Health Shopping

My Friend is Addicted to QVC Easy Pay.

Screen Shot 2019-03-28 at 8.50.45 PMI have someone who I am very close to who sent me a video which went through five pages of her Easy Pay purchases on QVC. Here is our correspondence around it. Who said texting is a waste of time?

Christine: You need to seek professional help. Do you need my help getting it? I’m really worried about you. When I first listened I thought it was easy pass from you car. And I thought to myself, she doesn’t drive to the city? What the fuck is this? And, then I figured it out.

Jessica: I don’t drive to the city ………i have a serious QVC problem
i need professional help and that does not include the HSN addiction.

Christine: Yes you do. But I can’t see what it was that you bought?

Jessica: lots of things – jewelry, shoes, make up, cleanser.

Christine: Wait I just screenshot the stuff and enlarged it. It’s all make up? What’s that about?

Jessica: When I get a text that they have a four hour period where everything on their website  is on 5 easy payments for four hours – I literally have left parties and movies to make it home on time to do it no lots of jewelry

Christine: Do you wear jewelry?

Jessica: yes .. even fruit ! I am still paying off my January Honeywell oranges.  you can only get Honeywell in the month of January across the world and they are the best fruit in history …….so i got two orders this year however i was not pleased with the second order as it was very bruised fruit so they gave me a full credit !   Yeah!

Christine: How much were they?

Jessica: but they are expensive so i got five easy payments of like 15 bucks and had Honeywells for six weeks each order maybe 40 bucks … can’t remember

Christine: How many oranges are in an order?

Jessica: 12 maybe – if i am ever executed my last meal would be Honeywell’s so i would hope i was executed in January so it could be my last meal.

Christine: Maybe you could start an QVCA (QVC Anonymous) group and help others who are suffering the way you are? It’s always best to serve others to mend your own fall-abilities. Is that a word? Do they sell Xanax on EZPay? I have a flight the week after next and I’m out.

Jessica: i will send you honeybees next January – i am not a huge fruit person but i swear it is the best thing you will ever taste – nothing sweeter and juicer – cross between a tangerine and a grapefruit (and i hate grapefruit) ……..

Christine: I’m not as interested in the honeybees as I am the Xanax???

Our friend Debbie was on the text feed: i’m so concerned about both of you

Christine: You don’t have time to be concerned about us. You have to save the country. Keep your focus. She works for a not for profit.

Jessica: Saving the country is a tall order given what a shit show it is – but ok.

Christine: Jessica, you did not respond to my great idea about starting a QVC anonymous club. Maybe you can meet a man. Kindred spirit.

Jessica: somehow i don’t think i would want to date a man who had a qvc shopping problem

Christine: Oh it’s good enough for you but not him? That’s a new one.

Jessica: Honestly i would be happy to date anyway as long as they have a pulse so i take that back – pickings are slim

Christine: I could start a website for you and we could set up your social media. You could be the QVC person That helps people change their life. Or maybe you could become a QVC addiction counselor having cured it in yourself

Jessica: I don’t think i can ever stop ………seriously.

Christine: But I suppose that means you’d have to stop buying first. Can you commit to that?

i can’t

Christine: No?

Jessica: no i can’t stop

Christine: How about you say you will try. It doesn’t piss you off that you’re still paying for oranges that have long since hit the garbage.???

Jessica: no i can’t ……….maybe by the time i die they will have caskets – if they do you have to buy mine on easy pay

Christine: I am not buying a casket for you on QVC. Have you lost your mind?

Jessica: i just can’t explain the love affair i have with honeybees and easy pay QVC. It’s my life.

Jessica: they don’t sell them on QVC but they should i should suggest that next time i call in live to the show

Christine: Tell me you have not called into the live show.

Jessica: at-least once a week

Christine: To say what!? Jesus this is out of control!

Jessica: to give my opinion on a product

Christine: You cannot be serious. Have they ever put you on the air?!?

Jessica: I am on the air at least twice a month most recently for josie moran last week. i am a big josie maran fan

Christine: Who is Josie Moran? Margan?

