Down with brown

Number of people who noticed that I had colored my hair, without me having to tell them: one.

Number of people who, upon being told, said, "Oh, it does look darker!": Three (It's supposed to be lighter.)

Number of people who told me I had a big old piece of sea salt stuck to my cheek after eating a salt bagel: none. (Un-hair-related, but still distressing.)

That's okay, though, because Jeni and I went to the mall to spend my Christmas money on cute clothes that the young people are wearing these days. And since I revel in how much I save when I buy on sale, let me just say: spent $50, came home with $125 worth of clothes. Yes, I am awesome.

Also, on impulse we each purchased the so-called Magic Scarf, which can be burrowed into and worn as a snood, among other many exciting options (our favorite: ill-fitting tube dress). I am well aware that the magic scarf reached its peak popularity back in 2002, but am undaunted. I will bring it back to uber-coolness.

Cool! Brown!

As you can see from this badly shot, grainy, suspiciously cropped (to conceal partial nudity) picture, my hair is now entirely brown, instead of only partially brown. It's also shiny. I like shiny.

Once again, I have the buyer's remorse. Why didn't I dye my hair something other than brown? Granted, blonde, red and black were not stellar moments for me. But I mean, there are lighter shades of brown, right? Curse you, Garnier, for luring me to my own exact hair color, instead of enticing me with something funky and fun!

Okay, I'm done photographing my every move and hair-related decision for the night. I promise.

Everything you've ever wanted to know about my hair (but were afraid to ask)

I have been threatening to cut my hair for the last nine months. Not unlike the "Am I getting fat again?" monologue, which usually ends with me weeping over a plate of carrots, the "That's it, I'm going to Best Cuts" tirade has thrilled, then entertained, then bored, then aggravated my friends and co-workers since time immemorial.

But on Christmas Eve, I made the plunge and called Ladies and Gentlemen, a very nice day spa in Mentor, where I happened to have a long-unused but never forgotten Valentine's Day gift certificate purchased by Ben. And since it was a rather expensive GC, I got a rather expensive haircut, which is sort of sad, since my hair doesn't really look all that much different than it did before I went in. There are two noticable differences:

1. It is no longer shaped like a triangle
2. It is three inches shorter, which may amaze those of you who wrote me earlier, asking when my hair had gotten so long upon seeing this picture.

I did, however, get an arm and hand massage, mini-facial, and makeup application along with my haircut, which are things I would not have gotten at Best Cuts. Perhaps Fantastic Sam's. But sadly, they appear to be defunct.


As a side note, please pay no attention to the fact that that shirt makes my boobs look weird.

Anyway, since Ben is out of town for awhile and I am bored and lonely and tired of talking with our pets, I have decided to move into phase two of Operation New Hair, which I am calling Defensive No More Gray Maneuver Strike Force Z.

That is to say, right this very moment, as I type this, I am dying my hair (please see illustration at right. Do not note the sloppy application of dye to forehead and temples). I'm just dying it brown; "Cool Brown," I believe was the schmancy name the good people at Garnier came up with. I believe Rinse Offensive Alpha Storm is imminent, so I'd better go. But I will be back soon with a progress update.

And maybe I'll actually mention the fact that Christmas happened, and perhaps go into that a bit. But that may aggravate my bad case of Post-Christmas Depression, so we may have to move directly to New Years, and just acknowledge that, as usual, Christmas was a time of magic and fun, made even more special by Ben's presence. And now it's over. And that sucks.

Merry Christmas... from Talk PR

Don't ask me why, but every once in awhile, I go visit my friend Ashley's company's Web site. Perhaps it is because I was secretly waiting for her to be rendered there in watercolor. And now my wish has been granted!

Behold the staff of Talk PR, a public relations firm located in bucolic Wilmington, NC (also where they filmed Dawson's Creek!). Also pictured here is my friend Lauren, far right, in what appears to be the greatest coat in the history of mankind. That's Ashley, second from the left, looking mighty foxy with her sexy side-swept bangs and shearling coat.

Oh, how I wish my company would put up a watercolor painting of me on their website! I also wish I had sexy side-swept bangs, but alas, that is impossible for the curly-headed. But the watercolor thing: totally doable.

Christmastime... is heeeere...

It's reached that time of year, when I can think of nothing but secular Christmas joy. So, although many interesting and fun things have happened to me since the last time I wrote (thanks, Jeremy and John, for the birthday extravaganza fun!), I feel it is time to compile my annual Things That Are Awesome About Christmas list.

(Okay, I lie. It's not really annual, because I've never done it before. But next year, when this time comes again, I'll be able to declare it the Second Annual TTAAAC List.)

