Dye-ing to hit the jackpot

Who invented hair coloring? I don't know, but I can tell you this, whoever it was had to be a gambling person. I know every time I go to the store and pick out that little box I roll the dice as to what's going to happen next.

I've tried them all - Clairol, Loreal, Garnier

I've tried every mixture possible - highlights, lowlights, shine, touch up

I've tried every application possible.- foam, oil , nice and easy, long and arduous.

And no matter what I try, I never get the results they show on the box.

Take tonight for example. My hair seemed to be losing it's girlish lustre so I sprang for the high price box promising a lot of shine. My hair has nice auburn highlights so I went with this box with an image of a woman with auburn highlights. It promised to give your hair several color tones...and they were right. I got several tones and all of them are red. Lucille Ball and Mrs. Weasley move over, SB just died her hair again! In fact, this is the second Harry Potter character I've emulated during one of my dying adventures. A couple years ago I thought I'd pick a little darker shade that was close to the hair color of my youth. I came out looking like a middle-aged Severus Snape.

I suspect I should be grateful. A dear SB friend of mine who I talk about in my 4-part wired but not fired blog once tried to dye her eyebrows the same color as her newly dyed hair (and yes, the box does tell you never to do this). She may have pulled it off if it weren't for the phone call she got during the process - which made her miss the timer she set telling her when to wash it off. The immense burning sensation above her eyes finally alerted her. The next day she came to work with no eyebrows. Well, that's not entirely true. They were drawn in but the pencil she used certainly did not match her hair color.

I never was much of a gambler. Maybe it would be cheaper to buy a bunch of hats.

My son was framed

In the world of stories honoring great mom's that are coming out just in time for Mother's Day ---this ain't one of them.

It goes like this: We had a big family event last weekend so I did the deep clean on the apartment and found many objects I hadn't seen for a while. One such object was my steaming pile of fake dog poo. This fake poo (in college days named the 'fake shit') gave us countless hours of fun at my dorm as my roommate and I found unique hiding places for other dorm-mates to discover it.

Being the great mom I am, I share this story with my soon-to-be 12 year old son. He says, "Let's you and I hide the poo on each other for laughs." I say, "Sure son, why not." So the poo starts its second life as an object of amusement.

I find it in my panties drawer.

He pours it out into his cereal bowl.

I discover it under my pillow...you get the picture.

So one morning he says to me, "Have you hid the fake poo yet mom?" I tell him I've been a little busy lately and when I see the disappointed look on his face I promise to hide it soon. Being the great mom I am, I carefully avoid putting it in his school backpack in case he doesn't see it and it makes its way into the elementary school.

Aha, his cargo pants! What a fun hiding place. I secretly put it in his front pocket. It's a sizable pile of poo. He's bound to feel it there when he gets dressed.

Pleased that the deed is done, I go to bed.

Fast forward to the end of the next work day. I drive to my child care to pick up the boys and on our ride home Alex forlornly says he has something bad to tell me. I, being the great mom I am, put on my serious face and say in a motherly tone, "What happened?"

He responds, "I'm really sorry mom but the Vice Principal took your fake poo. I found it when I was in the cafeteria and, well, kind of chucked it at somebody." (At this point I am very quiet in the front seat of the car). "I told her it was a joke you and I play on each other. She didn't laugh but the school secretary thought it was funny. I ended up having to sweep the lunchroom but, I didn't mind, it was worth it."

Yes, being the immature mom I am, I got my own son in trouble in school. I told Al it wasn't his fault and then found the VP by the buses the next day and took the rap for it. I never did get my beloved college days fake poo back.

What have my son and I learned from this you ask? Well, we learned three things:

1. Never assume your child will find the fake poo before getting to school.

2. Never take the fake poo out of your pocket if you find it there in school.

3. From now on, hide the fake plastic ant - it's much harder for the Vice Principal to see.

Who do you read?

SB's are usually very well read. As you can probably tell by the sidebar on this blog I love to read. I love words. I love books. I love authors and if I ever get my fanny in gear, I still want to be a writer. I have some poetry that's been published. I helped write a song or two for an original musical in college. I have written many a comedy skit, two blogs, newsletter articles and some pretty fiery letters to the editor. Okay, Jane Austen I am not, but I would still like to be her.

I was the kid with the flashlight under the bed covers and the big, dark circles under my eyes in school the next day. By the time I was in Junior High I had read "Gone With the Wind" four times and I haven't really changed all that much. Just the other day I was the adult at work with the big, dark circles under my eyes after having stayed up most the night to finish "The Kite Runner."