Jessica: She was a supermodel who started the first argan oil line. her stuff is incredible –

Christine: What is Aegean Oil? And what pray tell can possibly be of interest for you to say about it?

Jessica: she makes lipsticks with argan  oil that make your lips so soft it’s amazing

Christine: I can’t do this anymore I’m going to sleep. But first I’m gonna pray for your fucking soul.

Jessica: omg argan oil is an oil that is in hair stuff, soaps, body creams

Christine: I am sorry for your pain. I am grateful that you shared it with me. Telling people is the first step to successfully beating it
Maybe you should cancel your cable.

Jessica: i will bring my cream next time so you can try it – it’s life altering your skin will be SO soft next time i am on air at qvc i will text you so you can listen

Christine: Please don’t bring it. I don’t want anything to do with any of this. And where did Debbie go? Did she drop out of this? There’s only two of us in here now.

Jessica: oh wait i forgot you don’t have tv

Christine: I have a TV but I am not watching you

Jessica: i am very charming on air

Christine: I’m sure you are. I’m going to sleep now I love you.

Jessica: love you too

I ask all my friends to pray for Jessica (I changed her name; she has a high-powered job, can you imagine?) Pray for her. I’ve very worried.

Business Shopping Technology

My iPhone X

images-2I recently purchased the new iPhone X. I mainly got it because my other iPhone wasn’t holding its charge, but in addition, the photography capabilities of the new iPhone X were something of a turn-on to me. So I ordered it and will pay an additional $15 per month for the rest of my life to pay for it. Whatever.

So now I am using the phone, and let’s just say, I am not a happy person.

I will lead into why with a quote from my grandmother upon acquiring her first push-button phone:

“I don’t like this. I don’t like that if I make a mistake, I can’t figure it out, and keep calling the wrong number. What was wrong with the rotary phone?”

I rolled my then-ten-year old eyes and patiently walked her through the process of just using the tip of her finger when pushing the numbers. And I thought to myself, ”Geez, she’s old.”

Well, now, I guess, it’s my turn.

The iPhone X’s lack of a home button is not only disconcerting, it’s stupid. I get that it took up screen space, but it was the mother ship of the phone. I’m now floundering in the high seas of maneuverability issues around apps, turning off my phone at the end of a call, and scrolling up to enter stuff, which is not as easy as it sounds; trust me. There is a whole host of other new things to learn that require reading instructions that didn’t even come with the phone—which really doesn’t matter because I never read them anyway. It’s actually an act of protest because I’m certain instructions are written by men who have no idea how to get from point A to point B with any sensibility. Don’t get me started down that road. Suffice it to say, instructions aren’t an option for me.

There is a fine young woman who works at my company, Blue Shoe, and she has crossed from her desk to mine in our open-air office numerous times to help me.

She gently told me to just ask for Siri, and she will answer me. I use the word “gently” here because, let’s face it: It’s really condescension with a hint of kindness because I control her paycheck. Or, at least, I used to do so when I could access my bank accounts from my phone, which ain’t so easy anymore.

Well, her Siri direction isn’t right. It’s a lie—a lie like a Sarah Huckabee lie. I have asked nicely, yelled not so nicely, and used words that don’t belong in my blog . . . and nothing. Nada. Siri has left me—most likely, for good. Well, screw her; I’ll figure things out for myself.

I use my phone’s ear buds because I don’t want to get brain cancer when I’m already struggling with Aspartame dementia from diet coke, which Trump has helped me give it up cold turkey because I have no desire to be like him in any way. He drinks as much DC as I used to drink, so I have him to thank for saving what was left of my brain. Anyway, because I’m on the phone a good chunk of the day, I keep my phone plugged in to the juicer. Well, guess what? You can do one or the other, but not both. Apple got rid of the plug for the ear phone and now it uses the same plug as the charger. Seriously? Don’t they pay their engineers billions of dollars? Maybe the engineer doesn’t ever talk on the phone because he’s too smart to speak dummy down english like the rest of us. I don’t know.