In no particular order:

1. Barking dogs. Jingle Bells. 'Nough said.

2. The Heat Miser. I don't think I've ever actually seen this cartoon, but dang, his song is catchy.

3. Ohio Lottery Scratch-Off Tickets (#1 stocking gift, 20 years running)

4. Linus' Christmas speech

5. That insane guy in Bainbridge that puts up all the Christmas lights

6. Whatever collection company sends my office the awesome truffles

7. Porky Pig's rendition of "Blue Christmas"

8. That old Garfield Christmas special. Why don't they show that shit anymore? Is it because Garfield has become a shameless shill for the Chia Pet organization?

9. Also MIA: That special with the mice inside the clock. I don't even remember the point of it, but it doesn't really seem like Christmas without being forced to sit through it.

10. The fact that every time they talk about wrapping Christmas presents, one or both of my parents feel compelled to blurt out "Well my name is Mom, and I'm here to say/I love wrapping presents in a major way." Because my parents have awesome rapping skillz.

I'm sure I'll think of about 5,000 things I like better about Christmas, so I'll be sure to post them in all their inane glory.

If you're weird and you know it clap your hands...

Courtesy of Diane-- evil tagger! :)

1. I have to tap my foot three times before leaving the bathroom at work. Actually, I don't have to-- it just sort of happens, involuntarily. And it's only at the bathroom at work. So don't go nuts with the whole OCD theorizing.

2. I put myself to sleep at night by telling myself The World's Lamest Story, which I started making up when I was thirteen. Very few people know its contents, but there's a movie star, some fist fights, and a dramatic death scene...

3. I don't like cheese, but I do like Macaroni and Cheez Whiz.

4. I have a crush on Alan Rickman.

5. Sometimes, when I'm driving home, I sing along really loud with the radio and pretend that all the people in the cars around me are really impressed with me.

Crunchy's Christmas Wish of Love

Allo, my dear friends. It is I, Crunchy! The world's greatest but least friendly nutcracker! Here to wish you a merry, merry Christmas.

I hear that many ask about Crunchy-- "how is Crunchy? You are treating Crunchy well, is my hope?" But I am here to tell you, Crunchy is being treated horribly by Kim and Ben. Kim, always with the pull on lever in Crunchy's back and make talk with funny accent! And Ben, always with the turning down of my advances!

Where Crunchy comes from, if Crunchy says you have a nice ass, you lick Crunchy's little blue laquered feet. But this Ben, he says things like, "Ha, ha, Crunchy! To the dog with you!" And speculating on Crunchy's flammability level. Which, Crunchy fears, is high.

So, please, friends of Kim, hear my plea! I am trapped in a hateful world of evil, with the constant force-feeding of nuts and the threats of scorching. I know Crunchy may have been mean to you before, perhaps called you gay, or stupid, or ugly, or told you your butt smelled, or that your parents didn't love you, or any other number of things, but you must save Crunchy from this! Look! They have put Crunchy next to pictures of grandparents! How can Crunchy insult people properly when surrounded by old people?

Thank you,
Much love,
Crunchy

PS: You are fat.

Best! Christmas! Display! Ever!

Megan just sent me a link to this video of the Best Christmas Light Display Ever. And Megan and I would know about good Christmas light displays-- a dude in Bainbridge does his entire yard up every year, with everything from penguins to a waving Santa to oldies Christmas songs blaring over loudspeakers. His neighbors don't even try to put up lights, because he ruins it for them.

Well, in your face, penguin light man! There's a new fav in town!

It's (FINALLY) Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

I was beginning to think this moment would never come-- the moment where I truly realized that it was Christmas (as in, the six-week celebrat-a-palooza of trees, cookies, and Christmas specials that I call Christmas, as opposed to the actual day, which is known simply as "CHRISTMAS!!!!!"). As of yesterday afternoon, our house was unadorned (no Hermey or Yukon Cornelius Bobbleheads! No Crunchy, The Extra Mean Talking Nutcracker!), most of our presents were unwrapped, and our tree was in a box.

But magically, by the end of the evening, our living room was a Christmas paradise-- full-on decorations, lit and adorned tree (although to be fair, there are no ornaments at all in the back or on the sides of the tree, since I didn't have enough, and I figured we couldn't see back there, anyway), and Crunchy, standing proudly on the writing desk, waiting to insult any passersby who may wander into his territory.

For those of you who don't know Crunchy, you may not be aware of his insidious charm or evil grace. But he has a good heart. For instance, yesterday he told Ben that he thought he was cute, and that he might be willing to turn gay for him.

Oh, Crunchy!

In other news, I got to sit in the third row at a Gwen Stefani concert last Thursday (Thanks, Diane!!). It was quite awesome, and also educational. For instance, did you know...

*That Gwen Stefani seems to be about 4 feet tall, and weighs about 38 pounds?

*That one of the Harajuku Girls is actually from Orlando, and not Japanese at all? The other three are, though. So that one must feel really left out.

*That little girls and gay men freaking love Gwen Stefani? (Sorry, that might have been obvious.)

*That Ciara's dancers all pop and lock? (This would have been of particular interest to the scary man at Burger King before the show, who was harrassing each patron by asking them to watch him pop and lock. Looking back on it now, he may have actually been on of Ciara's dancers, just maxxin' and relaxin' before the show.)

