Don't Be Alarmed! Help Is On The Way From Canada!

A Portrait of Flannery Alden as of 10/11/2008

Yes, I have been a victim of Great Cuts, which are not "great" as in awesome, terrific, fierce, but rather great in it's awfulness, as in the Bush Administration. My hair sits on my head like an inverted birds nest, flat on top and puffy around the ears. The back is a disaster that I don't even want to talk about.

I've been meaning to march back into that salon and tell "Wanda," if that really is her name, to try again. But I haven't yet because I don't want to start shit with a person with the stature and personality of Lurch and the personal style of Edgar Allen Poe. Also, I haven't had one possible minute where I could go to get this damage repaired, what with Doc almost dying and then throwing himself gamely back to work. Plus I'm working a lot and I'm going to need some time when someone can hang out with the girls while I investigate the 2 hours it's going to take to make this right.

Fortunately, the Miracle Worker called me moments ago. My Mom made an emergency call to her last night on her cell because we had spent the evening listening to me bemoan my "Moe." The Miracle Worker, aka Renee, is my mom's hairdresser and she is FAB-U-LOUS. She's also very busy and the reason I don't go to her regularly is that both our schedules are very nearly incompatible. She is in Canada on vacation and promises to get me in on Monday or Tuesday.

Fortunately, most people are letting me slide on this moment of unfierceosity and I'll be spending the weekend cleaning with the Cap'n. I can slap on a babushka til Monday when I can lean back and let Renee make it all better.

I Need Advice

How do you tell a friend that a staple of his wardrobe does him no favors. This particular item does no one favors, in fact. It is an old turtleck with the neck part not folded down, but standing up. Also, all of his t-necks are very old, so the neck is stretched out and stands away from his neck, encircling it like an upside down hoop skirt. He's a good looking fellow, but his turtleneck is standing in his way of finding true love, I think.

And speaking of necks, the turtleneck does no favors to one with a short neck, and I say this because I have a short neck and you won't catch me in any top that meets my ears. Besides, when you have a larger chest, like both he and I do, it looks like the girls are hanging from your chin. I want to tell him to wear open collared shirts, to layer. His collar bone should be showing, otherwise, his head just sits right on his shoulders. But he never asked my opinion. And I don't think I can explain this unbidden. What do you think? I should probably mind my own business and pray to Princess Diana to intervene.

Skyler's Dad Wants To Know...

Recently, Skyler's Dad offered to interview me to help me get through this little slump I'm in. I gladly took him up on the offer.

1. Do you still have the picture of tongue disorders, and did you ever put it up on your refrigerator?
   
   Yes, I do still have those pictures that David Sedaris gave me. And, no, I never put them on my fridge. They are safely ensconced within my signed copy of Dress Your Family in Courduroy and Denim, which has a home on the top shelf of my closet. Man, that was three years ago. Time flies, doesn't it?
   
2. Where are all of the towns you have called home?
   
   Well, I'm an Ohio girl through and through. I've never lived in any other state. However I have scooted here and there over the years. In particular, I have lived in Canton, Cleveland, Lakewood, University Heights, Newark, New Albany and Columbus.
   
   Some may scoff at Ohio, but I think it is a very beautiful state and full of variety. It is urban and Appalachian. It's farmland and forest. At least five presidents were born here and one was born in my home town. We've got Amish, too, so there's aways "home cooking" to be had and hand-crafted furniture.
   
3. If you could change one habit about Doc, what would it be?
   
   OK, here we go. He has this habit of saying, "I'll be back in twenty minutes." As you may have read here, he went to great lengths to define what he means when he says certain things, especially when he talks about time. You may not have noticed (but I sure did) that "twenty minutes" remains undefined. If I could change one habit of his, I wish that when he said he'd be back/done in twenty minutes, he meant a span of time resembling 18-23 minutes, rather than a nebulous 25 minutes to 4 hours.
   
4. I loved your open letter to your daughters. If you were to write it again today, would it still read the same?
   
   Thank you. Yes it most definately would read the same. As I re-read it, I was glad to note that I still stand behind that statement just as much as when I wrote it, if not more.
   
5. Can you somehow, someway explain the allure of American Idol to me? I will reciprocate by attempting to explain anything you ask of me...
   
   For me, the allure of American Idol lies in its potential for magical moments. While I do enjoy the trainwreck it can be, I much prefer the times when humanity shines through it. There is so much manufactured drama/emotion/magic in the world today, it's rare to see something authentically transcendent. There have been moments on that show when I know I've been a witness to art in action on so many levels.
   
