Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Then, yesterday I was shoved violently from the blissful state of denial to what is clearly the anger stage as I realized that I had a gift card for Nordstrom in there worth about 116 dollars. Let me assure you there is more to this gift card than meets the eye. This gift card is from a gift that I received last Christmas that I returned and I knew exactly what I wanted instead--a smaller body. And since I was unable to purchase a smaller body from Nordstrom I decided that I would instead use it to treat myself to an otherwise very expensive pair of jeans, after I lost weight of course. So for the better part of a year, I have been looking at that giftcard nestled cozily between a side of a cloth covered pocket and another giftcard and thinking of the day when I would exchange it for what I was sure would become my next favorite pair of jeans.
This giftcard became a symbol of victory for me, something tangible that was there encouraging me every day. It was loyally waiting by my side to reward me at a moments notice for months of hard work. It understood me, and I understood it. It was very much a part of my life as was the rest of my wallet.
Little did I know that I would be saying goodbye to this giftcard or to the 180$ I had in the cash pocket waiting to be used to purchase the last of my husband's Christmas presents, or to the receipts from things I had purchased that had yet to be recorded in my personal financial record (about which I am still wondering what expenditures are pending), or the annual passes to Disneyland that proudly wear the pictures of me, my husband, and my son along with a great big "P" on each card signifying that we have not only free admission to Disneyland but free parking as well. These were also not merely passes to a theme park but symbols of Jon and my independence and our youthful adventuresome nature because as many of you know, we do not live in Southern California and there are those that have questioned our decision to purchase these passes, but there they are, standing as a physical reminder that Jon and I can do whatever we want, and as long as Jon can get the time off work, our wonderful Disney vacation is only a thought away.
And then of course there is the wallet itself--a design of the talented Kate Spade. Navy blue with kelly green leather straps enclosing it and keeping it together. It matches a purse of mine and the two were given to me by my sweet parents and they happened to be my very first wallet and handbag by a designer (and my favorite handbag designer at that).
So now my mind is plagued with thoughts of some unfit being defiling my sanctuary by prying open a wallet that did not belong to him or her and violating my privacy by looking though my things to decide what was worth stealing and what wasn't. This person does not see the life behind these plastic cards and paper money, and even though my picture is staring at them from my drivers license, they choose not to think that these things belong to a real person that is out there wondering where her wallet is. Right now, instead of gifts for my husband, something else is being purchased with tainted money, and instead of a new pair of victory jeans something with far less meaning and sacrifice is being purchased at Nordstrom.
And somewhere out there lies a wallet that has been stripped of it's immediate lucrative value and is left with nothing to validate it's existence but the memories in my head and this blog that officially commemorates the very first time I have ever had a wallet lost or stolen.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I Love Fashion. More definitely than the average person, and possibly more than the average fashionable person. Truth be told, I really don't have the time or the resources (or the body for that matter) to always be on the up and up, but rest assured, if I did, I would be. Having said this, there is one thing I will never in a million years or a billion dollars understand and that is how anyone can spend 10,000 dollars on a single handbag (let alone buying the newest one each season).I honestly can't imagine spending that much money on a handbag even if I really could afford it. I would hope that if I ever came into that much money that there would always be that little voice in my head, let's call it the voice of reason for funsies, that said "Hey, isn't there possibly a better use of this money?" And in the case of 10,000 dollar handbags, the answer is ALWAYS a resounding YES!!!Imagine if the few (but you'd be surprised at how many) people that could afford this uber luxury took 500 dollars out of the ten thousand to buy what I would always consider to be a very high quality and still designer handbag and then spent the remaining 9,500 dollars in any of these socially responsible ways:
--To feed x amount of starving children in the US for x amount of time
--To donate to our public school systems and largely improve them in many ways
--To create scholarships for deserving teens that couldn't otherwise afford a college education
--To donate to the habitat for humanity and fund the building of homes for the homeless
--To improve playgrounds for inner-city kids
--To improve conditions in foreign orphanages
--To buy and send medical supplies and vaccinations to third world countries
You get the general idea I'm sure. I just can't understand how anyone could spend this lavishly when there are so many that lack basic needs for living. It's almost as if the designers invented the concept because their clients were running out of things to spend their money on, you know sort of like a "Brewster's Millions" for the fashion world.
