Archive | March 2012

A Woman’s Hair

I HATE my hair and want to chop it all off!!!!  Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!  My 13-year-old daughter shrieked as she ripped bobby pins out of her hair and slammed out of the bathroom.  Calm down, sweetie, it’s fine, I soothe.  NO, it’s NOT!  she responds in typical dramatic fashion.   I smile at her histrionics and remember those days.  A few minutes later she comes back in the bathroom and says to me, your hair looks good, Mom.  What??  I say, no, no, no, it looks like CRAP right now.  I haven’t even styled it yet!  I would NEVER leave the house looking like this!  Mom, you’re crazy, your hair looks fine, she says to me.  She doesn’t see the irony of the situation.  Haha!

I’ll say this about my hair.  I want it to be pretty.  I want it to make me feel pretty.  And I always want it to make me feel sexy.  Always.   I don’t care about my nails, I don’t care about a tan.  But my hair MUST be perfect.  (Oh, I wish.  It actually does what it wants when it wants and gives me fits every day.)  And good hair makes me feel sexy.  More than clothes or jewelry, and slightly more than makeup.  Sexy hair and minimal makeup works.  Good makeup and crappy hair doesn’t work AT ALL.

My relationship with my hair, and make no mistake, it is a relationship, can be pretty rocky at times.  Three times in my life I’ve had short hair.  I kept forgetting that I HATE my hair cut short.  I was a senior in high school the first time I cut it short.  I can’t remember WHY I cut my hair short, but I did.  It wasn’t all that bad, but it just didn’t make me feel pretty.  I was about 23 when I went into the salon and decided it would be “fun” to get an entirely new look.  My stylist convinced me to go short.  That’s the style these days, she reasoned.  You’ll look so fashionable and up-to-date.  Off went a good 12 inches of beautiful, dark chocolate brown curls (those were the days of permed hair, if you can remember that far back).  Maybe more.  It was all over the ground around me.  Convinced I was going to look “soooo cute”, I was happy to see it all gone.  For about two days, that is.

Fast forward about 15 years.  I’m having a hormone induced fit about my hair.  I can’t do anything with it.  I have spent the last half an hour messing with it and it still looks crappy.  It sucks.  I HATE it and want to chop it all off!!!!!  So I impulsively jump into the car and drive up the road to the no-appointment-needed salon.  I plop myself down in the chair and say, I’m SICK of this hair.  Chop it ALL OFF!  After a dubious, are you sure?  And me answering a decisive YES!  My little stylist happily obliged.  Those stylists can’t wait to get their evil little scissors into long hair.  Snip, snip, snip, and my hair is short.  Not as short as the last time (which in my hormonal fit I had completely forgotten about) but still, pretty darn short for me.  Once again, it took about as long for me to regret it as it did for my PMS to go away.  About two days.  Then it took me three years to grow it out to an acceptable length.  Since then I’ve kept it long.  My advice to my daughter just the other day:  Never, NEVER, EVER get your hair cut when you have PMS.  You WILL regret it.

It’s really long now, it brushes just below my bra strap down my back. I just measured it and it’s 24 inches from crown to ends.  My long hair makes me feel sensuous and sexy.  My hair is like lingerie or sexy shoes.  It’s much better, actually, because it’s something Conan absolutely LOVES.  It makes me look and feel good.  I like the feel of it brushing against my bare skin.  It spreads invitingly out on a pillow.  It falls, a feminine curtain, around my face.  It pools on Conan’s stomach and thighs.   It is just long enough to almost cover…

All right, enough about me.  I think women want their hair to be sexy or sassy or cute or pretty, and if it is, we feel better about ourselves and that translates into feeling better sexually, too.  I also think that our hair and how we take care of it says a lot about how we feel about ourselves in general.  That’s just been my observation, of course, no scientific studies or anything, so feel free to completely disagree.   I think a woman who likes her hair is more likely to like herself!

Now, what happens when our hair starts to turn gray?  Most of us color it, some of us let it go.  This has been bothering me for a couple years, now.   I still have very little gray.  In fact, it has just been this year that I can see it without picking through my hair to find the grays.  For the last five years or so I’ve simply plucked out the few grays that grow in. When I found my first gray hair I screamed (literally) bloody murder and scared the crap out of Conan.  He got extremely put out with me and told me never to do that again.  I told him don’t worry, I wouldn’t, because my life was officially over and he might as well start digging my grave and kill me.  (You don’t wonder where my daughter gets it anymore, do you?)

I may not be screaming anymore, but it is incredibly depressing to see those gray hairs.  Blah.  I’ve reached the point where I need to start coloring my hair.   This whole business makes me feel extremely UN-sexy.  Call me vain, shallow, narcissistic, I don’t mind, Conan’s been calling me those things for years, HA!  I HATE that I’m getting older and getting wrinkles and gray hair.  HATE IT!  And I’m having to adjust my thinking about sex just a bit again.   Oh, sure, I was pleasantly surprised at 40 when I didn’t shrivel up and die on the spot and my sex drive charged up like a Lamborghini, but NOW, what about being a gray-haired old lady grandma?

