Archive for February, 2012

If a Tree Falls in the Forest….

February 15, 2012

So, Mr. GG is out of town and missed Valentine’s Day.  That’s okay, cause we will have our customary meal with Coeur a la Crème when he gets back.  I was kind of dismayed that he would be gone this week, because I had a hair appointment.  I reminded him of this.

“So?”, he says.

“Well remember last time, when I got it cut in all those layers, and it was kind of red and fluffy?”

He gives me the “what are we talking about, REALLY” look.

“It was cute”, I tell him.

“Oh yeah.  The back was kind of duck’s ass-y”

“Duck sassy”, I correct, “yeah, it was really cute.  So if you are gone, and I come home all cute, and you’re not here to notice, will I be cute, or will it be like the tree that falls in the forest, and nobody hears it?”

Mr. GG could patent the patient husband look.  He’s got it down to an art.  But he isn’t much on existential questions.

“Even if I’m not here, you’ll still be cute?”.  He tries to make that a statement, but I hear the question, like he’s not exactly sure which answer is gonna make me happy.

“I will be fricking adorable.  And you won’t be here to appreciate it”.  I try to make this sound a little pouty, because really, I am just messing with him, and he knows it.

I can see him running all this through the spouse filter, the gears are turning in his brain, and then things click into place.  “Take a picture”, he says.  “Email me”. 

Well, that wasn’t really satisfying, and it reminded him to pack his camera for the trip, so then he went off to look for the battery charger, and the whole conversation got dropped.  Until he was packing his suitcase and I wandered by and said darkly, “Frickin’ adorable”.  He laughed and kept packing.

So here I am, back home with all these fluffy layers, nice, rich color, and enough product to hold everything in place for today.  By tomorrow my hair will be back to it’s normal, floppy self.  So I am gonna go take a picture.  Because I look?  Totally fricking adorable.

The Winter of My Discontent

February 3, 2012

And I am referring to more of a spiritual winter than a physical one. You know, what with Brian Williams calling this season “June-uary”, because of the clement temperatures, versus last years’ “Snowmaggedon”.

Seems like I have been mopey, snarly, surly, petulant and grumpy for months. I am all the Seven Dwarfs in one. Plus their dysfunctional redneck cousins: cranky, bitchy, pissy and touchy.

I had to pause there for a while, so I could visualize some down home midgets in a rundown cabin in Tennessee, wearing overalls with no shirt, and a can of Skoal in their bib pockets. See, that’s another thing – I have the attention span of a gnat.

I got a respiratory infection for most of December, which was so UNFAIR, cause I quit smoking. That made my whole life one big “Bah, Humbug”, as we rounded the home stretch into the holiday season. After all the marked down wrapping paper and ribbon vanished from stores, I started to perk up. I have experience with down cycles. I know what to do to snap out of it. So I embarked on some classic remedies.
I used Christmas money to buy myself frivolous presents. Check out these boots, which will probably kill me if I actually wear them out of the house:

And how about this bracelet? Made from recycled cufflinks from the 20s and 30s. In my favorite green colors?

And I made lists of things to do, things to think about, shopping lists, menus, things I’ve done, etc. Mostly cause I bought a new notebook. I am a stationary whore. I love office supply stores. I love notebooks, and paper, and colored pencils, and expensive vintage pens. And paper clips, and pushpins, and calendars. I found the Arc system at Staples, which is the down market version of Levenger’s Circa… a note taking system with removable pages and lots of options.

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And I went through scores of magazines, tearing out things that “spoke” to me, so I could get a visual sense of where I am. Turns out, I am jonesing for the colors cobalt and emerald green. In clothing, in home décor, in jewelry, in art. I haven’t figured that one out yet.

I cooked comfort foods. I made stew and chili and potato soup. I made Russian Tea Mix, a fad from the sixties which contains instant tea, powdered lemonade, Tang and cloves and cinnamon. I drank cups of this nostalgia. When that didn’t cure things, I tried Bombay Sapphire gin, and tonic. Then just straight tonic. Now I’m pretty much back to straight caffeine.

I’ve read reams of light romance on my Kindle. The kind where the TSTL heroine finds HEA (Too Stupid to Live, Happily Ever After).

I even went to the gym. And I did feel better after swimming. But it was kind of a smug, righteous better. Not the same as taking an unscheduled weekend nap with a down throw and a purring cat on your lap.

All that positive activity just made me more tired. But yesterday when I looked at the clock on the stove it said 11:11. The Baby tells me that seeing 11’s is some kind of metaphysical thing. I looked it up on the internet, and there sure is a lot of info on it – seeing 11’s is either lucky, marks you as a force for good, or lets you know big time change is a’comin. Woohoo.

I am so ready. In the meantime, I think I might join Hokey Pokey Anonymous. Check this out-