Beauty Shop Blues

There is not much that scares me as much as a hair cut appointment.

Give me a trip to the dentist and I'm fine. Give me a trip to the doctor and I'll do it without breaking a sweat.

Make me an appointment at a beauty shop for a hair cut and I get high anxiety.

The problem is that if my hair is cut wrong, it's just like having to wear that ugly yellow and lime green polka dot dress that Aunt Berta gave you 20 years ago. You have to wear that ugly dress day and night for at least two months. It wasn't cute 20 years ago and it's even worse now.

I wear my hair short. It could even be called "boy short" or a "crew cut". I had my hair cut one time and I walked out looking like a washed-up country western singer with whoop dee doo's in her hair. I had curls and waves everyplace. I am not a curls and waves kind of woman. (Nor can I carry a tune for that matter.)

I have naturally very straight hair. A very sweet hairdresser convinced me that my hair would look great with a 'body wave'. Uh huh. My hair looked just like Harpo Marx for two months after that one.

Another time, I had a hairdresser who cut a pie wedge shape into the top of my hair. Now I like a piece of pie just as much as the next girl, but not on top of my head. The broad side of the pie was a bangs type thing in front. I was mystified and horrified in equal measures. I had to get used to wearing a baseball cap whenever I walked out of the house for over a month.

My appointment on Tuesday was pretty drama free. My hair looks great. Okay, not great, but short just like I wanted it.

Mexican Women

Camping? Sure if she can wear heels.

Riding a horse? Yeah, if you can do that with heels.

Mexican women tend to wear heels for all occasions. Many of us are not as tall as we would like to be.

Mexican women also like bright shiny earrings that dangle from our ear lobes. We also tend to choose bright colors for our clothing and then put the dresses away because we think we look garish in them.

Mexican women tend to like to cook. We are frequently fairly traditional homemaker-wise. We breast feed our babies, do the dishes, and iron our husband's clothes.

But Mexican women have bad tempers. We are likely to stick you with a knife if you cheat on us. We will then cry and clean up your wound when you swear you'll never do it again.

Mexican women are proud. You won't see us begging for attention. If our boyfriend or husband leaves us, we would never let him have the satisfaction of knowing we were hurt.

Mexican women are fun in bed. We are as likely to laugh as to moan. Mexican women don't take it all that seriously. It's supposed to be fun.

Mexican women are deeply spiritual. We may deny being religious, but watch our faces when the white smoke comes out of the Vatican announcing a new pontiff.

Milestones and Mini-Skirts

This photo was taken in 1976, the year I turned 30.

I was starting college for the first time and I enrolled in night classes. I was scared to death. I really had no reason to think I would do well in school, but I wanted to try it.

I was also engaged to be married, (again). I had no reason to suspect the marriage would be successful, but I wanted to try it. I really hoped to give my crazy life some stability and my children some security.

The two things (school and a marriage) collided a little. I unexpectedly fell a little in love with my English professor, (a very soulful and sensitive young Muslim man), about two weeks before I was due to get married. He and I had a "moment" or two, but I did go ahead with the wedding.

(Although my professor and I stopped being an "item" after I was married, surprisingly I still got an "A" in his class.)

I married a man 23 years my senior, and a high-level manager at Chevron. My husband was also a cowboy, a hunter, and a general outdoors-man. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world despite the fact that I was not an "outdoors-type" woman.

Little did I know that I was perhaps making the biggest mistake of my life. My new husband wanted me to change completely right after the wedding. No more mini-skirts! No more make up! No more high heel shoes! (You can see where this is going, I'm sure.)

I was working full-time, going to school 4 nights a week, and trying to fulfill wildly divergent roles. I was a mother, a new wife, a student and a working woman. Something had to give, and it did. Not only did I continue to dress as I pleased, I also neglected the laundry and cooking because of my heavy load at school.

My husband became a brutal drunken lout. He was also physically abusive enough to land me in the hospital on more than one occasion. I had experienced rocky relationships in the past, but broken ribs were never an issue before.

I quietly arranged for my children to spend the year with their dad and his wife. They were happy to do so. In the meantime, I considered putting an ax through my husband's head when he was sleeping, or shooting him with one of the many guns he kept around the house. (I could always claim I thought he was a prowler.) Instead, with the help of a dear new friend, (who happened to be a lawyer), I filed for divorce.

My husband did not take this well. I had to get a restraining order to keep him from getting anywhere near me. I was actually afraid that he would kill me as he had threatened numerous times.

The good news is, I finished my first full year of college with a 3.8 GPA. I sold my wedding ring and got enough money to take my children to Disneyland for a week, and I got a promotion at work.

My dear new friend turned into a boyfriend, and yes, I am playing around a bit with the timing of this relationship transformation. My new boyfriend did not mind my mini-skirts and high heels in the slightest.

Imagine that.

I Cannot Look At Train Wrecks

I cannot look at train wrecks.

If I see an ambulance and a police car, or paramedics at my neighbor's house, I move away from the window. I will call later to see if I can help in some way. But I won't watch someone in distress being carried from their home.

