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Sorry!

I've not posted an entry in a little while, I know. I have been incredibly busy/sleep deprived as of late, but I'll be back soon with a REAL entry. I promise. For now, here's a photo of me and my favorite kitty, Bijou:

More 'Words'...

This edition of 'Words Of The Week' is dedicated to Hubby.

Here are a few random-but-necessary tidbits about this treasure of a man:

Hubby is amazingly handsome, wonderfully tall, extremely talented (he's a very skilled and soulful pianist), kind hearted, tough as nails (he holds several black belts in various styles of martial arts, and to varying degrees), has brown, curly hair and kind, green eyes that have the ability to reduce me to a blubbering, sappy fool. Hubby is, quite literally, my best friend. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I've never been the kind of girl who has close girlfriends. I have had maybe two close girlfriends in my lifetime, one from early childhood and one from my formative years; the latter of which I still keep in touch with, though only on a semi-annual basis. So, when I proclaim that Hubby is my best friend, I honestly mean it. I can tell this man anything. Hubby can actively participate in discussions with me on the most girliest of topics, all the while bravely and unflinchingly fighting his natural male instinct to run away screaming. Also, he never gets grossed out or squeamish when I go on about the wretchedness of "that time of the month". Instead, he calmly allows me to bitch and vent until I run out of steam or pass out from hyperventilating -whichever happens to occur first. He is a fabulous listener; with this man, I never have to censor my true, raw feelings and opinions on any given subject the way we all reluctantly feel we should do in public - and I have some VERY strong feelings and opinions. He even likes to go shopping with me. Seriously. He says he likes to watch me shop, that he thinks my facial expressions are cute and adorable, especially when I'm buying something. I am not making this up (how could I?), and no, he is not gay. Call it "the honeymoon period", call it "newlywed bliss", call it what you will. He is, in fact, the perfect man!

Another thing about Hubby - he's a Limey. That is, he's British! Yes, that's right ladies, Hubby has a very attractive British accent. I am a lucky, lucky girl! So, for this week's 'Words', we're going to look at some East London Slang, or Cockney Rhyming Slang, if you will. Now, Hubby is not actually from London; he's from the North West, nearer to Manchester in a region called Lancashire. I do realize there is a whole Lancashire dialect and slang as well, however I've not performed the proper amount of research on that specific idiom as of yet. Research on that will, I'm afraid, require hours and hours of alone time with Hubby, carefully picking his brain and coaxing forth his memories of old, as I want to make sure I get as much accurate information as possible in order to intelligently inform you all on the topic.

So for now, in the spirit of all things British, it's Cockney Slang. If some of you are not familiar with Cockney Slang, it's all based on rhyming. The more bizarre the rhyme, the better, as it is supposed to be a bit like speaking in secret code.

Ready? Here we go:


NICK COTTON (adj): Rotten, as in "It's all gone a bit Nick Cotton."

BENDY FLEX (noun): Sex, as in "Just going for a bit of Bendy."

ENGLISH LIT (noun): Shit, as in "I'm off for an English Lit."

FRED ASTAIRE (noun): Hair, as in "You 'ad your Fred done?"

SMASH AND GRAB (noun): Cab, as in "I'm off down the pub, I'll get a Smash home."

(courtesy of www.cockneyrhymingslang.co.uk)

I challenge you all to use these little gems in your everyday language, and report back to me with your findings.

Until next time, friends!