Then of course is my conspiracy theory. I have this fashion theory that there are designers out there with an enormous sense of humor, and that a certain percentage of what they produce is purely to mock the die-hard fashionistas of the world --the ones that can't think for themselves without consulting vogue magazine. I developed this theory when I first saw those hideous Louis Vuitton bags with the little L's and V's and flowers printed on them (I'm sure you have seen this in one form or another, it has been done to death and there are knock-offs everywhere). I imagined that the head designer for Louis Vuitton was getting a hearty chuckle out of all the fashion drones that were actually buying this uglier-than-sin bag just because he put it out there and said it was "in." Imagine the power that these designers have over a percentage of the population.
So I think this is how it went down in the office of Ralph Lauren (one of the designers responsible for the 10,000 dollar bag fiasco):
"Ok, everyone gather around, I have a new idea. Remember that ostrich skin bag that we designed? Well we are going to raise the price from 1,000 dollars to 10,000 dollars just to see if anyone is dumb enough to buy it."
"No way would anyone be that stupid, Ralph."
"Sure they would, that's the kind of power I have over people. If I say it's hot people will buy it no matter how extravagant the price--I'll bet you 10,000 dollars."
"You're on--prepare to loose your money old man."
And we all know who won that bet.
And if you are interested in purchasing the pictured handbag, it is available for a mere 14,000 dollars on www.ralphlauren.com and apparantly it is one of their holiday favorites.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Case in point: My son's preschool. I signed him up for this fall last spring paying a 50 dollar deposit fee and half of August tuition (60$) for a total of 110 dollars non refundable. I did this knowing full well that I would probably be moving to Arizona at least part way through the year if not before it began. But the reason I took this risk is because there was a small chance that we wouldn't have moved and I wanted Gabe to be in this good preschool that is generally hard to get into because they are so popular. Well, we found out that we would be moving in October, and traveling most of September, so it didn't make sense for him to start preschool for a few weeks and then be pulled out, so I more or less told his teacher that she could take him out of her class. Then the green-eyed monster visited me this morning (the day before he would be starting preschool), and I thought two things: 1--wouldn't it be nice if he went to preschool tomorrow and I could have a little break? Or 2--wouldn't it be nice to have that money back given the fact that I know they didn't have a problem finding someone to take his place?
And this is where the danger began. So I called and asked if I could in fact have that money back, and they of course said no (and don't think for a second that they didn't point out that I knew it was non-refundable when I paid it). So then I thought "well, if I have to pay, I should get something back in return, right?" So I then said that I would like to reinstate my Son, because if I paid the money for that slot, I should get it don't you agree? (I certainly did) and this sounds all reasonable and understandable until you factor in that I am now not only paying the non-refundable fee, but I am also now paying by losing my dignity minute by minute. So after what I am ashamed to admit was a long and argumentative phone call which ended in an "I'll get back to you" on her part, a funny thing happened. The keeper of my dignity began to reason with me (you see, it is her job to safe guard as much of my dignity as she possibly can, and trust me, it is a tough job that challenges her daily). "Is it worth it?" she wanted to know. And I said, "Hey, this is a hundred and ten dollars we are talking about!" And then she said, "But think of what you are going to have to go through to get your money's worth. You will have to see each of these women day in and day out, and not to mention how embarrassing it will be to admit to them that really you will be traveling all September and thereby not be in class much. Not to mention there's that 50 dollar early withdrawal fee that you would have to pay." To which I replied "True..." And then, because my keeper is prone to bargaining, she said, "I'll make you a deal. If you cut your losses right now, and call back and apologize for your behavior, you will not only safeguard the rest of your dignity, but you may just gain some back for being the bigger person." And I thought about it, and I thought about all the money I was loosing, and I finally had to agree that my keeper was right, you just can't put a price on dignity.