It was a really awesome concert, so I highly recommend it, if you get the chance. Especially if your friend wins 3rd row tickets off the radio.

Must... Eat... Cheeseball

Something very strange has come over me in the last few days. Last night, I was so distracted by the whole "Black Eyed Peas Are the Devil" argument that I forgot to mention that while that debate was raging, I ate my very first ever meatball sub, which I liked very much (thus magically opening the door to Subway for me-- I'd like to apologize to every single person who ever suggested that we go to Subway for dinner, only to receive the famous "Are you suggesting that I eat dog crap for dinner? Because to me, they are the same" look I usually gave to such places).

And now, at work, I am being magnetically drawn to this cheeseball that someone has left in the kitchen. I haven't yet tried the cheeseball, and most likely will not, but I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to resist the cheeseball's charm.

Which is weird, because historically, I hate cheeseballs. In fact, I think I would be opposed to pretty much any partially solid foodstuff that is shaped into a ball and rolled in nuts. I don't really even like cheese and crackers (although I do like Cheez-Its, which are crackers-- go figure), so the idea of digging a Ritz into the side of this partially demolished cheeseball would normally totally gross me out.

But now, as I inspect the cheeseball (which I do every time I go in there for water or some such), I find myself thinking, "that would probably be pretty good."

What is happening to me? Has Ben put some sort of spell on me? Or is it just that I now feel comfortable eating any food that ends in the suffix "-ball"? I don't know. But if you find out that I'm eating fish balls or matzoh balls, you should probably just call the police.

Don't Phunk With My Ads

Before I start, let me just say that for some reason, Blogger won't let me post pictures right now... it's freaking me out, because I fear they may be in league with eBay. You put up one picture of a Kawasaki Viper...

Anyway, Ben and I just got back from dinner, where we were having a very interesting conversation ("I love you more." "No, I love you more!") about what makes an artist a sell-out. It all began when I noted that I don't like the Black Eyed Peas, not because I don't like their music, but that it bothers me that they sell the rights to their music-- and even their image-- to appear in so many ads. In fact, my mom likes their song that appears in the Best Buy ads so much that she downloaded the song from iTunes-- and at the end of the song, will.i.am blurts out something to the effect of "Go iTunes!", which, in my mind, is just a sell-out piled on a sell-out.

Ben asked me, then, why it didn't bother me that athletes like LeBron James, who I like very much, appear in ads. I wasn't quite sure how to answer, since it really should bother me, but I figured that

a) Some athletes don't get the nation-wide exposure of a band that releases an album that receives wide radio-play (for instance, I would have no idea who Yao Ming was if he did not appear in ads)
b) Athletes are not artists, in the traditional sense of the word, and artists who are true to their work should not exploit it for additional gain.

The assertion that athletes are not artists really bothered Ben, and I can see that, but I stand by my definition.

So I was wondering-- what do you guys think? And yes, before anyone points it out, I know the Beatles have sold some of their songs for advertising, but keep in mind that they did not sell it until years after they had broken up-- they weren't using the ads to further their own reputation (and also, I may be wrong on this, but I think it was Yoko who sold the rights to "Revolution" to Nike).

Whew! I know I don't normally discuss such topics of actual merit, and I'm not much of a debater, so I apologize if my logic is faulty.

We'll be back to the Great Sock Debacle tomorrow!

You have missed nothing.

Let me apologize to the four people who read my blog on a regular basis for leaving them with nothing but a picture of an ugly dog to keep them company for the last four days. But in truth, nearly nothing of note has happened to me since my last post.

This is not to say that I have literally done nothing. No-- over the last few days, I have

• Gone to the bar with friends
• Cleaned the house
• Scraped mold off the ceiling in the bathroom (even this is untrue-- Ben actually did the scraping, I just pointed it out to him)
• Procured many and wrapped few Christmas presents
• Thought about writing in my blog (often!)
• Discovered that I have run out of socks
• Thought about doing laundry to rectify the sock issue
• Gotten gas (both automotively and medically speaking)
• Gone out to lunch with my cousin

and so forth.

But I didn't really think anyone would want to hear about that stuff, except maybe the gas, and of course the sock issue is quite pressing.

However, I have come to realize that there is no point in keeping a blog if I don't update it more than, say, once a week. So I will be better about keeping it up to date-- mainly, because if people stop coming to my blog, no more numbers will come up on my counter at the bottom of the screen, and I am obsessed with monitoring that counter, as it makes me feel popular.

So, over the next few weeks, stay tuned for blog entries regarding

• A big party at an old friend's fancy, fancy house!
• My sadness that I haven't seen one Christmas special yet this year, and still don't have a tree.
• My anger over the fact that EBAY STILL HAS NOT CANCELLED MY ACCOUNT, AND I AM STILL LISTED AS THE BUYER OF THAT FREAKING MOTORCYCLE
• The sock issue: day 12

and much, much more!