Day Dreamer

Having been encumbered during all of last week, as well as the beginning of this week, with the latest and final installment of the Harry Potter story, I have regretfully neglected some all-important priorities in my life: namely my husband and this blog. My husband, whom I will hereafter refer to simply as Hubby, has expressed to me his heartfelt feelings that he will indeed be very glad when I complete, and therefore rid myself of, this ever intrusive series of books. Apparently, since beginning book #5 of the Potter story a few weeks ago, I have been unpleasant to be around. Yes, allegedly I've been aloof, restless, impatient, listless, and short-tempered. In my defense, I had no idea I was behaving this way, and I certainly never thought to make the connection that these books were somehow a catalyst. Still, Hubby swears that when I distance myself from that magical world, I am a much happier, more loving and affectionate person. He claims, for instance, that during my few days of respite between the 5th and 6th books, I was a complete and utter sweetheart (as I usually am - no surprise there!). I admit it probably doesn't bode well that when I am interrupted from my feverish reading, it takes me a minute or 60 to resurrect myself from the fog. And...well alright, the long periods of watery-eyed unresponsiveness, where I sit and stare in silence while brooding over the lives and possible deaths of various characters, not hearing or unconsciously ignoring anyone who dares to intrude upon my reverie by asking insipid questions such as "Cup of tea, darling?" may be a bit disconcerting. But, I'm sure all of that is normal behavior, yes? When I was immersed in the Dune series a few years back, I desperately wanted to live the life of a Bene Gesserit. I thought about what I would do if I were a Bene Gesserit. Constantly. Especially when fellow subway commuters pissed me off. I only reached the end of book #3 in the Dune series when I made the decision to stop reading them, due to the fact that my interest in the storyline was waning. Likewise, with the Ender's Game series (absolute brilliant writing by Orson Scott Card, by the way) I found myself having great difficultly exiting that futuristic world after I laid the books down. And I shudder to even think about, to let my mind find its way back to, the twisted world of Clive Barker's Imagica, for the shear fear and sickening, gagging reflex I used to have while reading it. I barely made it through that one. So, I have always been able to effortlessly live in a story, to place myself in a particular world and even become a particular character if my heart agrees with it, or relates to it, or falls in love with it, or feels the reality of it, or finds truth in it...or if the writing is nothing short of superb. I just assumed everyone else was like that, too.

As a child, I had a "serious problem with day dreaming" and an "over-active imagination", or so I was told by my school teachers. I was always able to escape boring or unpleasant situations, or to avenge myself of the bullies who tormented me, with my ability to become someone else, someone better, through my day dreams. However, I think the older I become, the less I let myself exercise my imagination in that way, and the more I need books to take me to those other places. Obviously, as the child becomes an adult, so must the child take on the responsibilities that adulthood brings. Such responsibilities include little things like living in the clear and present and deciding who you are and what you stand for. While I immensely enjoy submerging myself in other worlds full of other possibilities, I will not let myself lose touch with what my real, everyday life is all about, or neglect those loved ones in it. That would be...well, that would be insanity, actually. But also, it would be pathetic and cowardly. And I'm neither of those things. My life, as it turns out, is sweet and the people in it are precious to me. Even when some days are sad and some days are difficult, I know what it's all about and that knowledge gives me peace and (for the most part) happiness. Sometimes, though, I need a little reminder. Thank you, my dear Hubby. That's one of the many reasons why I love you.

But now, I'm finished with the saga of Harry Potter and still reeling from the wonderful feelings of justice, of satisfaction and approval that the ending provides. I'm still swimming my way out of the strong current of that world, even if a bit regretfully.

Uhm...

I am sorry for my silence, but my mind has been completely high-jacked by the world of Harry Potter. Yes. I took a flying leap onto that gravy train and have been taken captive. I cannot do anything creative, or think about doing anything creative until I FINISH THE DAMN STORY. I started the 5th book a week ago, I just finished the 6th book last night...and as soon as I depart from work today, I will immediately and urgently make my way to the nearest book dealer to purchase the last and final installment. I absolutely HATE hard cover books, hate them. I need books to be as compact and as portable as possible, seeing as I must always have one on my person. But, for the sake of getting my life back, I will make this one exception. I am a crazy person right now, as I've had to endure the hour and a half long morning commute to my place of employ entirely bookless, and wondering WHAT THE HELL HAPPENS NEXT! I've just come off Harry-Potter-Crack and I need an other fix. Just one last time. I am in the horrors of withdrawals. I am devastated. I need closure.

I also need an invisibility cloak, a wand, the ability to apparate, and some of that 'Felix Felicis' lucky potion!