Oh, and why is it okay for men to go gray but not for women?  Just a little graying at the temples hints at maturity, strength, character, and is just a bit sexy.  On a man.   Graying temples on a woman makes me think that woman has been neglecting herself, at the very least.  Sexy it is NOT.  Blah to that.    (Sorry if that’s judgmental, it’s my one character flaw!) And OMG!  What about gray hairs “down there”???  Gasp!  Okay, that settles it, I’m bare for life or until I’m physically unable to de-hair myself anymore.

So I tried coloring my hair a couple years ago.  What a horrible thing that was.  I could tell it wasn’t the same color and it was a little bit red.  I HATED it.  Can you see all that redness on the ends?

Don’t get me wrong, I like red hair.  It’s beautiful.  On some one else!  If you want to have red hair, natural or otherwise, go  for it!  But I DO NOT want red hair.  My hair is chocolate brown.  Dark chocolate brown.  And I want to keep it that way.  I am petrified of trying to color it again.   If I want to get rid of that pesky gray hair I’m going to have to try again, though.  SIGH.  I suppose that any color is better than gray, so what am I crying about?  I’m saying a long, drawn out goodbye to my youth, that’s what, and it isn’t pleasant.

How’s a girl supposed to feel sexy with wrinkles and gray hair?  I don’t know yet.   I do know one thing, I’m not going to let wrinkles and gray hair stop me from enjoying myself in bed, that is for sure.  The days of denying myself and Conan pleasure because of my perceived flaws are loooooonnnng gone.  I’ve learned that much over the years.  No matter how we look or how old we get, we still want and need a good orgasm.  Or two.  Or more.  🙂  Gray hairs be damned.

It’s time to start shopping for a good color, I suppose.

Guy Valentine’s Day

March Madness is here.  Conan loves college hoops almost as much as he loves football.  Or wait, does he love it more?  I’m not sure.  🙂

I grew up in a very non-sports family.  We did not play sports and we did not watch them, either.  I knew nothing about sports.  PE was torture for me.  Learning (or not learning) to play basketball in high school was a disaster.  Don’t even mention “pivot foot” to me!  GRRRRRRRRRRR!  I simply could not understand it.  Since I’m 5’10” people were always asking me if I played basketball.  Um, no.  It’s actually laughable.  I can’t throw, catch, hit, pitch, kick or whatever else there is to do with a ball.   The closest I got to sports was being a cheerleader.  I know you’re thinking, how could she be a cheerleader and know nothing about sports?  First of all, my abilities as a cheerleader were questionable, and it would have been a mistake for me to pick out the cheers (my favorite cheer was “sack that quarterback.”  I had no idea what a quarterback was, and I didn’t know what it meant to sack one.  Whenever I’d ask if we could do that cheer, the other girls would say, NO, we have the ball!  Well, what’s that got to do with it???), secondly I couldn’t do the splits or a cartwheel, but I had a big smile and was very enthusiastic and adored it and had more fun than a girl should be allowed being a cheerleader.

Anyway, when Conan and I got married I had no idea what a sports fan he was.  I certainly didn’t know what March Madness was!  It took me a few years, but  I finally started recognizing, Oh, it’s that March thing again!  The time when I’m not allowed to speak for fear that Conan will miss something those guys on ESPN say.  (This was before DVR,  But even now I’m not allowed to be noisy when they’re doing whatever it is they do during the month of March.)  The time for “Brackets” and “Final Four” and games on TV day and night and boys crying on the court when they lose (which breaks my heart) and things being thrown at the TV when the wrong team wins (before the plasma.  No one is allowed to throw anything even remotely in the direction of the plasma!)

What does this have to do with Guy Valentine’s Day?  Nothing!  🙂  It’s just all there used to be in March.  A few years ago I discovered something much more fun that happens in March.  March 14th, Guy Valentine’s Day, otherwise known as Steak and Blowjob Day. (Steakandbjday.com)  Oh, yes!  It’s a real day.  I’m not including the link to the official site because although the home page is tame and you won’t get hit with any porn there, you will find porn links on at least one of their side links.  So go there at your own risk.  If you do go there, be sure to watch their little video.  It is absolutely hysterical!  (And safe.) They also have some naughty little cards you can print out to surprise your man with.  Ribald little rhymes that are very funny but a little TOO risque to put an example here. (You can safely click on their card link without getting any porn.)

When I first heard of it, I surprised Conan with one of those little cards and a bottle of flavored lube and then served him a delicious rib eye steak and mashed potatoes dinner.  mmmmm.  Then…..He enjoyed his “Guy Valentine’s Day”!  And we’ve been celebrating it ever since.  I’ve told all my girlfriends about this day. (Well, all my bunco friends, anyway.  My church friends and I are not on that intimate of terms.  I am going visiting teaching today…maybe…well, no, never mind!)