   For example, in this past season, I thought the talent was about the best ever, but I hadn't really connected personally with any of the artists. This is hardly surprising; I'm not sure I fall into the target audience. Anyway, it was country night and I was watching out of duty to the process rather than any real excitement about the prospects. And Blake Lewis busted out with the song When the Skies Go Blue...
   
   
   
   Maybe it was the combination of the argyle sweater and this dreamy song, but he delivered it and I felt a connection. I got goosebumps. I felt the magic of the music, which, for some reason, becomes more elusive the older I get.
   
   So, in a nutshell: I watch American Idol to mine for new music gold. And I love Ryan Seacrest.
   
   Can you explain the appeal of Desparate Housewives?
   
6. Are you ever going to post a picture of the new do?
   
   Yes. I'll post it here tonight when I get home. I promise. I had lost my camera for a couple of weeks, then my hair needed cut and colored. I've done that and I think I'm ready for my close-up.
   
7. Has your hate for Mel Gibson subsided any?
   
   I don't think I ever hated him. I'm angry with him. As a Christian, I think he represents the worst of us and actually does damage to our image, so to speak, especially in the eyes of people who aren't Christian. He violates rule number one: Do no harm.
   
8. How long have you known Big Orange?
   
   I have known him for 18 years. Jesus, that's a long time.
   
9. How has blogging changed you?
   
   I see the world a bit differently. I start noticing the little things and instead of letting them flee by, I capture them here for my blog. For example, today, at lunch, I saw a poseur punk girl in a dress length black tee (with jeans, natch). Written upon this tee in purple, 250 pt Arial letters was the proverb: Rehab is the New Black. Gag me. It was reminiscent of those "Choose Life" tees that Wham! used to wear. I knew I had to tell you all about it because I know you would mock her with me. And I need partners in mocking.
   
   Blogging has made the minute relevant for me. I can capture the minutia, bring it here, blow it up and use it to entertain you. I am an entertainer at heart. And an attention whore. Plus blogging has helped me hone my writing. By making all this nonsense public, especially to a bunch of other writers, I've really learned how to mind my p's and q's and also how to shape my message so that it is communicated well.
   
   Blogging has also removed the stigma of online relationships in my mind. I feel like the people I know online are perceptive, intelligent, hip and free-thinking people, the kind of people that I want to populate my life with. So what if we may never meet face to face? I still feel like we're friends. And when I read blogs written by people I know in person, I feel like I get to know them much better than if we didn't exchange written ideas.
   
10. How has losing your grandfather changed you?
    
    I'm not sure. I kind of feel like he's still with me, so I haven't really lost him. But his passing has taught me that I can go on, but not without a few break-downs every now and then. I've learned how to grieve.

Thank you so much for the questions!

Dog Days of August

It's the first weekend of August and it's time once again for the Pro Football Hall of Fame festival, parade, and game. It's the beginning of football season and the harbinger of autumn and it hall happens practically in my back yard.





What's fun about it is that it's the one time of the year that celebrities and derelicts alike gather around in the sunshine to celebrate the game that was invented here. I think I saw some retired pros today at Denny's where Elizabeth, the girls, and I went for a pick-me-up lunch. There were also plenty of derelicts as well. Of course, my camera only has eyes for the derelicts. See below:





Note the lovely lady in front. That's Elizabeth and she's no derelict. However, the lady behind her is. You really can't tell from this picture so let's take a better look...

Yes, that's a skin tight, sheer cap sleeved tee. With the back cut out. I know. Derelict, right? Oh, and they are Steeler's fans too, which is a bigger tip-off than the tee.


But it takes one to know one. Afterall, I took her picture. And my daughter, getting it honest, added to the derelict mystique by spearing her chicken tender on her straw and chomping on it like a crow after carrion. Sigh. We are so proud.

Edited to add: We had a good time at Denny's dispite the fact that they shorted us about 3 chicken tenders. They comped us a free order of tenders and then proceeded to double-charge me for our meal on my bank card, as I discovered just this morning. Grr...

My New Hair-Do Is Worth +1 Charisma

I got my haircut yesterday. I was flipping through the style books, as I always do and came up short handed. Why do those books always seem like they ar 17 years out of date? I swear, Every one of the Designing Women hairstyles was represented, including Anthony Bouvier's. So I searched through the other magazines and pulled out the one with Daniel Ratcliff on the cover. As I was flipping through, I saw a picture of Victoria Beckham. And God descended from the heavans with his heavenly choir in tow and rested his holy index finger on ther photo. That was the haircut I have been looking for.

I haven't always been a trendy girl. Well, not for the past few years. But recently, I've become a huge fasion fan. It has ispired me to quest for my new look, a signature style that will last me at least three more haircuts. And I've accomplished that quest. The Rachel cut I was saddled with died an uncerimonious death.