Fresh, New WORDS OF THE WEEK:

What a lovely Monday it is here in Boston, overcast, rainy, and cool...a welcome reprieve from the hot, humid summer days. I usually love hot and humid, but I have noticed in the last year or so that I no can no longer tolerate 90 degree weather. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've been living in Boston for too long and have forgotten my Southern roots. Maybe it's because I walk or take the T everywhere I go, and don't have the luxury of traveling in an air conditioned car. Or, maybe it's because I am paranoid that my arms aren't skinny enough to wear tank tops. Whatever the reason, I was pleasantly surprised when I woke up this morning to the sound of light rain and a cool breeze brushing over my face from the window next to our bed. I couldn't have been happier to pull on a long sleeve, cotton knit shirt, slip into my comfy jeans, and lace up my bouncy, air-cushioned sneakers. Not that I want Winter or even Autumn to roll around yet, absolutely not. It's just nice not having to stand, sweating in the oven of the city, while waiting for the T to finally come by and whisk off me to work, is all.

Anyhoo! On to the Words! I've discovered two very useful ones today:

1. Sycophant: (noun) a self seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite

2. Louche: (adj) shady, devious; of questionable morality

Word #1 was chosen simply for it's meaning, and therefore, it's usefulness. There is an over-population of this type of person trolling about, and I'm thrilled to learn there is such a specific and all-encompassing term for them! Hooray! Word #2 was chosen mainly for it's phonetics. LOUCHE is pronounced LOOSH. I am sure you will agree it is a yummy word, as you push your lips out in a slight pucker (almost for a kiss!) while pronouncing the "oo" sound. This word most definitely sounds like it's meaning, giving a sense of provocative danger lurking just around the corner.

WORDS OF THE WEEK:

So, here's a little section I'm going to fondly label WORDS OF THE WEEK. During the course of my short life, I have come across certain words that either annoy the hell out of me, or make my heart sing with pleasure as they pass through my lips. For the most part, the feelings of either severe annoyance or pleasure have little to do with the actual meaning of the word alone, and more to do with the sound of the word as it relates to its meaning.

So, for this week:

- very, VERY annoying word: GARGANTUAN
(...needs no explanation, really.)

- sensuously pleasureful word: VAPID (c'mon. try it. say VAPID out loud. now, try it again, except this time drop your voice an octave, makeing it sound as smokey and sexy as possible, and over-pronounce the V and the D. nice, yeah?)

I realize it's Thursday, and therefore not the beginning of the week. But bear with me. I might just start a fresh, new WORDS OF THE WEEK on Sunday or Monday.

Renewal?

I was just browsing over my last post, trying to objectively critique my own, terribly amateur writing, and I found something...interesting. Do you know what? The title of my last post really stuck out at me like a throbbing, flashing, neon pink sign. "The New Me". The new me. What does that mean? What did I really mean by that? I mean, it's just hair, right? It's just strands of protein, a filamentous outgrowth of dead cells from skin. Right? So...why do I (why do we) feel completely new, dare I say, REnewed, with the changing of our hair? Wait. This entry is a stream of consciousness, so let me just take a second to gather my thoughts and try to organize them somewhat.

Alright. New. I don't mean merely "new" as in I look slightly different/better/worse than I did before the change of my hair color. It goes way deeper than that, although that element of looking different is the beginning. I actually feel that I am somehow truly different than I was before. Sure, I now apply slightly different shades of makeup to compliment my seemingly new complexion. I am able to style my hair differently, because it seems much more voluminous than before (this, I know, is because of the "blowing up" of the hair strand when bleaching occurs). But, there is something else in me that propels me to feel, well, better! Yes, better, anew, renewed, refreshed, somehow given a second chance at life. I feel as though I have a clean slate ahead of me. I can start over, I can press the re-set button with my new hair. It's a kind of high, really. I truly love my new color, however, I think that even if I didn't absolutely love it, I would still feel new and clean and forgiven of my sins. I feel like I now have the strength and energy to change the rest of me for the better. But, why?

Do you know that, in my mind, I was waiting until my hair appointment to officially start eating healthier. I've been wanting to change my eating habits for the past several months, but I kept floundering. When I made the decision to change my hair, I made the decision to change my lifestyle along with the hair. Alright, so hair, diet, makeup, outward appearances...that's a common and normal link; I get that.

