Sizzle Says

The rain has come. And it brought with it my desire to stay in bed with a cup of tea and a good book. Not that I can do that with work calling but still, a girl can dream. What’s the point in going out in a torrential downpour? It will only make my hair frizzy and unmanageable.

Speaking of hair, the other day I was talking with my friend Mr. Martha (as I call him because he is so Martha Stewart but with way better outfits at Gay Pride). He likes to give me fashion advice. Some days he will give me the once-over and say in his Salvadoran accent, “Honey, this outfit is working for you. Mmmhmm.” I like those days. But the other day as we stood there talking, we got on the topic of hair. I said that my roots were showing. He gave a glance to the offending grays and said, with a bit of a snicker, “Honey, you’ve gotta take care of that.” I countered with, “I was thinking I could start a new trend of embracing gray hair. Hey, if Taylor can do it, so can I!” He wouldn’t budge. “No! You will look OLD,” he said with an aghast look on his face. (This from a man in his 40’s with black hair speckled with salt and pepper strands.)

Would I? I have been coloring my hair since I was 17. I have all but forgotten what my “natural” hair color is. I recall it was something of a mousy brown, dull and lifeless. So not me. I’ve run the gamut from fiery redhead to smoldering brunette to white hot blonde. Why not go gray? It’s so difficult to be unique nowadays. This could really set me apart. AND save me buckets of money cuz looking this good takes mad cash and a good two hours at the salon. It’s almost embarrassing.

Speaking of embarrassing, I once let the Tomato color my hair. There were a bunch of us hanging out at his apartment- Mikey and Jenny Two Times were there- and we all got the idea to color our hair. Tomato convinced me that I would look stunning with some blonde streaks in my (then) red hair. He always has had a way of convincing me. (Damn you Tomato!) He puts the plastic cap on my head and proceeds to use the hook thingamabob to pull strands of hair through the holes. He is not delicate. I am pretty sure pieces of my tender scalp were lost in the effort. He applies the bleaching solution and we all sit there, with our respective dyes on our heads, talking and watching TV. When it came time to rinse the color out, I leaned over the bathtub and Tomato set about rinsing out the color. As he rinsed, he began to chuckle. He tried to hold back his laughter but his laugh is not one to be contained. It is as big as his personality. I began to panic. Asking him, with water streaming in my eyes and mouth, “What!? What IS it!?” He said “Nothing!” as he firmly held my head under the water. I knew something was up. “WHAT!? What did you DO!?” To which his laugh burst forth and I jumped up from the bathtub, head dripping wet, to peer into the mirror.

To my horror, my reflection showed that I had turned into a calico cat.

There were red pieces that gradually became orange which then became yellow and then white. All in one strand! It was patchy and multicolored. It was . . .horrendous. The others flocked to the bathroom after hearing my shriek of horror. They couldn’t contain their laughter either. It was, in retrospect, hilarious but at the time, I was devastated. My hair. My hair looked like a cat!

I grabbed a baseball cap from Tomato and made my way home. When I got up in the morning I ran into my sister in the hallway. She looked at me surprised and asked “Ummm, what happened to your hair?” Oops! I had forgotten in my slumber the mortification that was my current ‘do. We rushed off to the local beauty supply store for bleach. After three sessions of bleaching my hair, I turned into a Sharon Stone impersonator. It actually ended up being one of my favorite hair colors.

Apparently, I am a hair chameleon.

Hi drunk lady walking down the middle of our street. That is quite a get up you have on. I can’t bring myself to say “outfit” because well, look at you. You probably got dressed drunk, right? Don’t you know that is a sure-fire way for a clothing disaster? And really, the forty ounce in the plastic bag? How cliche of you!

Oh! Are you tired from all your boozing and stumbling around the neighborhood? Why don’t you take a load off on my neighbor’s stoop. They won’t mind. I am sure their big black dog won’t maim you. He seems friendly. That’s right, soak up some rays. You are looking a little peaked.

