Shaggy

Okay, no explanation for that picture other than...isn't she just the cutest?

So, here I am once again plunging in again after a too-long hiatus.

First of all, I guess I should report that Satan is back from the SRACRRR. He managed to hitch a ride with a cross country trucker a while back.

Secondly (and most importantly)…I CUT MY HAIR. Or rather, my stylist did. Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal, but I think alert readers will recall I have something of an issue with my hair and, sadly, I’ve had the same style for about fifteen years. At this point a change, any change, is a GOOD THING, Martha Stewart.

It’s not so much shorter as it is shaggier. Because, people. I have a shag. It is a LONG shag, but a shag just the same.

You might be wondering how this new hairstyle played with Satan, since his idea of the look of the Ideal Woman dates back to the Summer of Love. To review, this means my hair should be parted in the middle, NO BANGS, and hanging limply au natural. Furthermore, if he had his druthers, I’d be wearing a denim mini-skirt, a halter top, clogs, a freshly woven dandelion necklace, and strumming a six-string while quietly humming “Blowin’ in the Wind”.

Actually, Satan is at this point somewhat grateful for The Shag, as I spent the better part of the two weeks prior to my scheduled hair appointment threatening to CUT ALL MY HAIR OFF COMPLETELY. I’d like to say I was kidding, but I really wasn’t, as I was suffering from I’ve had the same Hair-do for Too Long Psychosis.
The whole episode culminated with me stomping into my hair appointment and thrusting a picture of a woman with (I’m not kidding) her hair cut to look exactly like a short blonde beanie perched atop her head into the hands of Alvin my stylist and proclaiming,

“I want my hair cut like that.”

To which Alvin, being sane and stuff, replied,

“Um. How should I say this? No.”

Which is how I came to have The Shag, and how Satan came to be grateful I came home with any hair on my head at all.

You might think at this point that I’d be finished talking about my hair, but you’d be wrong. And it certainly occurs to me that I SHOULD BE finished talking about my hair, in fact, seven paragraphs and at least two prior posts devoted entirely to the subject of my hair and/or my bangs or lack thereof might be a bit much (just ask my mother). The problem is, this is my blog, and unfortunately, I can blog on about my hair if I want to.

So, my first weekend with the new hair (remember now, the first real new hair in fifteen years) I’m in front of the mirror with the blow dryer and the round brush when it suddenly occured to me, being a child of the eighties and all, that a little product coupled with those new layers just might add up to something. Something Big. And, sure enough, fifteen minutes and a half cup of hairspray and a handful of volumizing gel later I had achieved some seriously gravity defying Big Hair.

Frighteningly Big. Tina Turner/Private Dancer video Big.

I sprung this look on an unsuspecting Satan who was at this point drinking his Saturday morning coffee and minding his own business, by charging out of the bedroom and launching into a rousing big-haired Tina Turner style rendition of “Rollin’ on the River”. Which, I’m satisfied to report, left the man totally speechless, something that’s only ever happened once or twice before.

In fact, it scared Satan so badly that I had no choice but to leave my hair that way for our weekly pilgrimage to Sam’s Club.

As we prowled the aisles searching for large sized products that we don’t need, I’d periodically ask, “So, what do you REALLY think of my hair?” To which Satan wouldn’t reply, but would just become frightened and try to run away from me. Which was kind of hard as he was driving the over-loaded cart with a giant bright blue box of Rice Crispy Treats precariously balanced on top of a case of Charmin double-rolls.


And THAT, my friends, is all I have to say about THAT (until next time).

A very special HAPPY BIRTHDAY to a very special girl who doesn't, for a millisecond, look like she could possibly be ?0!

My friend Julie’s SUPERMOIST PINEAPPLE BUNDT CAKE will soon be taking the cooking world by storm as the grand prize winner of the Southern Living cooking contest. You heard it here first. And, while I’m at it, you SAW it here first:






I can verify that it is indeed SUPERMOIST, delicious, and deserving of the grand prize of $100,000 and a guest appearance on the Oprah show. I am one of the lucky few to actually have, in my very own possession, the coveted RECIPE. I’d share it with you, but then I’d have to kill you.

Lastly, to humor Julie, I give you the Amaryllis in all its blooming glory (finally!):