So I mustered up the courage and called to apologize, but I have to admit that I am still a bit irked. I'm sure they feel justified for making this fee non-refundable, but I can't help but feel that they are making out like bandits. It seems much more reasonable to say "Hey, this fee is non-refundable if we are unable to find a replacement, otherwise you get it back because we understand how much it sucks to be screwed out of your HARD EARNED MONEY that we have no business keeping when there was little to no hassle on our part to make that change."
But before I get all riled up again, I have to remember that I took the high ground, and that also, as much as it sucks, it is a part of life, and as much as I hate to be screwed out of my money, I hate even more being that person that just can't let go.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
The funny thing is, however, I have actually began a weight loss regimen. I started the South Beach Diet about three weeks ago and it worked like a charm, until I began making allowances for myself, and then it yo-yo'ed (I'm not sure how to spell that, because it isn't really a real word) back and forth which basically amounted to me not losing any more weight. Then a revelation of sorts came to me: eating out gets me every time. No matter how well I think I am doing, eating out has a way to sabotage me. So I've decided to discontinue eating out altogether. Except I am toying with the idea of allowing salads with minimal ingredients and Italian dressing. Other than that, I will be eating my meals at home. If this still proves to sabotage my efforts, I'll be eating nothing at all from a restaurant.
In essence, I am not giving up--I AM NOT GIVING UP! These pounds are coming off dang it if it is the last thing I do. For those of you who are unfamiliar with losing weight, this is what makes it so dang hard. You have to constantly rededicate yourself, and fight like the death at all times. The minute you let your guard down, it gets away from you, and the farther it gets away from you the harder it is to get it back. It it very hard and takes real discipline. But what drives me, and possibly others is the incredibly strong desire to never look pregnant unless I am so. So there it is, I have about 40 or so lbs to go, and I will reach half of my goal by my planned trip to Hawaii which will be good, but not as good as if I were to be all the way there. Sigh. And that's what is so tragic about wasted time. There won't be anymore waited though, because I am back on baby, and this time I am not stopping until I have gone all the way.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Anyhow, there has been one thing that has been on my mind quite a bit lately, and I thought it would be very appropriate to post about.
Sweat. That's right, sweat. I sweat. There, I said it--and frankly it feels good to openly admit it. I feel a bit as though I am maturing because more and more I make peace with things that don't matter that are a part of my life whether I want it to be or not.
As a teenager, I spent countless hours worrying and stressing about that little part under my arms. I have tried countless "remedies," prescriptions, advice, voo doo, etc. To rid me of this problem. None of this worked, and I was forced to ignore it for the time being.
Then, a friend of mine who has suffered from the same thing suggested I try a certain brand of men's deodorant because it was "The only thing that has ever worked" for her. So, the beast inside of me began to be fed and once again I began a fruitless quest for dryness. Her suggestion as I'm sure you guessed, did not work, and I really got sick of smelling like a guy. So, like many from my generation would, I turned to my personal information guru--the internet. I found a few places that promised me sweat free days for such and such a price, and I found the one that seemed the most promising and decided to give it a go. Needless to say I'm sure, it didn't work and it only frustrated me more (I did, however, get my money back).
Then, after I had whined and complained--complete with tears of real sorrow--to my husband (who was very sweet to put up with it), something happened. I began to realize that I was wasting time and emotion on something very insignificant. I think I was even inspired to begin to think of all of the suffering and heartache there is in the world, and how lucky I was that my biggest concern from day to day is my sweat. It reminded me of the phrase that I often think of: "now those are the kind of problems you want to have." So after feeling lucky and humbled, I began to make peace with my sweat.
After that day, my perspective changed and I started to notice something I hadn't before--I wasn't the only one that sweats. Duh. People sweat, big revelation! I started to notice more and more people that had wet spots under their arms, and they were all kinds of people, even the thin and beautiful. Which of course led me to wonder, why then, is it such a big deal? It isn't a result of being dirty or having not showered (Ironically I sweat more right after I shower), and it doesn't necessarily go hand in hand with BO either, believe me, I've tested.