Going so soon? But you only rested for a minute or so. (Barely affording me a chance to snap your photo.) I have to say, I really love how you have improvised with that shawl wrapped around your waist. That green dress thing doesn’t show off your curves so you’ve snagged a shawl and made it define your waist. Excellent idea. Too bad it emphasizes the saggy fact that your breasts droop to your waist.

I almost forgot to mention how much I like your head wrap. It does wonders for hiding the grays, not to mention dirty hair. Unfortunately, it makes you look a lot like Sam Kinison. Was that the look you were going for? Yes? Ok then, score one for you!

Hey Sam, I can’t let you go without saying that those shoes, while clearly worn for comfort and not fashion, look a bit beat up. Your ensemble calls for sandals at the very least. Please make a note of that for the next time you take a drunk walk down my street. Thanks, Sam. I knew you’d understand.

Be careful out there, Sam. It’s a mad, mad world.

It’s supposed to rain today but so far, all we’ve got are gray clouds. Perfect for nursing a mini-hangover from too much red wine last night. Perfect for a cup of English Breakfast tea and some banana pancakes. Perfect for going back to bed to read a good book.

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous People will stop and watch you when you appear Even though you’re capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing

Wouldn’t you know it? I went and used my meme yesterday and today I have writer’s block. I have had too much on my mind and it is crowding out any sense of intelligent thought. I have come to realize that when I sit down to write this blog, I don’t want to be a rambling, emotional mess. I feel like I am that inside a lot of the time and sometimes (ok often) it overflows when I am speaking. But here, I try to at least look like I have somewhat of my proverbial shit together.

It totally isn’t working is it?

I guess the intention of this blog originally was not to entertain but to allow me a place to vent, share, wonder aloud (so to speak). Now I find myself thinking of this in different terms. And I don’t want to lose my “real-ness”. I guess what I mean to say is that I haven’t been really unloading the truth of my heart here lately.

In my day to day life, I feel short-tempered, lonely, surrounded, at my wit’s end, lazy, disconnected, hungry for real connection, longing for affection, bitter, scared, anxious. Always anxious. I haven’t been taking very good care of myself. Forgetting to eat or eating the wrong things. Drinking a lot of red wine. Watching TV so I don’t have to think. Trying to focus at work so diligently that 6 hours can go by and I have not gone outside for a break. I come home spent and cranky and dissatisfied. I feel like I am stuck in PMS-mode and I hate PMS-mode. God, how I hate it.

I need to reconnect with something akin to hope inside myself.

I feel angry but I am not sure at whom or at what or why. I feel fed up with the disconnect between people. I am exasperated with reaching out and not receiving that sort of reaching out in return. I feel tired. Very tired. Somewhere along the journey here I picked up a lot of crap that isn’t really mine to carry. I need to unload it. I’m impatient for change.

I see the horizon of hope . . . I just pray it isn’t a mirage.

*Don’t go worrying about me. I will be ok.
**See? I can’t even write a blog post without making sure I explain away any feelings you might have of concern for me.
***That isn’t a good sign, is it?

If you don’t give a rat’s ass about American Idol, scroll down to my Sevens Meme.

Is it just me or is American Idol taking a loooong time this year? They changed the process and for some reason it feels painfully drawn out. Don’t get me wrong, I am still watching the damn show. I’m a part of the AI Cult Phenomenon and goddamnit, I would drink the AI Kool Aid. Ok, not really.

After the first round of performances for a live audience I have picked my top 10. Some of those kids were downright painful to watch. Oh Stevie, Stevie, Stevie- stick to opera honey. And Bobby? Barry Manilow is barely cool when sung at a karaoke bar. That performance might have bought your return ticket home. And don’t even get me started on Brenna. Her whole attitude is so obnoxious I want to throw things at the TV.

Here are my predictions for the Top 10 on American Idol:

Katharine McPhee
Mandisa
Paris Bennett
Lisa Tucker
Ayla Brown
Alternate: Melissa McGhee

Taylor Hicks
Ace Young
Chris Daughtry
Elliot Yamin
Jose “Sway” Penala
Alternate: Gedeon McKinney

*Subject to change based on performances.

