"A SILVER-STUDDED RIM THAT GLISTENS"

I look so white trash with these big grey roots.

I decided a while back to grow out my grey hair to see where I stood with it. I started going grey young, to tell you the truth. I was maybe sixteen or seventeen when I found my first few silvers. Anyway, I've only touched up the pink in the front lately, but let everything else grow. Yowzers. The top is so grey, in fact, that it is almost more grey than brown. So, the new plan is the let the sides and back go, since those roots aren't visible, while the hair on top stays under the protective care of haircolor. Once the back and sides grow all the way out I'll let the top go in phases to catch up. All this to avoid silver roots. If I was braver or a dude, I'd crop my hair and be done. But I like my hair and don't feel up for a pixie. In the meantime, I have cut pictures of silver-haired ladies out of magazines. I found one that says "here comes they grey" and find myself studdying pictures of Emmylou Harris.

I'm in the "live more naturally" camp today, but give it a week, though, and I'll be back in the "I'll deal with this in a decade" camp. Then back to the naturalist camp, and so on and so forth.

"HOW SOON IS NOW?"

I did my hair last night. I wasn't in love with the blue, so I made big pink stripes like I used to have about a year ago. Like this, but not all in one clump. more like tiny pink highlights. Anyway. I woke up last night at like three thinking someone was knocking on my door, and, you know, going back nye-nye when you get a big adrenaline boost is no small feat, so I sat up and petted my cat's nose and played solitaire. Don't be jealous of my sexy, exciting night!

(There is fresh concrete being poured across the street. What should I write once the workers turn their backs??)

Gosh, the weather is beautiful today. It's sunny and 70ish. That is good livin', if you ask me. And, as I type, enjoying said weather, I'm by an open, breezy window, enjoying a cup of Cafe du Monde's chickory coffee and that makes me glad. Well, there is the smell of bacon in the air from the counter of this coffeeshop I write from, but other than that, it's totally peas and carrots.

On my way over, I saw a teensy tiny fender bender, no damage to either truck, but it was between two big burly meat-headdy puff-ups, so they hopped out of their respective giant vehicles and had some words and bumped chests. I mean, for real, they were shouting and being pissy and touched chests and then bounced off each other. The temptation to shout "Kiss him!" as I crossed the street was almost too much. But, really, it's a lovely day and my breezy sunshine and good coffee and writing spree is coming together to make me reeeeeaaaaaaaallllly happy.

I'm really ready for fall. Have I mentioned that a thousand times yet? As wonderfully awesome as this summer has been for me, I've have more uphill than I wanted, so I'm eager to seal it up and move to the next. Come to think of it, I want to say somebody I know has a theory about August, or August and April or even-numbered months feeling more uphill than others. Who said that? What it you, Schwartzy? Laurel? Who was it? Eh, I can't remember. Was it Hyperbole Mel? No, shit, I can't remember. Fuggetit. Speaking of friends, I heard from Mermaidhead this morning, who is mere days away from (a) giving birth to little Neptune (b) getting herself free from bedrest and (c) getting shitfaced at the bris.

"HOW SOON IS NOW?"

So! Much! Fun!... was had at The Fixx Reading Series again last night! I knew it would be a good night when, as Irish Ho and I were setting things up, a man and a young lady walked in-- the girl, probably about sixteen or so, had awesome magenta hair, and such a funky style with this cool outfit and a bunch of old keys around her neck on ribbons, like an antique Victorian doll who suddenly came to life and put on a pair of Chucks. She had this head full of gorgeous magenta curls and while she seemed quiet, when we dished on haircolor, it turns out she and I both use Manic Panic's deadly nightshade! She sort of had a shy yet rebellious DIY thing to her that reminded me of myself in high school and she so pulled at my big sisterly heartstrings like you wouldn't believe. Well, turns out it was Bubs and his youngest daughter, which made it all even cooler to me. So great of them to come out and say hello!

Um, the reading, yes the reading. I was a little flustered at the beginning because I misplaced my introduction notes for a few damnhellass moments, but I found them (in the loo where I left them like a dumbass) and all was well in the world. Uh, until I had the one little microphone stand iddlyness -- big thank you to Ted and Laura for jumping in and working it out. Anyhoot! I know you kids like photos, and photos I have! We started off with the dishy and hilarious Rick Karlin, and he made us laugh and laugh with his very funny novel, Show Biz Kids.