The conclusion I came to is that it can only be a by-product of our American culture. Leave it to us to take something perfectly normal and twist it into something bad and add a completely impossible standard to live up to along with it. Add it to our obsession with minty breath, perfectly perky breasts, nothing but clean white and perfectly straight teeth, rock hard abs, a hairless body, cellulite-free legs, and I'm sure there's more. No wonder we are all getting plastic surgery. I think it's a sign of how bad things have become when celebrities and fashion models are getting plastic surgery as well. The very people we try to emulate aren't even good enough. I think it is sick that we are being pressured to fit into these unnatural molds, and if you are contributing to this--stop. Seriously, think about it, haven't you been conditioned to think that sweating is bad, unattractive, and a sign of bad hygiene? And have you never sweat before when you knew you were clean? If you haven't I want nothing to do with you. Because a person like that isn't real. I think if we were all honest with ourselves, we'd have to admit that we have sweat once in our lives.
So, I'm officially over it. Yeah, I sweat, and the next time you see me, I may have great big spots of wetness under each arm, but rest assured, I am finished caring. And I don't care what anyone else thinks. Finally. And to add to that--my breasts will never be as perky as thy once were, I have a ton of stretch marks, I occasionally have bad breath, I too deal with body hair, one of my lower front teeth is crooked, and I have declined the offer to fix it many times, I certainly have cellulite on my legs, and yes, I do fart from time to time.
Eh? What do you say to that America? That isn't to say that I haven't altered anything about my looks, but I have drawn a line, and I think everyone should. And the main point is that no one can ever be that perfect so it is silly to stress about it. Especially something so commonplace as sweating. It's enough to make me want to move to Europe. Perhaps I will move there to raise my children so that they will have an opportunity to see that all people are beautiful in their natural state--and that everybody sweats.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
One of the reasons for my being absent is that I was completely engrossed in "The DaVinci Code." I was trying to finish it before the movie left the theaters. At first, I enjoyed this book very much, and I have to say that what intrigued me the most was reading about all of the symbolic meaning and interpretations of art and architecture. And then tragedy struck last night. I was unable to sleep and so I decided to watch a little TV. Much to my delight, there was a program on public television that featured a professor of art history (I forget which University he was from) and he discussed in detail the liberties that Dan Brown (the author of "The DaVinci Code") took with his interpretations of the art in his book. Come to find out, everything that Brown offered about these paintings was either down right false or just didn't have any historical data to support his interpretations. Basically the only thing he said about the paintings that has any similarity with reality is the names and artists of the paintings, and even then he left a few things out.
As you can imagine, I was somewhat disappointed. Now, I'm no idiot, I'm aware that this is a fiction novel, and I'm okay with authors taking creative license with their works. I've come to the realization that there are two types of fiction novels: Those that take place in a setting that doesn't exist, and those that take place in a setting that does exist in the real world. Obviously an author of a fiction novel that takes place in an imaginary setting can do whatever they please, and as long as it is relatively connected, I'd be able to be comfortable with it. It's the other type of fiction that I have a hard time with. These novels take some truth and some fiction and mix it all up together making it very confusing for people like me. Take "The DaVinci Code" for example: I assume that the characters and plot line are fiction. I know that parts of the setting really do exist, and I know that some of the objects do exist as well, but it seems that the rest is up for grabs and this is what bothers me. My mind has a hard time living in that space in-between reality and fiction. I find myself unsure of what or whom to believe in.
It was the same way with "Memoirs of a Geisha." The author talks about interviewing this old Japanese woman about her life as a Geisha in old Japan, and then at the end of the book, he admits he made that up--she doesn't really exist. Ok, fine, but the way the Geisha are portrayed is factual--right? No. Turns out the author of "Memoirs of a Geisha" took extreme liberty and fused the lives of Geisha and Japanese prostitutes together and called it a "memoir" of a Geisha. Now, I am left wondering which of it represents the life of a Geisha and which represents the life of a Japanese prostitute? And now I have to do all kinds of research because a book I thought was a factual representation of a lifestyle I wanted to learn about turned out to be a mix of fact and fiction. And then, as if that weren't confusing enough, I still can't decide whom to believe--is the guy trying to sell a book taking too much liberty about a lifestyle he researched, or is the real Geisha trying to hide something about their secret life so they deny everything the author says?
