Breaking up is hard to do

Over the Summer -- at least I think that's when it was -- I broke up with my hairdresser. We'd been together for a really long time, maybe 10 or 11 years. We'd been through a lot: she moved, twice. I moved, many times more than that and once, even, across the seas to England for a spell. But then this past Summer, the long distance relationship just became too much for me and I broke it off. I felt bad -- I mean, we'd been together longer than I had ever been together with any other hairdresser. But making the hour-plus drive each way was taking its toll to the point where I wasn't even looking forward to our time together. So... I called it quits.

But of course, since then, I've played around a bit. Tried out a couple of different stylists, all of course conveniently local. But none of it is has been ... you know, quality. I mean, the cuts and the color were fine, sure. But only that -- just fine. No sparkle, no sizzle ... no real chemistry I guess.

Consequently, unsurprisingly, my hair now looks mostly like crap. I've taken to impulsively snapping up box-o-color shades like "flame roasted coffee" (brown with a hint of red, obviously) and spending an unsatisfying, messy, tedious weekend morning battling the ever-resurgent not-quite brown strands that are adamant about showing through -- and then vainly attempting to blot said flaming java out of the rental carpet.

All of this leads me to admit that maybe I was too hasty. Maybe I didn't really understand what a good thing I had. Maybe I took my stylist for granted.

Because, seriously, it has been a long time since I had this good of an idea about what my "real" hair color is -- and, frankly, the truth is somewhat surprising. I'm sure it wasn't quite so much this color the last time we were chummy, back in say ... 2001. So on top of the melancholy regret at letting a good relationship go bad, I'm also not in love with my hair.

I wonder ... if she'd ... you know ... consider taking me back.

Ah, well, time again to don the plastic gloves and unleash the hue-spattering havoc.

It's Nice to Be Nice

Probably. For the most part anyway.

I didn’t always feel this way and, some days, I still don’t. Maybe it’s a function of getting older and mellowing the F out, and I’ve definitely found this easier to achieve after a nice relaxing holiday. But it’s really much less stressful to stave off the furies and try to be nice. I mean, I end up in a much better mood if…

…on the way to work I politely let someone who waited until the last minute squeeze in front of me right before the turn we both need to make rather than tailgating the car ahead as I do my damndest to keep them out.

… I hold the elevator, smile, say good morning or have a nice day instead of attempting to make zero eye contact with anyone from car to cube.

… I laugh off the fact that someone want me to hunt through my inbox to find something because they haven’t bothered to keep track of it.

... I decide that my cube neighbors decision to have a loud and lengthy speakerphone conference call in her cube is a good reason to listen to music via headphones rather than grounds for a justifiable homicide.

… the Starbucks lady decides on a whim that I would much prefer to have a different coffee to what I ordered, and I sat to myself ‘oh, what the heck. Hazelnut can’t be that bad, can it?’ Actually this is an exception because it turns out that, yes, actually hazelnut can be that bad after about four sips.

So yes, there may still be a few exceptions to the “little things” (Hazelnut coffee, for instance) and certainly there are still loads of “big things” worth going stroppy over, but mostly life is better when we just laugh it off and let it go.

What “little things” can’t you let go of?

Love at First Sight

I know of two married couples who met via online dating. They’re both happily married, with offspring. But I have to say I have never had luck with that medium. Maybe I am too picky, but it seems to me that all of the guys fall into one of these not-too-flattering categories.

Guys in Spandex
They love their bicycles so much and they think they look good in tights. I probably don’t have to say this to most of the men I know, but just in case -- Note: Almost no one does. If you're not a world-famous dancer, give it a pass.

Guys in Cars
Hey look! Here’s me sitting in my car. Don’t you love me?

Note: There are two sub-types to this category:
A) You can’t see much of my car, but trust me it’s the awesomest.
B) You can’t see me, but you can see just how truly awesome my car is, and that’s enough, isn’t it?

Glaring Guys
If I look like I might be a sadistic serial killer on the lam, all the girls will want me.

Oblivious Guys
What? Really? I look unattractive in this photo where I am slumped over on the sofa with greasy hair and six chins? Really?