So, I'm going to take this a few steps further to a more radical depth, even with the threat of sounding just plain silly. There are other things, that I unconsciously-consciously have decided to change (or, am making a true effort to change) along with the hair. My attitude, for one. If anyone knows what a moody, bitchy, angry, depressed, downer of a girl I can be, it's my sweet husband. I don't know how he does it sometimes. I am SO thankful he's pretty much the exact opposite of me, or else we would really be in trouble. My husband is gentle, kind, funny, happy-go-lucky. He is a true optimist and extremely patient! I wish I were like that, but I'm just not. However, I can try to moderate my stormy moods, can't I? That said, I am not so naive as to believe that I can provide my own, permanent conversion. A change so thorough and complete as that will have to come from a higher power much stronger than bleach, I'm afraid. But, I can do my small part. I can be aware of, well, how I can be. And, I can consciously try to be a better, nicer, more even tempered person. I can try to keep myself in check.

I don't know why it took a few highlights in my hair to bring to my attention, to "highlight" (ha!), some of my massive imperfections. If I really were to let myself run with it, I suppose I could go off on a tangent about how changing one's appearance could be THE new religious experience, could even be a new religion entirely, for that matter! Style conscious women and gay men everywhere would be constantly booking appointments for a Cut, Color, and Renewal - a "CCR". Desperate for true happiness and contentment, they would descend in hordes upon the poshest of hair salons (the better the salon, the better the stylists, the better your Renewal), falling to their knees before the trendy-shoed stylists, gnashing their teeth, pulling their hair, and pleading for the most fiery shade of red, the lightest of light-blonde, the deepest, bluest black... and then, after many hours, they would emerge from their places of worship with light hearts, serene smiles, transformed and wanting to give to the poor and love their neighbors. Oh, the scathing satire! This thought reminds me of a certain Kurt Vonnegut book that was one of my very favorites in high school... Anyway, if some of you haven't gotten by now that I'm kidding about the new religion thing, please do try and keep up.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Highlights highlighting my massive imperfections, therefore bringing about significant change in my attitude and actions, in addition to my outward appearance. Hmmmm. Well, it's an interesting thought, anyway, and I just thought I would put it out there. Yes, I know it sounds laughably ridiculous, and I'm kind of OK with that.

The New Me

So, without further adieu, here is the new, blonder me!




I suppose I should post a photo of myself from before the blonding, eh? Right. For a point of reference, here I am with my 100% God-given hair color.




I quite like the blonde! In 5 - 6 weeks, I'll go back to the salon to get more high-lights, going slightly lighter.

By the way, my hair stylist is the best!!! I HIGHLY recommend Melanie the Magic Maker (as I've decided to call her) at Shag hair salon in South Boston. This past Thursday was my fist time stepping into the wonderful loft space that is Shag. I had been thinking of going there for awhile, actually, as my place of employment is on the same block. When it comes to hair salons, if I am happy with the services, I'm a very loyal client. Before Shag, I had been a regular client of the same Newbury Street salon for the past 3 years or so. Sadly, my preferred stylist left that salon to pursue an entirely different career. I agreed to see a different stylist in which the Newbury Street salon recommended to me as a replacement, however the replacement seemed unfortunately mediocre. Thus, I began my search for a new hair salon home and found Shag...and boy, is this place is great! The stylists are all very skilled, obviously enjoy where they work, and are happy with their jobs. The owner seems cool and laid back, and of course, the complimentary wine is a nice touch.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I Love Ya! Tomorrow...You're Only A Day Away

PRELUDE: I am extremely particular about my hair. Like, extremely. I haven't exposed my healthy, shiny, honey-brown colored hair to any chemicals at all whatsoever in about 6 whole years. I frequently receive compliments on how healthy and shiny my hair is, as well as how natural my hair is. I love my long, natural, shiny hair...but sometimes, you just have to try that green grass on the other side of the fence, ya know?

OK. So, why haven't I colored my hair recently? Well, during my melodramatic teenage years and early 20's, I was very daring and experimental. Over the years my hair has been boyishly short, bobbed with a slant, shoulder-length, short bangs, long bangs, no bangs. I've had it burgundy, highlighted with pink tips, chocolate brown, orangey-red, auburn, and blue-black (which was during my grunge/goth I-hate-the-world-life-is-so-unfair phase). The blue-black was a real bitch to get out, let me tell you. And that was the only time I have ever in my life gotten close to being blonde. We had to bleach, bleach, bleach the stubborn black out...and after way too much processing, my hair was a frighteningly streaky orangey-yellow and very brittle mess. So, after that, I decided that I would not color my hair again for a long, long time. Also, I could not remember for the life of me what my natural, God-given hair color was, and that freaked me out a little bit.