I guess only real Geisha and Leonardo DaVinci know for sure and the rest of us have to guess. And perhaps Dan Brown is mocking us all by constantly saying in his book that "everyone loves a scandal" all the while providing a scandal for his readers while he pokes fun at the ones that believe what he presented as interpretations of DaVinci's paintings. Well, Dan, this is one fish that got away. I won't be taking your explanations for granted anymore.
I guess the thing that bothers me the most is that I was hoping to be educated while I was entertained, but it turns out that while I was being entertained, I was actually losing my education. That is cruel.
So reader beware, and as you are watching "The DaVinci Code" this summer, don't believe a word they say.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
In light of that, I'd like to share a few of those moments I have had that made me feel like being a Mother is the most amazing thing anyone could ever be (and that is possibly the best kept secret of Motherhood)
--Feeling my baby son kick inside me for the first time
--Giving birth to my son and meeting him for the first time, and thinking that he was the most perfect thing on Earth.
--Giving birth to my second son, who was no longer alive, and realizing that I loved him just as much as my other son, and also realizing that he was mine forever and that I would be able to raise him at a later time.
--Giving birth to my first Daughter after going through a considerable amount of pain and anguish to have her (not counting labor) and feeling like the luckiest person ever. And immediately wanting to do it again asap.
--Holding my daughter while images of us sharing girl stuff together continuously wash over my mind's eye.
--My son always telling me that he loves me, even after I have been grouchy (sorry, my vocabulary is starting to mimic that of a preschooler).
--Getting gifts from my son, and of course when he sings to me.
I hope that you can get even a glimpse of how wonderful these memories are.
A special dedication to great women and mothers out there all over, I dearly hope that every great woman gets to experience moments like these.
Happy Mother's Day everyone.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
4:44am--I finish feeding baby and naively believe that I will still get some more sleep in
5:55am--I am rudely awaken by my 4-year-old who announces that he has to go potty
5:59am--He finishes going potty and I vainly instruct him to go back to bed because "it isn't time to wake up yet."
6:15am--I can't sleep because all I can hear is my 4-year-old making noise so I get out of bed and plead with him to be quiet.
6:30am--I hear the dreaded sound of his feet padding up the stairs toward my bedroom, he wants to know if he can "sleep" with me (and being the seasoned mom of a 4-year-old boy I know that this is code for "jump in your bed while you pretend you are sleeping"), I tell him he can at 7:30
6:40am--He comes back upstairs and announces that once again, he has to go potty.
6:401/2am--He further announces that he has to go poo-poos to which I defeatedly reply "ok, hurry up."
6:43am--He asks if I will check to see if he wiped well enough, I concede and he assumes the position, and I note that he did not, in fact, wipe well enough. I send him back in.
6:44am--He comes back for a second look, and no progress has been made so I decide the fastest end to this is to do it myself.
6:45am--The both of us huddle over the sink soapy handed as I instruct him to head back down and back into bed because it still isn't time to wake up yet.
7:04am--Baby begins cooing, and being the seasoned mother of a 4 month old baby, I know this to mean I have less than a half hour before she demands to be fed. I desperately hope that I will be able to sleep during this time period.
7:09am--cooing gets louder, I can't sleep.
7:17am--cooing gets even louder, I still can't sleep.
7:22am--The Cooing his escalated into an all out cry, I finally agree to feed her.
7:221/2am--Before I get the chance to feed Baby, 4-year-old comes up and asks if he can wake up yet. I agree that it is time for him to "wake up" and I proceed to grumpily get him his orange juice and bread and turn on disney channel for him.
7:25am--I go in to feed an irritated Baby.
7:40am--she finishes, and I briefly consider not changing her diaper in an effort to get more sleep. This is ridiculous, I tell myself, and proceed to change her. By now I can barely move my appendages.
7:49am--baby is fed and changed, 4-year-old is happily watching cartoons, I devise a plan to get some sleep: Perhaps if I lay baby in bed with me, she can play happily while I snooze. This sounds good enough to me and has been known to work in the past, so I proceed.