I can thank my mother for my love of books. She belonged to those book clubs you still see in magazines. There was always tons of tomes around the house and dad had to build her a huge bookcase in our little dining room just to hold them. Mom had to keep a pretty close watch on me with her collection. In my grade school days, she was especially relieved to catch me just before reading "Valley of the Dolls" which I though was about a magical place with lots of Barbies.

During dull classes in school I would hide a good book on my lap. I remember the whole class passing around a tattered paperback of "The Godfather" and whispering to read the page with Sonny and the bridesmaid. I cried in Social Studies as I secretly read the painful accounts of the plight of Native tribes in "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee." (Mr. C. never could understand why his lecture on the Senate was so moving).

In college I tried my hand at every style of writing I could - from Twain, to Poe to Dr. Seuss. Not long ago I was very pleased to find out that a college alum of mine who teaches at a prestigious college in Illinois uses a Chekhov spoof my old roommate and I wrote to teach his student's about parodies. At least my co-authored work is being taught somewhere.

I have been told by many that to be a writer, just keep writing. This blog is one of my methods of doing just that. I appreciate everyone who stops for a while and reads what I have to say. I better get going now; a friend just gave me a new book and I can't wait to get started.

SB lesson #3

Wow it has been a long time since I wrote! I apologize but life is going about 200 miles per hour and lately I only seem capable of pulling a mere 150. I think it is high time for another SB lesson. (Check previous blogs for lessons 1 and 2 and other insights into being a real SB. Who knows, you may just be one).


I want to pause for a quick shout out to Cheryl, who I lost track of after college but recently contacted me again and read my blog only to find out she is an SB too. Welcome to the ranks.


In my original post called "I really should be in bed" I gave a quick-reference list on SB traits. I think it is time to look at one outstanding characteristics of SB-ism in depth.


I am talking about SB's as Fierce Friends. I can only illustrate the fierce friend phenomenon by giving you an example of a SB near and dear to me. I know she appreciates her privacy so I'll just call her SB #1.


I met SB #1 in 1988 and her loyalty and support have kept me going in the worst of times. The following is only one of the million things she has done during her protective watch over the boys and I.

SB #1 witnessed the entire rise and fall of my marriage and saw what I could not see long before I did. Love and blind faith in the wrong person can really make you lose your way, but love and true faith of a friend can help you find it again.

Our home, which I had worked like a slave to buy including cleaning up my then spouses horrible credit, was going into foreclosure after we separated. My husband had been out of work for over a year before we split and this was a pattern with him.

It was my dream to own a home and give our kids a yard to grow up in, play in and a neighborhood school we could walk to. We had lived for 12 years in a 1 bedroom apartment and 6 of those with children. I longed for space and freedom. The home we found wasn't big or fancy but it was ours. I could plant a garden, we could paint big flowers on the fence and watch robins nest outside the upstairs window... and after only 3 years it was all going away. My soon-to-be Ex just washed his hands of it (which was not wise as his was the name on the mortgage). I found 3 jobs and an apartment nearby so the kids could stay at their school but I couldn't find a way to save our home.

SB #1 stayed with me through the whole painful loss. She would show up every week with boxes, dinner and sometimes a beer or two and help me clean out the the entire home, garage and basement while the kids were with friends. It was heart wrenching and I had to give up, donate, sell and give away about 80% of our belongings. SB #1 hauled, cleaned and stayed by my side through it all.

To this day I have to drive by the house every day on my way to work and I still feel the loss in the pit of my stomach. My only comfort is that another family with children seems to be living there. I hope they love it as much as I did.

I don't wish our experience on anyone, but if something like it should happen to you, I do wish you a fierce SB friend to help you in that dark time. She let me cry and complain while saving me some dignity when it felt like there was nothing but shame. She is so much more than a friend and I am honored to have her in my life.

And on the first day God created NICK

Nick, what can I say about Nick. I chose his name from a fun piece of dialogue in a John Cusak movie called "The Sure Thing." Never pick your kids' names from a comedy. A drama maybe or a documentary if you're really playing it safe, but never a comedy. Nick was a sure thing alright. He came right on his due date - April 1st. It's been April Fool's Day for me ever since.