So now March is fun for Conan in two ways.  March Madness and Steak and BJ Day.  And I get a big kick out of this little “holiday” and get so pleased with myself over my awesomeness that I can ignore all that basketball all month long!

All Your Ducks in a Row

Okay, my friends, let’s try this again.  I was having technical difficulties when this post mistakenly popped up half done the other day.

Today I was looking at the pictures I posted of me in my new, hot shoes.  Do you think that I was just looking at the shoes and how hot they are?  Well, no.  I’m a woman, so here’s what I saw.  “OMG, I need to vacuum that rug! Oh, no!  My baseboard is all scuffed and needs to be cleaned!  How embarrassing!  Look at those floors.  They could use a good wash and shine.”  Then I went downstairs and physically looked at the walls, floors, and baseboards, and came to the conclusion that I need to go on the show Horders, Buried Alive, because omg, What A Mess!

Women can be very task oriented.  We have A List.  We have Thinks To Do.  And we don’t understand why you guys don’t have the same priorities.  Why can’t you guys see All There Is To Do?  You want to do what?  Wait, the dishes aren’t done!  There’s laundry in the dryer!  I didn’t vacuum today!  I’m not ready.  I can’t relax when there are dishes in the sink.  So you talk us into it anyway, and we are trying to get into it but can’t shut the bedroom door on the dishes.  They’re out there, as persistent as any child saying, “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom”, over and over, and they’re saying, “Come wash me, come wash me!  You horrible housekeeper, you, how can you leave me dirty in the sink??  All this food is going to be stuck on me in the morning!”  For all you ladies shuddering over leaving dishes in the sink overnight, and for my grandmother rolling over in her grave, don’t think I’m advocating it, haha!  It’s just an example.  In fact, it could very easily be something much less significant, like today’s mail.  But it’s on The List, and it’s Not Done.

So we can’t relax and enjoy.  Then we get resentful.  “Well, if he cared for me one iota, he’d know I can’t do this when there are dishes in the sink.  Oh, that man!”  And our husband thinks, “Why would she want to do DISHES instead of sex?  How can doing dishes possibly rate as a higher priority????”

Lots of people want all their ducks in a row before they do anything.  Especially something that might be considered nonessential or even just for fun.  For example, I have this cross stitch I’ve been working on.  For 15 years.  It sits there and mocks me, “ha ha ha, you’ll never be caught up enough work on me again, let alone finish me.”  It’s the very symbol of my ineptitude as a housekeeper and a mother.  Every time I see it I feel inadequate.  Now, I would enjoy doing that cross stitch, but I’ve put it last on my list.  I’ll do it after (insert multiple tasks here). I know what you’re thinking, well, she’s doing this blog, she must have some free time.  Okay, so maybe I don’t LOVE cross stitching.  Maybe I hate it.  Did I just say I would enjoy doing it?  I think I meant I would enjoy getting it done and then burning it.  So there it is, half done, mocking me.  Can any of you relate?   I’d rather scrub toilets than work on that cross stitch.  Better, I’d rather have sex 24/7 than work on that %!*# cross stitch.  In fact, I’m going to go throw it out right now!

…..

Okay, it’s in the garbage, but it’s screaming at me to get it out.  Will power, I need will power!   Moving on…where was I going with this???  I’m not sure–I’ll make it work somehow.

We have all these tasks to do during the day.  And if we don’t do them, it’s just going to be worse tomorrow.  And we are thinking, okay, after I get my list all crossed off, I’ll want to have sex.  After everything is just right, then I’ll feel like I can relax and enjoy.  Or even, fine, if I must put sex on my list, it’s going at the bottom of it.  It can wait.  Well, it really CAN’T wait.  The thing is, the dishes the laundry, the mail, all those tasks are recurring.  They’ll NEVER truly be done.  Our List will never be crossed off completely.  And the hour you could have spent loving your spouse can never be regained.  I’ll do it later is not a good strategy for your love life.  And just think–if you’re the person being put at the bottom of the list, under dishes, cleaning the toilet or going through the junk mail,  how horrible that must feel!

There are just certain things that have to be prioritized.  And sex is one of them.  If your List is calling, calling, calling you, you’ve got to do your best to ignore it for an hour or so at least a few days a week.  I think you’ll feel better for it!  I mean, really, orgasm or dishes?  Hmmm, that’s a tough one!  Um, I’ll take the orgasms, thank you!

So ignore that stupid cross stitch yelling at you from the garbage!  Oh!  I mean the endless List of tasks we have.  And spend some fun time with your spouse.  If you have to put it on the list so that it’ll get done, put it on the list.  At the top!  That’s something you won’t regret.