7:50am--She lays down and I get under the covers and begin to relax
7:51am--baby begins fussing, she is clearly not happy with the plan.
7:52am--I decide to go to plan B, Baby swings in swing while I sleep.
7:55am--Baby begins happily swinging, I get back under the covers.
7:56am--Baby begins fussing, she is clearly not happy with plan B. In vain, I demand to know what is wrong with her, and what she could possibly want. I take her out of the swing and hold her in my lap requiring me to sit up and therefore not get any sleep. She, of course, is very happy with this plan, I am not.
7:59am--I decide to try and press my luck and shoot for plan C: baby lays on baby toy mat and proceeds to be entertained while I sleep.
8:00am--I begin setting up baby mat right next to failed baby swing, 4-year-old bounds upstairs. Without looking at him, I warn him to stay downstairs. He announces that he wants to get his coloring book and color. I give in against my better judgment in hopes that I might still get some sleep.
8:03am--baby begins to play happily, I get back under my covers.
8:33am--Baby begins to fuss, she is clearly not happy with plan C. I beg her once again to tell me what she wants, and I decide she might be tired as this is usually when she begins to get tired.
8:34am--with anewed hope, I put baby in her crib. She is quiet--too quiet. I get back in bed and recount with deadly fear that usually when she goes in her crib quietly, she doesn't last long.
8:44am--Sure enough, she begins fussing. Then, I begin fussing. Fussing leads to crying--for both of us.
8:45am--I tell myself that she is hungry and decide to feed her again. She is happy with this plan and begins to eat.
8:48am--4-year-old comes up and wants to know when breakfast is, I tell him he has to wait until I finish feeding baby. After he climbs all over me and baby, he decides to go back downstairs.
9:06am--baby sleepily finishes eating, I naively think she will take her nap now, so I set her back in her crib. She begins screaming, she is clearly not happy with this idea. Being the seasoned mother of a 4 month old that I am, I know she needs to sleep so I let her cry.
9:07am--I foolishly get back into bed and cover my head with another pillow.
9:15am--4-year-old bounds upstairs again demanding his breakfast. Realizing I promised him, I grumpily get him some cereal.
9:20am--on my way back to bed, I feel bad for baby crying and decide against my better judgment to try to rock her to sleep. To her delight, I enter her bedroom and pick her up. She is happy in my arms, but not for long.
9:35am--she begins fussing again, I regret getting her out.
9:36am--Knowing that she is overdue for her 9:00 nap, I decide to let her cry in hopes that she will fall asleep. I put her in her crib, she is clearly not happy with that plan.
9:38am--I crawl back under my covers and reason that if I put a pillow over my head I will be able to sleep peacefully for a few minutes.
9:39am--I realize I am running out of air so I pull off my pillow, baby is still crying.
9:41am--In a desperate cry for help, I call my husband who is out of town, I naively believe that he will know what to do. He empathizes with me, but that doesn't help me get some sleep so I say a very sad good-bye.
9:50am--Determined to have my baby take her nap, I decide that the only way I'll get some peace is to go downstairs and watch some TV to drown out the crying.
9:51am--I change the channel from disney to Regis and Kelly and watch a show about what mothers want for mother's Day. I begin dreaming of getting some sleep for mother's day...
9:55am--I am jarred back into reality by an angry 4-year-old who has finished his breakfast and wants to know why I changed the channel. I give in and change it back to Disney.
9:57am--baby is still crying
9:58am--knowing full well that I am in this too deep to go back now, I know I must stay downstairs or I will go crazy, so I begin writing my blog.
11:07am--I finish my blog, baby is still crying. I give up and decide to get her and get dressed.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
This time it turned out great--I love it! Perhaps if I get brave, I will post a picture later. I think auburn does me well, I have a good complexion for it. Please note that I did not say that I have a good complexion, I have a good complexion for red toned hair. I think that my face actually looks less red and more tan with my auburn hair. I wouldn't have thought so either but it seems to be true. Also my green eyes stand out more.
I think I am going to follow in Debra Messing's lead and stick with red for a while.
oh, and by the way--I didn't cut bangs. Whew! I dodged that bullet!