Self-Shot Guys
I am a complete hermit and social misfit. I have exactly 1 friend and he has no hands or feet and therefore cannot take a photo of me. If he had hands and feet, furthermore, he would probably not be my friend. But never mind that. I also don’t know how to work a camera timer or possibly don't even realize that cameras have them. So I took eighteen photos of myself with my arm extended in various spots around my place. I tried to crop out my extended arm though, so you can’t tell. Oh wait? You can? Really?

Over-Served Guys
Check me out in this photo that was taken 10 minutes before I totally blew chunks. I was soooo wasted! Cos I can totally party. I am that much fun. And loud. Your coworkers are going to LOVE me at the holiday party. Let's go out!

The "What Ex?" Guys
Take a look at all the photos of me where I am oh-so happy. They're a little off-center and oddly misshapen. Because, um, they were taken by my nephew and he's not so good with a camera. No... No of course that one of me in the tux isn't my wedding photo with my ex-wife cut out of it. How could you think that?

Period Guys
I might be caught in an era. But you can't be sure because my photos are all from that era. Maybe now I dress in more current styles. Maybe I don't. Regardless of that, without a doubt I am a good few pounds heavier and have a hell of a lot less hair. But damn! Look how good I looked in that blurry photo circa 1989-1991!

World Traveler Guys
Here's a shot of me in front of the pyramids. I'm that little speck to the left. No, not that speck, next to that speck. And here's another one that was taken when I was on safari. It's a little blurry because the jeep was going pretty fast because we were being chased by a pride of lions. I'm not actually in this photo. But I took it. When I was in Costa Rica. That's how cool I am. I've been outside the US. So I must be a total catch right?

Sweaty Guys
Hey look at me after I just ran a marathon/did a triathlon/mowed the lawn. You're helplessly attracted to me because I am active. And you can tell I am active because I posted this photo in which I am beet-red, sweaty and completely unattractive.

Professional Photo Guys
I had these head shots taken so that I could be guaranteed to show my best side. Sure it looks cheesy with my chin on my hand, but at least you can’t tell that I have no friends. Note: These guys all mostly live in Southern California.

The first rule of BOOK CLUB ...

I’ve gone and done it. No I haven’t cut all my hair off. Or gotten a tattoo god-knows-where. Or sold all of my worldly belongings to join a cult. But it is something that I have never done before and now I've gone and done it. I joined a book club. Really, I've joined the Book Club.

Anyone who knows me knows that I read a fair amount. And I am not really a book snob -- although I do draw the line at Romance, that genre just leaves me cold. Well, actually it's rather like porn-for-girls and in that regard actually quite steamy at times, but all that story stuff they put in between the sex scenes can be horrifically tiresome. I pretty much will read almost anything that isn't Romance (and, in hard times -- those being when I am out of materials, ahem, I have been known to dip into a Romance, but they're not my choice. Plenty of other books offer sex scenes without the tedious story lines). Anyway, I pretty much like most stuff (spy thrillers, murder mysteries, chick lit, etc. etc.). So I figure getting together with like-minded readers over a few bottles of wine to chat about books -- it's bound to be a win-win.

My introduction will be in a few weeks and we're reading The City and the City. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, feel free to peruse Shelfari for my recent reads.

Cheesy-licious!

We finally had a wet and dreary day, so I decided to make a baked Macaroni and Cheese. It was a jiff to whip up ... but then, I did kind of cheat. I didn't have enough cheese on hand, so I halved the recipe. And I'm not overly keen on onion, so I opted out of that. It also turned out that there were no bay leaves and no powdered mustard in the house. So I 86'ed the bay leaf idea completely -- and the egg (I was going to attempt to throw in roughly half an egg, but then I saw that I was supposed to "temper" it in and, as I had exactly zero idea as to what that meant, it went too. (I have made plenty of cheese sauces sans egg, so I figured it wasn't going to ruin it). I also neglected to measure the paprika and the salt, I just threw it what looked "about right." When the sauce was basically all compiled, I squirted in some nice old English mustard.

Other than that, I pretty much followed this exactly and, in the end, I think mine looked remarkably like Alton's (for all my waywardness and the fact that it was a bit shorter given the halving and the lack of a smaller pan to cook it in) -- and I am sure it was just as tasty. Yum!