OK, now let me talk about this face-recognition feature. I set it up. I turned my face every which way from Sunday while the phone registered it. I’m telling you that if someone has an iPhone X and gets arrested, they can simply send law enforcement the images from face recognition, and not have to stand in front of those cameras that have to be the height of humiliation. Save the government money. That’s on my 2018 agenda.

But that’s not my main problem with “Face ID,” as Apple calls it. Here is the problem: If someone robs you, they have to take you with them when they take your phone or they won’t be able to do anything at all with it. Yep, you heard it here first. You can plead all you want, but your face is central to the success of their theft over the long haul, so you not only lose your phone, your family loses you, which in the case of my family these days, might be a welcome relief.

So, the bottom line is that I’m an old lady who is beginning to yearn for the days of the flip-top phone. I miss those good old times when my life wasn’t spent on apps and staring into my phone for recognition—recognition I used to receive from others when they felt grateful for something I’d done for them.

Other Products Shopping Technology

My New Prius

Those of you who read me regularly know I have had some serious car issues. There was my poor Audi, which was hit in Utah by Buck, the twelve-point male deer around Thanksgiving a few years ago. Then there were the minor accidents I kept having in LA, where parking is complicated by hidden nightmares like cement poles that are supposed to mark the spots, but only serve to dent my fenders. Then there was the rental car that was towed. I had no idea what kind of car it was, which made it difficult to pick it up at a lot where it was hidden among hundreds of other cars that were recognizable to their drivers. Never did find that car.

But I have recently added a new car to my fleet. My name is Christine, and I bought a Prius. I wish to be a stronger member of the “I want to leave a smaller carbon footprint on the world” club, and since ice cream and my advancing years are making my physical person larger, I’m working on making my footprint smaller. Membership in this club calls for thoughtful spending and usage of resources, so I followed my little sister’s lead and bought a Prius.

When I was test driving it, the very nice and patient sales person, a friend of my cousin Cliff’s, explained that the correct way to drive a Prius is to hit the gas pedal gently, which allows for slower acceleration and less gas consumption. They even put this gauge on the dashboard that shows you how many miles per gallon you are getting, so you can actually see that the slower you accelerate, the less gas you use. At its best, a Prius can get 100 miles per gallon. This is a good thing… or so you would think. But truthfully, it’s beginning to get on my nerves, to say nothing of the other drivers behind me. I now glance from the road to the gauge over and over again throughout any driving expedition, trying to keep that line over 50 miles to the gallon. This was fun for a day or two, but not so much now. And while I grant you my Mario Andretti ways were probably not in the best interest of the environment, my ridiculous granny-driving is greatly reducing my billable hours per week.

Then there is the problem with the sound of the engine. The engine makes no sound, and there is no key in the ignition, which is another thing that seemed like a great idea when I bought the car, but is now a nightmare. I keep leaving the car running overnight. When you stop and put the car in park, there is no sound, which makes it easy to forget to press the “power off” button if you are on the phone (hands-free of course), or just thinking about important things like whether you remembered to TIVO Oprah’s latest Master Class. How many times have I left it on, you ask? I’m almost sixty and my memory—especially short-term—doesn’t serve me well, but I can safely say it’s more than five, and I have had the car for three months. Okay, that’s a lie, I have had the car two months.

But the biggest problem centers around interaction with people. I am not a friendly person by nature. I realize that sounds bad, and I don’t mean it to be, but I am busy trying to be a strong, thoughtful friend and family member, and time is a precious commodity. That means I don’t have a lot of time to make new friends in parking lots, which they never mentioned when I bought the car is a “benefit” of belonging to the “I Own A Prius” club. Membership automatically comes with purchase; it’s not opt-in, and unless you want to feel really bad about yourself as a part of the human race, there is no easy way to resign.

“Oh, I see you have a Prius. I’m thinking of getting one. Do you like it?”

“Oh, I have a Prius too! Don’t you love yours? Can you believe the gas mileage?”

“Oh, would you mind if I got inside? I just want to see if it feels as small as it looks from the outside!”

