I just end up buying the things I wrote on the grocery list, which means the things we have run out of during the week. Unfortunately that means that I often don't have enough of an ingredient because I haven't yet run out to buy more. I need a cup of parmesan to make pesto sauce, so as long as I have half a cup left I forget to buy more and can't eat pesto sauce.

I want to vacuume twice a week. I even wrote out a schedule where vacuuming was listed twice. But then Tuesday came around and the floors looked fine, and the baby needed lunch and then Ryan came home and I had to get on her about her homework, and then it was time to figure out what I could make for dinner with nothing thawed out and only half a pantry of stuff, so it got put off. Vacuuming is just so easy to put off!

I want to be the sort of mom who remembers every week to go through the house and empty the various trash cans on garbage day, but I am not. I end up with a waste basket overflowing with multi-colored lint beside the washing machine and a can in the bathroom with empty cardboard tubes sprouting out the top, the day after the trash gets picked up.

And while I'm at it, my potholders are filthy. I want to somehow be able to remember on laundry day to go through the house and collect all the rag rugs and potholders and wash them too, but I never do. I barely ever remember to go get the week's bibs from the kitchen.

How do other people remember to do all these things? Is it that they had more organized mothers themselves? Is it a role model thing? Or is it just some ingrained character flaw that I don't think to dust any higher than I can see or to clean off the tops of my ceiling fan blades? What exactly is wrong with me that I don't know to do these things?

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Fertility gods

Years ago, when I was a young rebellious teen with more money that sense, and not much money, I decided that I wanted to have a baby. I specifically wanted to have a baby with the boy I was seeing at the time. I call him a boy because he was not then, nor is he now, nor will he likely ever be, a man in all but the physical sense. And so, to spiritually enhance my fertility, and to rebelliously marr my body, I had an ankh tattooed below my navel, over my womb. I had read that it was a fertility symbol, and i did like the tattoos, but let me tell you, after one pregnancy (let alone two), a tattoo right below the navel looks much like a deflated balloon. It's all dis-proportioned and really just wonky. Don't ever do it. One year later, though, I got pregnant with Ryan.

many less years ago, after a painful and expensive vasectomy reversal, I decided (duh) to get pregnant again. I went on and found, for less than ten dollars, a coral ring I liked, coral being a fertility symbol for the more New Age of us out there. I bought it and wore it and quickly became pregnant with Tommy.

Now, I want to become pregnant again. Logic would dictate that I just put the old coral ring back on, but sadly, I cannot. My finger is now too big for it, and a largely sentimental part of me thinks that someday Tommy and his wife may want to have a child and I can then give them the ring that gave me him. I want a new heirloom (yes, a ten dollar ring from can be an heirloom!) for this baby. I ignore the fact that I'd have to be skinned to give Ryan an heirloom. So, I need a new ring. Or pendant or earrings or whatever. But, despite wanting a specific fertility symbol, I'm picky enough not to want a giant penis statue to set on my nightstand and someday bequeath to my daughter-in-law. So I again look for coral. And guess what. The price
has gone up! A lot!. At least for rings I like, anyway. And the earrings are all dangly, too uncomfortable to wear 24/7 for 9+ months. And the necklaces are either heavy and chunky or elastic and made of tiny chips, and I can too easily imagine those breaking in my bed and filling it with shards of dead sea-life. No, I need something heirloom and daughter-in-law ready (I know my next will be another boy, so I'm probably already pregnant with a girl, knowing my luck), preferably cheap enough that Tom will let me buy it.

But also, what can I give Ryan, since her crazy voodoo symbol was tattoo? I know kids don't need any conception aid from their mothers, but if one kid gets it the rest should too.