He read the starlet-on-date-with-gay-man part that I just think is so funny. And, his side commentary is so funny and dirty and I just love this guy to bits.


Next up was Elaine Soloway, who I want to be when I grow up. Her book, The Division Street Princess, which I read some time ago, made me laugh and cry all at once. I bought a copy for Mermaidhead and had Madam Soloway write a little note to her on the title page. I just know Mermaidhead will like the book as much as I did.

She showed up in a "Girls Rock" t-shirt that she scored at a NOW convention, sassy blue patent rockabilly shoes and when I introduced her, I insisted she show her badass tattoo on her upper arm. (Read what she blogged about her tattoo right here. See? I told you she was badass. When I first read this post, I teared up, I'll admit, because I liked it so much.)

She was followed by Charles Blackstone, who read from his The Week You Weren't Here, which I, for one, cannot wait to start reading. He read this section about those freakout-on-the-bathroom-floor days that I really liked, so I'm anxious to read the whole thing.


Rick Karlin's sweet partner was there, Elaine Soloway's darling husband was there, and naturally Charles Blackstone's wife, Alpana Singh was there as well, and being a very big fan of hers, I was over the moon about this because I have a platonic-professional girl-crush on her.

(I have this thing when I'm in the audience for a reading where I like to sneak little glances at significant others in the audience. No, actually, I like to sneak glances at significant others in any situation, watching his/her partner do his/her thing. At readings I like to watch them and imagine they're undoubtedly remembering all the rewrites and drafts and frustration of that very section being read, maybe even remembering the day it was first written. Maybe I'm weird like that, but I love doing this. There's always this look of pride and relief like look at you doing that thing you always said you would and having such a good time doing it. I'm happy because you're so happy. I always wonder if anyone ever knows when they're getting that look. Probably not. Anyway, all three spouses gave that look last night during the readings and I thought it was spectacular. I know, I know, what a sap. Doy.)

After all the readings, we did our little Q&A thing, which I thought went well. Last month's most intriguing question asker was a guy in an orange hoodie, and this month it was a guy in orange shorts. Something about orange....? In any case, fun times, great questions, really great answers.


As for me, after recovering from the microphone stand issue and the misplaced introduction notes, I thought I did my thing well enough.


I think this next one might be my new favorite pic of myself, only because it demands to have Fiddler On The Roof's "Tradition" sung while viewing it.


Anyway, I think that's all she wrote. A big thank you to Rick, Elaine and Charles for coming out and reading their words for us last night, a big thank you, as always, to Gary and Laura at The Fixx, and an even bigger thank you to all the smiling faces in the audience who came out and showed some love.

In other news:

Due to a funny Blackberry typo, my new favorite word for opportunities is "poppyinities". Maybe even "poppies" for "opps". Oh boy oh boy, kids, maybe we've just found the new unforch.

"ASSEMBLE THE WAYS"

So, who will I be seeing tomorrow night at The Fixx Reading Series? 7:30. There or square, sweetiepiefaces.

In other news:

Well, the blue isn't as turquoise as I wanted it to be. I bleached the crap out of that hair, turned it nearly white-blondey and still that pretty turquoise haircolor is a subtle peacock-feather green highlight at best. Eh well. If I recall from the last time I did a bluey hue (almost a decade ago), it took a few months worth of bleaching and coloring to get it right. So, whatevs.

I went for a run, but didn't catch the running wind in my sails, so I ended up on a two-mile walk, which is fine. The miles matter more to me today. Walking plus iPod equal a nice time for me. I came home with yet another variety of cat food my cat doesn't want to settle for, and cooked myself a lovely little pasta with basil I dun growed myself. What a nice little dinner.

Uh, have you guys seen the Viva Viagra advertisement? Oh no. Unnnforch.

"ACCEPT YOURSELF"

Don't ask me why, but since going to Canada, every time I sign into MySpace, it defaults to the MySpace Canada version. Sneaky little maple leaves, my BFFs. It's so flattering how you want to claim me as your own. I'm not packing a single box until you add me to the socialized health plan, though, capisce?

On an unrelated note, I'm coloring my hair-- magenta stripes in the dark brown mop, the usual-- but this time I'm adding a few turquoise highlights into the mix, too. Why not? You only live once, right? Anyway, I just went to check my tinfoil layers to make sure I wasn't going too blondey (you have to bring the dark hair up to blondey before you can make it pink or blue or whatever), and decided that my clump of hair sitting, stewing in its bleach paste, shedding its pinkishness and getting blonder in the center, well, I decided it looked exactly like a strip of bacon. So, feel free to carry on with you day, imagining strips of raw bacon and tinfoil coming out of my bangs.