***************************************
Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Travel to Ireland (just like Buns) and Italy (just like Whoorl)
2. Own and remodel a house
3. Roadtrip by myself
4. Get published
5. Be a Mom
6. Learn to play the cello
7. Perform on stage

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Hold my chopsticks correctly
2. A summersault (or cartwheel for that matter)
3. See very well at night
4. Not change the direction of the toilet paper when the paper doesn’t tear off from the front of the roll
5. Refrain from singing when a good song comes on (hell, even a bad one)
6. Stop biting my nails
7. Not be terrified of heights

Seven Things That Attract Me to Blogging:
1. Perfecting the art of storytelling
2. Unloading the crap of my mind
3. Sharing the haps of my life with family & friends
4. Voyerism
5. Being an egomaniac
6. Venting without repercussions (little did I know then . . .)
7. Because I always have something to say

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. Apparently
2. Uh, no.
3. Balls!
4. That is so donkey
5. It’s kinda awesome
6. Fuck
7. Like

Seven Books I Love:
1. Sister of My Heart, Chitra Divakaruni
2. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Tom Robbins
3. The Time Travelers Wife, Audrey Niffenegger
4. Naked, David Sedaris
5. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
6. To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee
7. A Million Little Pieces, James Frey

Seven Movies/DVDs That I Watch Over and Over Again:
1. When Harry Met Sally (Babyfishmouth!)
2. Say Anything (I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen.)
3. Pretty In Pink (I swear that boy must practice on melons or something.)
4. The Hours (We cannot find peace by avoiding life.)
5. Beaches (But enough about me, let’s talk about you… what do YOU think of me?)
6. Garden State (That’s life. If nothing else, its life. It’s real, and sometimes it fuckin’ hurts, but it’s sort of all we have.)
7. Shawshank Redemption (Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.)

Seven People I Want To Join In
(If you have already done this, my apologies. No one has to do it if they don’t want to.)
Dumpling (you need something to blog about, dontcha ya? hee hee.)
Mrs. Ca
Mikey
Tomato
Bre
Goldmoon
Dan

The Tomato and I have an agreement. He is not allowed to speak of The O. I have enforced this rule for a couple of years now because, frankly, The O topic was getting out of hand.

Too many people were privvy to this private information without my prior approval. There had been times where I had arrived to a party or gathering and someone, an acquaintance or stranger, would bring up The O. Usually after some cocktails. I am not that easily flustered but it would throw me for a loop. I am quick to blush and we all know I am a horrible liar so. . . you can imagine how that played out. I am not embarassed about the situation, mind you. Frustrated? Yes. Embarassed? Not so much. I just don’t like to be caught off guard. I’m a Type A planner. I’m like the Red Cross for personal disasters. I need to have a game plan.

Take this for an example: I am asleep in my bed many years ago. Warm, toasty, cozy if you will. I am in dreamland when my cell phone rings. It’s late, like 1:30am. I answer and a drunk Tomato is laughing hysterically on the other end of the line. He tells me that he is in a limo with the boys from *NSYNC but it is difficult to understand him through his drunken slurred speech and ocassional outburst of laughter. He tells me to hold on and then passes the phone to a member of the boy band. One of them asks, “Is it true? Did you have sex with Tomato?” I admit that yes, we did indeed do the deed.

This was greeted with laughter. You see, anyone who meets Tomato nowadays would think the idea of him with a girl pretty ludicrous. His gayness isn’t a secret though it was (to me) back when we dated. Ok, ok. So other people were clued in but that is not the point of this story. Focus, please.

So then Lance or Joey or Justin, I don’t remember who, asks, “Is it true he gave you your only orgasm?”

I’m not that starstruck. The part that bothered me about a boy band member asking me such a personal question in the middle of the night from a limo with my drunk best friend was that he already knew private information about me. I can spill my own beans, thank you very much. That’s when I decided to say “enough” to the TMI on The O.