I swear, I don't know why some hairdressers ask you what you want! They never do it. I should just answer that question with, "Why don't you just cut it the way you are planning to." That's what I get for getting my haircut at Walmart.

Sure, I've copied Victoria Beckahm's doo, but not identically. My hair is still dark. But I'll tell you what, I've gotten more compliments on my hair today. It's been a real boost to the old self esteem and it couldn't have come at a better time. So, thanks, Becks and welcome to America.

Yesterday, God Busted My Ass...Twice!

I believe in the notion that hubris brings about a fall and I have the wounds to prove it. Sometimes I get pretty pleased with myself (no, really, I do), and yesterday was a banner day. I saw the results of two years of struggle culminate in a very satisfying way yesterday. Also, I've been pretty high on myself with regard to starting my new masters program.

My colleagues and I were walking over to the conference center yesterday to hear a big wig (or so we thought) motivational speaker. I was jabbering away about something when the heel of my shoe caught on the cuff of my pants, and, since I was walking at a good clip, not only did I begin to fall down, but I was also propelled forward spectacularly. I hit the ground with the percussive force of an old-timey oil drill.

"Let me help you up," said M as she reached down.

"Not just yet, I need to sit here for a moment," I replied.

It took me about a minute to recover from the force of the impact. In my moment of recovery, I reflected that this particular combination of shoes and slacks was dangerous and might be deadly and I ought to be more careful throughout the day.

And I was. But during the day, I began to feel pretty full of myself. I enjoyed the discovery that something we thought was very bad for us turned out to be very good instead. I was hit with the realization that, not only am I totally ready to take on this masters degree program, but I'll probably be able to do it without breaking a sweat. I was revelling in me. I had twinging sensations that I sounded a lot like the Hare in the Tortoise and the Hare fable, but I brushed them away.

As the ladies and I were leaving work, I was jabbering on about something else altogether. You may not know this about me, but when I get a good head of steam going, conversationally, I begin to forget about my surroundings and responsibilities. In fact, one time, when I worked as an assistant to a blind guy, I was leading him to my car in the parking lot, and was in full-on gab mode. I warned him that there was a step, but I think he was tuning me out and he went down. Boy, nothing in the world makes you feel much more like a humanitarian than dumping a blind guy down on his knees in the parking lot of Staples.

So, we were about 15 feet from my car, and wouldn't you know it? The same heel on the same shoe caught in the same cuff and I went down again, re-injuring my knee and now my ankle. I could barely walk. I hobbled, with assistance, to my car (with a manual transmission) and got in. I began to wonder if God was trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was karma. At any rate, I began to think back on why I might have deserved to have the same punishment twice, with cumulative pain, in one day. Then the light went on.

1. One time, Doc, Elizabeth and I were hanging out in our garage/lodge. He had just gotten out of the hot tub and was telling us a story about one thing or another. He turned his back towards us and began to walk toward the kitchen door. The next thing we know, he pitches over like a felled pine tree. There was a beat of silence.
   
   "Are you OK?" we asked him.
   
   "I'm fine," he winced.
   
   And then I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I blame America's Funniest Home videos. I shouldn't have laughed, it was my fault he fell. I had left my purse on the floor and he stepped first into one loopy handle with his right foot, and then the other with his left. Both of his feet were caught in my purse handles. He later described the sensation he had as he fell as "Feeling like I was a horse trying to get into my own saddle." I can't help it. I'm laughing as I write this. It was funny. I think my first fall was punishment for laughing at Doc.
   
   
2. The second fall of the day was pure and simple. I was puffed up with pride and I was gloating. I quite literally was knocked down a peg.

So, what did I do with such a clear message from the universe? Well, first and foremost, as soon as I got into my garage, I took those pants off, handed them to Doc, and asked him to please burn those God damned devil pants. Second, I quite literally interpreted the message: keep close to the ground, humble. "Only the penitent [wo]man shall pass."

I'm still pleased with myself, my accomplishments, my future plans. But, I'm going to stop revelling in it. It really is unseemly, unkind, and it makes me look like an asshole.

Thanks, God. You're a true friend; next time, though, I'll remember to read the memo.

P.S. Doc laughed his ass off when he heard this story. I totally deserved it.

It's Better To Look Good Than To Feel Good, Dahling!

For the sake of all that is holy and fashionable, I will need to continue to tinker with the look of my blog. After my good friend, Terry pointed out that the new color scheme was a Glamour Don't, I figured my redecorating job was incomplete.

So, please, pardon my dust, as I attempt to make this place the awesomest and fiercest blog on the block.