This last one is especially upsetting, because you are not supposed to let strangers in your car, so I always get out of the car and say, “Try the driver’s side.” This is problematic because I always forget to turn the car off, especially when I’m distracted by someone at my side window, and they could easily drive away and leave me standing on the corner dialing 911—assuming I remembered to remove my cell phone, which hooks into the car’s telephone system.

This last thing I am about to tell you is a secret because it’s really bad and I hate to share it with the world, but here it is. I was really feeling low a few weeks ago, sitting in my car listening to Adele, and sure enough, when I parked, there was someone waiting to ask me about the car. I pretended to be deaf. Yes, deaf. I know, I know. But that is what I did, and it wasn’t until later that I realized that since I was listening to Adele at a zillion decibels, they likely figured out that I was lying. To say nothing of the fact that I no longer live in LA, where the likelihood of twice running into someone you met in a parking lot is a lot lower than it is here in Cape Cod, where only I and a few others choose to live in the dead of winter. I’m sorry, and I will never do it again.

But I do feel good when I get into my Prius. I do. I feel proud of myself. I am happy that I am saving about as much as I am paying for the car in less gas used—or at least my feeble financial mind thinks so. All in all, it’s one of the best purchases I’ve ever made, and I am happy to be a part of the club. I just wish I could be a silent member.


The Bastardization of America’s Food

I was at dinner the other night with my cousin and his family. His girlfriend’s son is working on his International baccalaureate degree (he’s a junior in high school), so obviously the conversation would go in a direction of cultural and intellectual enrichment. We started to talk about Oreo Cookies versus Hydrox Cookies.

I pointed out that Oreos are not as good as Hydrox.

“Hydrox are better; the outer shell is crunchier. I don’t like the softness of the Oreo shell. And can we please discuss the bastardization of Oreos? I was outraged when they added the wide-bodied Oreo with double creme, and I was upset again when they began adding things like strawberry to the creamy center. Really? Strawberry in the middle of an Oreo? Bastards!”

Which led to more discussions about the bastardization of American traditions like Peanut M&Ms—not to be confused with the Pretzel M&Ms they have just launched, and which were given to me by mistake at the movie theater recently. I didn’t realize there had been a mistake until the movie had already started. There I was, with the earth-shattering dilemma of whether to leave the movie to trade them in (and thus potentially miss something major), or not enjoy Peanut M&Ms during the movie. Thankfully, the movie was The Bridesmaids, so the concern about missing something was moot.

Fig Newtons. They did the same thing to my beloved childhood Fig Newtons. You can now choose five different ‘flavored’ Fig Newtons, none of which are anything but imitation flavors, which is really sacrilege. And then you have to choose between soft and original. It’s like Original Kentucky Fried Chicken versus whatever else they have come up with to hide the fact that you are shooting oil directly into your veins via chicken thighs.

I could go on and on. I am sure you can add your personal favorites. Should we talk about Coke? Cherry Coke? Diet Coke? Or my personal favorite, Coke Zero? (The name alone should have told them not to do it.) Let’s not forget Caffeine Free Diet Coke. I really hate caffeine-free soda because so many people buy it and don’t realize that I need the extra caffeine to sit through dinner with any sense of alertness. So many Cokes, so little time.

Look, there are too many choices. Just offer me the basics and I will be happy. My brain is exhausted from information overload, and adding twenty-two M&M choices is adding to the chaos. I’m begging here.

By the time we were done with the conversation, I should add, the fabulous son had already left the table to go study.


Your Car.

I buy my cars. I leased once when my ex told me to, but alas, when the two years were up and I was 20,000 miles over the mileage limit (do not even ask me about it) and sixteen dings over the ‘return in perfect used condition limit,’ I realized I need to buy my cars. That said, I don’t keep them long. Maybe two years at the most.

I was at a dinner the other night and this man was talking about his fabulous car growing up. He spoke of it as if it were part of the family history, actually part of the family itself. Then I saw this video about this older woman who was still driving a car she bought in the sixties. She had pictures of herself in front of her car each year as she had a birthday party for it. She loved her car and had every dime she put in it recorded. And, she had a manual she would give to people servicing it about how to change the oil and various other things.