If I see a twisted wrecked car along the side of the highway, I immediately avert my eyes. I am not drawn to tragedy. Actually, I go to great lengths to avoid the "unpleasant".

The news is full of images of damaged bodies. I can't stand looking at them. I feel just as strongly about gazing at damaged souls. When I caught a glimpse of Britney Spears wildly chopping off her hair, I had to turn away. When I saw Anna Nicole Smith at an awards ceremony and obviously drugged, I couldn't look at her. I can't watch Lindsey Lohan and her exploits. Charlie Sheen is the latest poster child for troubled souls. I can't bear to watch him being interviewed because it's too sad.

I think I'm afraid of these horrifying and humiliating things and that's why I can't take part in watching. I know all too well what it feels like being carried on a gurney to an ambulance after an injury. I hated seeing faces at the windows watching me.

I also know what it's like to "lose it". I've screamed and cried and thrown things in rage, and in despair. I hate that there were witnesses to my degradation, but relieved I wasn't doing it on camera.

I've also been drunk. I'm just glad there were no cameras to record my behavior, or maybe I should call it "misbehavior". Nobody is at their best after too much to drink.

I had a boyfriend once who was drawn to my "crazy". He had a dark soul and loved the darkness in me. The worse I got, the more he loved me. In the end, he would have destroyed us both.

I do not love darkness nor do I embrace it. I love the light. So I really cannot look at train wrecks.

At Least Once In A Lifetime

We should all experience snow at least once.

My dogs have been to the ocean, to the desert, to the mountains, to the country and the city many times. But they had never experienced snow.

I'm not a fan of snow, but it's something we should all encounter at least once. There is a cold, crunchy purity to it. It actually looks pretty magical, but of course, that's a facade and it fades to dirty wet stuff eventually.

The illusion of this pristine substance is enough to make it worthwhile to see. We took the dogs up into the mountains about two hours from home last weekend to let them judge for themselves.

I was pretty sure Honey, my older female, would take a look, sniff and want back in the car (something like her owner), but I was very surprised. While she did not opt to wallow in the snow, she did enjoy the texture, the smell, and the taste and the new experience.

Harry, the younger male dog encountered his first experience with snow with abandon and excitement. He dug in it, ate it, and raced around seeing if it was real or a figment of canine imagination!

I was really happy that the pups got to see snow in their lifetime. Everyone should.

I thought about getting out of the car and into it myself, but then decided not to. I've seen snow before and it's cold and crunchy and pure but only for a moment in time.

Stilettos

I like a high heeled shoe.

I've been criticized for years because that is all I wear. People have walked up to me on the street and said "Oh you're the lady who always wears high heels!" This is generally followed with "How on earth do you walk in them?"

Actually, I walk just fine in them. In fact, from my lifetime of wearing nothing else, my tendons have shortened and it causes me great pain to walk any distance in a flat shoe.

In the summer, I usually wear more of a "wedge" type sandal, but they are still high heels. Friends sidle up to my husband and ask him in confidence, "Does she really wear those all the time?" Alex assures them that I do.

I wear them to vacuum. I wear them to the grocery store. I wear them to garden. I've climbed ladders in them and I can even run (if I need to) in high heel shoes.

As a (semi) joke, a friend gave me a gift of sensible shoes. She was sure I would learn to love them. Alas, I have not because they are ugly as sin and not comfortable either.

As long as I walk, I fully intend to keep wearing stilettos. In fact, if I can't walk, I will wear them anyway. They are so much prettier than sensible shoes.

How You Can Tell When My Husband Is Away

This is how I will be dressed.

Yes, I will wear the stilettos with my robe. And I will wear the diamond earrings with the jade bits. And I will put on lipstick and mascara.

I might even comb my hair. Oh, you know I'm lying about that. Why comb it? It's almost a crew cut!

I wait until after dark to get the mail. I wait until after dark to cart the recycle cans to the curb. I wait until after dark to drag the cans back in.

Because my back yard is fairly private, I can go outside anytime I want. Of course, since it has rained day and night now for 8 days and 8 nights, I am not spending that long out there either.

I only have visitors who do not care if I dress. I had an anxiety attack the other evening and a male friend brought over some booze. After a couple of drinks, I was calmer and he went home.

Nobody seems to think it's strange that I don't dress for weeks at a time. The right shoes and earrings make up for that. When I was very young and living in an apartment, my landlord never saw me in anything but a nightgown and robe in 4 years. He never said "That's strange." (Not to me, anyway.) My landlord's name was Marvin. I named my fish after him. He was truly a great guy. I loved Marvin. He and his wife Bernice were a couple of the sweetest people I've ever known. Bernice was an artist. I adored her too.

I have four identical white robes and I alternate them to allow for washing. I usually skip the nightgown because, well, frankly, what for? Just one more thing that needs washing and who needs that!

I can order groceries online and the delivery boys could care less what I am wearing. I do go out to get the packages from the mailman, but he likes me this way.