Monday, May 08, 2006
My hair is at one of those crucial times in its life: Medium length. Medium length is almost a curse. Long hair you keep for a long time because it took you so dang long to grow, and short hair you are almost always trying to grow out. Medium hair, however, is in that annoying middle ground. You haven't made the commitment you make with long hair, so it's easy to say "chop it off," and yet you can't help but think if only I could be just a little more patient.
As hard as the question "to cut or not to cut?" may be to answer, I've actually got that one figured out, it's the color issue that has me up at night. You see, I have a thing with the length of my hair, it is directly related to my weight. I don't feel comfortable in short hair when I am overweight, I feel like it makes me look rounder. Whether or not this is true does not matter, because I wouldn't be able to get over it even if it weren't.
Anyway, back to the color issue. My hair is naturally brown, but it isn't pretty enough in its natural state to leave alone so I usually color it. Mostly I highlight it to match the color I was as a three-year-old girl witch was golden with a touch of blonde. This is a good color for me, but lately I have become bored of highlights, mainly due to the gross abuse they have taken from incompetent colorists, and partly due to the fact that everyone and their significant other has blond highlights in their hair, and lastly due to my disdain for retouching my roots every two seconds. So--ok, no highlights right? Not necessarily. The other option is to do a full color change which I can only see going one of a couple of ways: Just a touch richer than my natural color, or red (don't mock, Debra Messing did it). But, the problems with that aren't much better. For instance, color fades and roots grow. I guess that means that I have to keep it up no matter what I do, and that leaves me at square one. Darn, I really thought blogging this out would help me make my decision, but alas, it has possibly made it harder.
Oh, and did I mention that I am also considering bangs? *Sigh* I am always a mess right before my hair appointments. I do think I am ready for something different though which leaves me no choice but to scan the internet for celeb pictures in hopes of finding some inspiration.
Wish me luck, and if anyone has any input (PLEASE) let your voice be heard and leave a comment, I will check them before I go tomorrow and I would love to hear what anyone might think.
Well, I'm sure you will all be waiting with bated breath to hear of my decision, I promise not to keep you in too much suspense.
Ok, my turn is over.
Friday, May 05, 2006
But what I really hate is all the people that have to offer you a credit card at the end of your purchase. And then they get all pissy if you cut them off during their ultra-rehearsed "you'll save three dollars" speech and tell them no (you know, as if this couldn't possibly be something you hear all the time). I feel like using iron on lettering to make myself a shirt that says "no I do not want your credit card." The problem with that however is that I would have to wear it every time I shopped and that would just be disgusting.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Anyway, back to the point of all this. Basically I was tossing and turning all night in a panic of being affiliated with that show, and I decided it just couldn't be done. So I have gone and changed the name of my blog. I think it is for the best. Thank you all for your support through this tough time (look at me writing as though there were actually people reading my blog--I'm so funny). You know what this means though don't you? There will be no more inside joke at the end of my posts. Ok, ok, you talked me into a probationary period. I'll leave the joke out for a while and you let me know if you want it to come back. It's in your hands now, I invite you to exercise your power as a reader to influence this blog.
So here it all is, the monumental beginning of my Blog--this is history in the making folks--enjoy, and take time to enjoy Ali's Vie--D'OH sorry, old habits die hard. I must think of some catch phrase to end my posts...
Saturday, April 29, 2006
So Welcome to "Ali's View," I am already feeling regret for the name I have chosen because it reminds me of "The View" that lame-o TV morning show with all the women (not that I have anything against women) that I really don't like. Most of the reason that I hate that show stems from the stupid thing they say at the end of each episode: "blah blah blah... and take time to enjoy the View." as if we are all thinking that is so clever. Ok, so here's an idea, I'm going to say something similar at the end of each of my posts as an inside joke that only you who are with me at the beginning will understand to be sarcastic and everyone else will think that it is some sort of copy wannabe of "The View" and only we will know the real reason that I say it.
Ok, that has gone on far too long. I'm starting to realize that bloggers have way too much power....
Well, I must be off--enjoy your day and take time to enjoy Ali's View (I'm not sure how long this joke will last)