Cars used to be such a huge expense and part of the daily life for years and years, so we remember them. But now, with leasing and turning cars in after a year or two for a new one, we now don’t have the same connection.

I am going to make a concerted effort to care about my new car. I turned in my big Audi SUV because it was so large that it kept hitting things. As I’ve mentioned, living in LA where you have to stop in strip malls all the time means there are tons of poles sticking up just waiting to be backed into. And, my underground garage poles move (I swear) to make sure I nick them on my way in and out of the space. So, now I have a small BMW SUV, which is cuter than a button, and has only backed itself into two things in the four months I’ve had it. A far cry better than the Audi.

I’m going to name my car soon. Thinking something special like Ruth. Or maybe, Emma. I have to marinate in it and make sure it’s a name that will stick. I’m going to start tracking my care of her. I’m going to pat her hello in the morning, and I’m going to make a commitment here and now to keep her for at least ten years. She and I are going to grow old together like that woman in the video.

Yep, it’s the new car me. A relationship with my car like in the old days with my Cougar XR7 that I wrote about on this blog sometime over the past year. I think it’s going to really change things for me with my car karma. Will keep you posted.


Revisting Lindsey Vonn

When you are wrong, you are wrong. Here are two emails I got yesterday after my ‘quit whining Lindsey Vonn’ post.

She had an obligation to disclose her injury since her lack of practicing everyday on the hill would have spurned a lot of questions. Plus she pulls down a significant amount of money from her sponsors who also want to know what is going on. It would have leaked out anyway.
Bottomline, it was obvious from her run last night that she was favoring the leg. Regardless, nothing should distract or takeaway from an incredible accomplishment under much scrutiny and sacrifice that she has endured, not only recently but throughout her career.
She delivered in the clutch yesterday and certainly made me proud of American guts and fortitude.

and the gentler

Overcoming adversity is at times an advantage in sports and in life.  She is injured and did not make it up. She was not the one in charge of the media blitz that drummed up all the attention regarding her leg. They asked, she answered. It was obvious she had an injury.   Now consider that the ice rink they call a ski hill is so amazingly difficult to ski on that the most excellent skiers would have a difficult time just getting down a hill such as that at modest recreational speeds.  It is crazy diffiucult. I would not even venture to try it if given the chance.

So, silly me. Those were just two of the emails I got yesterday, and I do understand that sometimes you just don’t see the forest through the trees. Forgive me Lindsey, you are my new hero. But what was with the swimsuit for Sports Illustrated? Can we talk about that? Or was she perfect in that as well?

Anyway, here it is. My first blog retraction. I was wrong Ms. Lindsey.


Etsy: A Fabulous Place to Shop

I never review stores or anything. I’m not a big shopper and really no one should listen to me about what to buy to look good, decorate their house, or for that matter, create fabulous food. We all have talents, taste is not one of mine. But, (there’s always a but) I am here to sing the praises of Etsy is touted as the “your place to buy and sell all things handmade.”

It’s great, and not everything is handmade. I personally like the Vintage section where I bought two great books; Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, published in 1942. And, the other thing I bought is a pair of handmade mittens for my daughter that have that string running from one to the other so she can leave them in the sleeves of her coat. She is out east and keeps telling me she has to leave for class without her gloves because she can never find them. I don’t want to have her walking to be smart in law school without gloves. Her brain power could be escaping through her fingers for all we know. You never know about that stuff.

The communication on this site is great. People send you thank you notes for buying things, and I really have to say the things for sale are great. Don’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure it’s a site for women – entrepreneurial types – who now have a place to sell their genius. Most of my readership is women, and I believe in nepotism, so let it all begin.

A friend of mine, Claire, who hasn’t been in my blog for awhile because she is on the east coast, and I’m on the west coast, and it’s not so easy to have daily contact. Alas. She is very, very creative, one of the best designers of events and decor. Anyway, she always wanted to start a website called Believe it or not, the site URL was already taken, but nothing has really been done with it.

Well, Etsy, is the kinder version of crafty bitches and I love it. Take a look.