Now, after years of abstinence and shininess, I am craving a drastic change. And the thing about me is that once I get an idea into my head, once that little, dangerous seed has been planted and begins to take root, I begin to obsess over it. And, this time, that seed is the idea of trying out a color of hair that I have never really properly tried before: blonde. Yes, that's right. BLONDE. So, after many dollars spent on a myriad of hair magazines, after much researching, obsessing and day-dreaming (about 3 straight weeks) I made an appointment with a very reputable hair salon. Tomorrow, at 6 in the evening, I will begin my journey to blondehood. I think I can rock it. I will do my very best to rock it. And, if I fail, if I just don't look right, I can always dye it back to honey-brown, right?

I think it's the right time for me to go drastic. After all, I will be turning 31 in a few months, and if I can't go drastic now, when can I? So, my years of restraint and celibacy are over! Bring on the chemicals and the deep conditioning treatments, baby -- I'm going blonde!!!!!!!

For Starters

So, this blog was not conceived with a particularly unique, original theme in mind. I'm just a girl, a 30 year old girl, who lives in a smallish, one bedroom apartment in Boston with her husband of one year, and two cats. I'm not a professional writer or journalist, and I don't work in publishing. I will warn you that I am a self-proclaimed ATROCIOUS speller, and Spell Check just doesn't catch everything. OK? OK.

For starters, here are some random, superficial facts about myself:

1. As per my signature name, I am a girly-girl! I love pretty much all shades of pink as far as nail polish, clothing, stationary, and cell phones go, but definitely not for home decor.
2. I can browse around in Sephora and Mac stores for hours on end, with out buying a single item, and still walk out of the shop with a general feeling of starry-eyed euphoria.

3. I have a love-hate relationship with makeup. I love makeup, because it makes me look better. I love buying new, sparkly eye-shadows, bronzers, and blushers. Lip gloss is one of my favorite things in the world. Life wouldn't be the same with out mascara. However, I hate that I feel utterly dependent upon makeup. I hate that I feel like I cannot leave my home without having at least SOME makeup on. Even while at the landromat. Even while shopping for groceries at the local Trader Joes. Even while (gasp) working out at the gym!!!
4. I hate getting pedicures. Let me clarify: I love the end result of the pedicure. But I hate the actual soaking, scrubbing, clipping, tickling, filing, painting, drying, time consuming, squirminess, boring, long, drawn out procedure of getting the pedicure. It is not a relaxing or pampering experience for me. I've never quite gotten over the awkward feeling of an older woman bending over for an hour to make my feet look pretty in my 4 inch, high-heeled, strappy sandals. I feel as if I'm the evil, vain princess and she's the maid-servant toiling away at my toes as I crack the whip. I know I'm paying her good money - for God's sake, we're on Newbury Street. But, I feel so guilty that I always over-tip. I cannot afford to over-tip. But, I do it anyway, because I feel she deserves major compensation for the task at hand. Therefore, I get pedicures only in the summer months, and only about once a month, as opposed to every 2 weeks.
5. I'm a big fan of cabernet sauvignon. I love (good) wine in general, but my favorite wines are smooth, red, and not too sweet. I also love good beer. Good beer=dark and stout and usually imported.
6. I'm a total Foodie. I'm obsessed with food that's been carefully slaved over. I love to cook, as well. I love to drink good wine while cooking good food while listening to good music. Good music = jazz, usually of the bebop or swing variety. I'm not a big fan of free jazz. Free jazz = noise.
7. I'm drinking some wonderful wine right now. I'm on my second glass. I will not be held responsible for the blatant misspellings that may plague this post.
8. I have a low tolerance.
9. I love flip-flops. I wear them to work almost every day. No one has said anything to me just yet, so I'm going to keep doing it.
10. I don't wear shorts in public, or skirts above the knee. I'm not a fan of my legs above the knee. My calves, however, kick ass. They're small and dainty and slightly toned. Yay!