And just see if you can resist me then. Hot, I know.

"GLAMOROUS GLUE"

This memorial day, try not to be intimidated by how hot I am with tinfoil, bleach and hairpins all over my head.

"OF A SHYNESS THAT IS CRIMINALLY VULGAR"

You guys are going to love this one. (Why am I blogging every few minutes?)

I have all sorts of haircolor crap on my head and I just went to turn on my shower to rinse it all out and guess what? MY WATER IS OUT AGAIN.

I picked up one of the three haircolor bottles to see if I could fit my head under my sink and the slippery little shit opped out of my hand and shot a magenta arch of color across my bathroom, landing on the wall, the tile, ceiling, the window and the mirror.

Am I going to have to drive someplace to rinse my head? Or worse, take the train? Haha, this is so funny. Oh my g-d, this is going to be a weird day, I can just tell.

"BARBARISM BEGINS AT HOME"

Today, I issued myself a CFD (calm the eff down) card, as a dear friend of mine would say (another on the list of people I am more than a wee bit overdue in calling). See, I just lost my sense of moderation lately, which I've always been great about. So, I sort of hit a little wall the other day and just knew I had to put things back into proper balance. It's tricky when you really enjoy what you do for a living, I think. If I didn't love this writing/editing racket, I would go do something else. So, enjoying it as I do, it's easy to get caught up and just try to do too much.

So, yesterday, I went to help a friend with absolutely zero internet saavy get online. I looked over his computer and let him know that the reason his computer wasn't functioning was that he needed a power source... sigh. So, with an unexpected opening in my schedule, and a creeping-up migraine, I went and got a loud adjustment on my back, neck and hips. POP! Love it. Headache gone. Ahh...

I have a solid ticket to the coast Sunday, but I'm trying for a standby flight beforehand. See, my parents up and moved to the beach a few years ago, and I am overdue in visiting them. So, that's where I'll be. I had an, um, over-enthusiastic reader try to contact them once before, so we'll just say the coast and leave it at that if you folks don't mind. But, fear not! I will blog and work from there a bit, so nobody cry.

Today, I am listening to crappy 80s pop music and coloring my hair. This might be my greatest hair creation yet. Magenta, plum and brown. I have foil and stripes and chopsticks and paintbrushes and pins and all sorts of crap holding different sections of my hair here and there. So fun.

But, point being, I'm not going to knock myself out and stress today. I'm going to clean my apartment, finish coloring my hair, play with my cat, cook a little, do some good yoga, maybe call a few people I haven't talked to in a while, listen to music and if I feel inspired to do a little work, I'll do a little work. Mostly, I'm just going to chill.

"HAIRDRESSER ON FIRE"

Wearing the ridiculous shower cap thing to color a section of my hair this evening made me realize that I'd look okay as a surgeon. Tis a shame I have such little interest in such a pursuit-- I can't even get a flu shot without fainting! Pathetic, isn't it? Yes. Pathetic, but true. I am unafraid of plenty but terrified of needles. Particularly in my inner arm or the top of my foot or the back of my hand. Anywhere veiny. Ack! See? I can't even really say or think "veiny" without getting woozy.

A year ago October, I was in a serious car accident. I was fucked, for the most part, but was keeping my cool in the middle of paramedics and glass and all sorts of shit. Until, that is, "...Start an IV of..." and I came unglued. Now, imagine! I'm calm and trying to focus on the situation and being A Responsible Adult when suddenly a woman with a needle reduces me to not only tears but big, pathetic sobs and gasps and apologies and my eyes rolling back into my head. I wish I could say that I was making this up, but, alas, it is true. I flipped and fruck out until her metal needle was replaced with a plastic one that would have to stay put for a while. The plastic one still hurt my feelings and made me uncomfortable and was torturous, but it was, somehow, better than the metal one. I have no idea why that is, that metal creeps me out so much, but I have come to accept it. When it comes to needles, I'm a total pussy.

What I'm not a pussy about, though, is haircolor! And, in honor of my (shh!) approaching birthday, I am making my stripe magenta. Glorious. And, to keep the color rolling, I painted the office in my apartment green. Something about this birthday seems different, somehow.