Shopping Travel

Taking things from the Hotel Room Service Tray

Now that I’m in Caleefornia and near my dear frugal friend, I’ve tried to become more frugal myself. I’m not sure if it’s because of her enthusiasm for frugality, or that this is also the direction our country is taking in general. Either way, I’m trying.

I was on a business trip the last few days and stayed at the fabulous Ritz in San Francisco. We were doing business with them and they comped the room (just in case your first thought is that the Ritz is certainly not on the frugal list). Coincidentally, the Ritz is full of things to take home to be frugal.

Here is a list of what I brought home.

Everything from the bathroom including Q-tips, the shampoo and conditioner, all bars of soap (I opened one and used it both at the sink and in the shower so there were two bars to bring home), two plastic laundry bags from the closet (not sure what they are good for, but whatever), the shoeshine cloth, and (drum roll) seven bottles from the room service cart including three jars of  orange marmalade (should I mention I hate marmalade?), one little jar of mayo, one jar of dijon mustard, two jars of strawberry jam (love that and wished I could have used it on my whole wheat toast but I didn’t think an open bottle would be ok to keep without refrigerating so I ate it dry), two bottles of catsup, and last but not least, the shower cap. They had 8 (not kidding) washcloths in the bathroom and I’m sure they wouldn’t have missed one, but I considered that crossing the line to thief, so I didn’t take it.

I was stoked, what a haul. It felt like Christmas.

Then I started to feel guilty. Is that stealing? What do you think the housekeeping department thought of me? Do healthy people do this? Then I started to worry that the bottles wouldn’t get past security. What if security opened my bag after all the bottles went through X-ray and everyone behind me saw that I was a stealer of bottles off the room service tray, and they would think to themelves “Are you kidding me? Who is that awful woman?” And what if stolen bottles from hotels means you get strip searched? Then I realized I better not look nervous or they will pull me over anyway. I was exhausted and guilt ridden by the time I got through security. I actually considered dropping it all off at a homeless shelter in Los Angeles. I’m not kidding. I got a grip and realized that the mind is one sick puppy when you let it go wild.

I unpacked it all when I got home. I think my refrigerator looks really cute with all kinds of little bottles in the door. And, I can’t wait until I have company and can bring them out and put them on the table. Fun. It might have all been worth it.

So, I’m a new frugal girl and proud of it. I’m considering picking up sugar packets at restaurants in the future. Is toilet paper out of bathrooms stealing if there is another roll right there and you aren’t leaving the stall with no toilet paper? Ok, I think it is but I’m clueless as to the fine line between frugal girl and robber. I am going to check with Cheap C and figure it out.

Personal Essays Shopping

Wrapping Presents

Somewhere deep inside, I think I believe you are how you wrap. I take wrapping way too seriously. And, I never, ever get it right.

Each year I think up a new theme for wrapping Christmas and holiday presents. One year I did all white paper and cobalt blue ribbon. Stunning. Trouble was I only wrapped about three presents in it, then got behind and in the usual Christine’s approach to last minute procrastination make it work moments, I just started taping together the white paper and threw on those stick-on ribbons where you peel the paper off the back and press it on the package. I’m not proud of this and must be given kudos for admitting to it because somewhere deep inside, I know you all have done the same thing.

Then there was the year I went green. I think this was actually before it was cool to go green. I went and got cloth napkins that I had in odd numbers and pillow cases that I didn’t use anymore, and I wrapped presents in the napkins and pillow cases with twine that looked “green” but probably wasn’t. They did not look Christmasy at all. And, to make matters worse, every single person asked me if they were supposed to return the wrapping. I got tired of answering the question and I think the last person that called received the, “You want to know what you can do with the pillow case? I was trying to be green!” I believe it was my sister who is never intimidated by my irritation and she replied something to the effect that if that was the case I might have wrapped in Christmas green instead of summer lime green which is many things but not at all Christmas.

Another year, I wrapped everything in grocery bags (maybe I’m naturally green) and bought a fabulous holiday plaid ribbon. Trouble with that was that again I was wrapping presents on Christmas Eve and the ribbon only had about a foot on each roll (they really ought to go to jail when they rip you off like that) and there was nowhere to go to get more ribbon, so I just passed the gifts off with no ribbon and in grocery bags. It so looked as if I hadn’t planned at all and that their gift was an add-on shoved in a grocery bag. It hurts to think about that year.

Then there is the issue of the cards to put on the packages. In the end, if I’m honest, I just sometimes write on the package itself or perhaps worse, use those peel off stickers. It’s really something I need to change about myself. If I am right and you are how you wrap, more thought needs to go into the entire presentation. Maybe I should think about how I deliver the packages as well. It’s exhausting.

This year, because I am spending Christmas in the stupendously sunny Caleefornia, I had to send most of the presents I’m doing east. I was realizing that I needed to send everything on Monday at the latest. I was wondering if it would be insensitive or cheap to write in big, bold letters on the outside of the UPS box, “THIS BOX IS THE WRAPPING FOR YOUR PRESENT. PUT UNDER THE TREE AS IT IS.” I was thinking maybe people would feel badly that I have to send so many packages and take pity, but I realize that’s not the way my friends think, so I had to get it all done by the end of the weekend.

I have spent all this time talking about wrapping presents, but the truth is, I haven’t even finished all my shopping yet. I have to go now. I have to shop and wrap and pretend that I have a Christmas spirit that is hard to find in the heat of LA.


Bad Hair Day

I’m sure you all remember my friend Paula. I blogged about her this summer. She is the one whose house is filled with gismos; things I couldn’t hope to find that make everything easier. Well, social she ain’t. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met and the best read as well. She knows tons about everything and even put this blog together for me. Well, she did something last week that I do all the time.

She woke up, had a lunch date and decided she had to get her hair cut that morning before the lunch date. She called a neighbor whose hair looks fab, asked her for the name of the person who does her hair and called for an appointment. The neighbor’s beautician (is that still a word?) didn’t have any openings that morning so she asked for anyone who was available. She was telling me this on the phone, and I wanted to say, “Well dummy dummy doe doe, what did you think? Because they happen to work in the same place, they have the same quality of work? Wasn’t the fact that the woman was available on an hour’s notice a give away?” But the new Obama Mini Me, cousin of my guardian angel Buck (the deer that gave his life last weekend when I hit him so I could change mine to a slower, more nuturing person), is now in charge, so I murmured, “Oh my,” or some such nonsense.

Anyway, poor poor Paula goes in there and the woman started cutting, and cutting, and cutting and it was then an hour and a half after she sat down.

“Paula, you are not a quiet personality. You speak your mind strongly. You do not shy away from controversy. Why is it when you get in a chair, you tend to do exactly what they tell you to do and lose your voice? I would have said after a half an hour, “get me out of this chair, hair cutting person, or you are toast.'”

“I know, I know. I do the same thing in the dentist’s chair. They start adding all these things to my cleaning and I just sit there with my mouth open nodding yes.”

“Well, you must stop it immediately.”

It's that layered look from the eighties, but this is AFTER they fixed it.
It's that layered look from the eighties, but this is AFTER they fixed it.

She was late for the lunch she was getting her hair cut to look nice for so she ran out without looking at the back of her head. Here is a picture of it after the intervention the next day, so you can only imagine what it looked like then.

Here’s the thing. Whenever I do things impulsively, this is the outcome.

Whenever I buy a pair of shoes because I have to go out that night and don’t feel quite right about the ones in my closet, I end up with blisters and never wear them again.

Whenever I buy a car because I can’t stand the inside of the car I have, I always regret it a month later when the new car has the same used look inside. (I so don’t care about what is under the hood. You never see that.)

My friend Jill and I have a twenty-four hour rule. If it isn’t food and costs more than $100, we have to wait twenty-four hours. While neither of us has executed the rule that much, it’s often in the back of my mind and has stopped an impulsive purchase or two.

As for Paula’s hair? I still go back to the moment when the woman on the phone said the lady Paula wanted to cut her hair was not available. Sorry P.