A brief run down on Nick and his personal educational quest:

Age 2 - learns that if you soak a sock in the cat's water bowl and suck on it you can get your own drink

Age 3 - Learns that an oscillating fan + baby powder makes a great indoor ski hill for your Power Rangers

Age 4 - December - finds switch on furnace in basement and learns that flipping it will make house very cool - again creating a nice ski hill effect for whole family

Age 5 - Decides to heat things up by spinning the fun dial in refrigerator just before Thanksgiving - turkey thaws early that year

Age 6 - Goes back to fascination with winter and creates neat and very fragrant indoor snow storm by emptying a whole shaker of Parmesan cheese around the kitchen (I am assuming this fixation with winter comes from living in Minnesota)

Now we come to age 7. This morning Nick discovers a new way to delight and entertain me.

It is a school day and I get him up for breakfast. He sits down to a bowl of cocoa puffs when I notice he isn't eating and his face is all flushed. I look at him more closely and see a red rash across both cheeks and some sort of red goo coming out of his right ear.

"Nick what happened? Are you okay?"

"I don't know." (This is never a good response coming from Nick).

"Do yo have a fever?"

"I don't know."

I reach for his forehead to check his temperature in the traditional "mom way" when my hand gets stuck to his hair. "What is this!?"

"Nothing?" I try to remove my hand but it takes some effort.

"Alex made me eat Airheads in bed!"

Two quick explanations here. Alex is his bigger brother who is still sleeping like a log so he makes a great scapegoat. Airheads are little slabs of sugary taffy in super bright colors.

My eyes quickly scan over to the remains of yesterday's Easter baskets. Feeling like a real air head myself, I remember that I didn't put the candy away before going to bed last night. I jog into the boy's room to find Nick's pillow hermetically sealed to his sheets and mattress by melted globs of red Airheads the exact same color as the feverish rash-like thing currently on Nick's face.

After scraping the goo from his face and hair I get both boys off to school. Once I'm at work I look at the calendar, take some Excedrin and lay my head on my desk. It is a little over a week until Nick's 8th birthday.

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive"

I can feel it, can't you? All the symptoms are there. The lack of sleep. The sweaty palms. The days looking brighter than usual. A faster pace to the world around me. Yes, it is definitely here.

Time to go to a Bruce Springsteen concert.

This will be my 8th tour with the Boss. Now I know there will be tons of folks out there who have never missed a show and who saved the wrapper from the gum they chewed at the Born in the USA tour along with the Kleenex they blew into during a song on Bruce's solo tour. I'm sorry, I am not one of those fans. I understand the adoration - believe me I do. But I am a fan of the heart of Bruce's music. I don't need the inside tube from the toilet paper roll in the bathroom at the stadium in Dallas to remind me what his songs mean to me.

Every time I go to see Bruce I make it a mission to take someone who has never been. It is our own personal pilgrimage to Rock Mecca and I am the guide. When I feel the life slipping out of me and I need to be reminded to breathe, I go to see Springsteen and a bring a fellow invalid to be renewed and reborn. It never fails.

Okay, okay, I have to admit that I did take a side trip to the Jersey shore on one of my acting tours. I also got a very straight-laced southern girl to pose with me in Miami Steve headgear next to a sign for Sun City. But all I took away was some photos and some great memories. I left the crumpled pop can outside the Stone Pony right where I found it.

Badlands has remained my favorite Bruce song. It's a survivor's song. After all I have been through in my life as an SB I can relate. If you are a follower, please email your favorite song and why. Hope to see you at the concert.

Star Ledger Photo

We'll just keep on running

Today is the posting for the 8th Mystery Topic Challenge (I missed number 7 due to my son's illness but I'm back at the keyboard and raring to go). The topic is:

"Last Thursday I received a call from the fraud department at Visa. It seems someone created a duplicate of my debit/ATM/credit card and used it at truck stops in Alberta, Canada and again several days later at an amusement park in Baltimore, Maryland. I suspect I'll never know how they got the number, what they bought with my money or why they needed those things. Write a story with the above elements and shed some light on the mystery for me."


February 2, 2008: It was too easy. I could just look at the registration cards - pick one at random and get the name and number. A card would be no problem to duplicate. If the name was a woman's, she could assume the identity; a man's , I'd do the dirty work. It had to be done if we were ever going to be together. Let's see, ...damn, the name is Gwen. That means she's going to have to do it. It's okay, she's a strong woman and she's been in worse relationships than this.


Our spouses need never know. It's well known we both travel a lot. No one would suspect. I just couldn't wait to see her. But where? No where close to home. Too risky. I know! CANADA! No one will recognize us in Canada. No one recognizes anyone in Canada.


February 9, 2008: It took a week but we finally consummated our love. Sure, it was in a truck stop bathroom in Alberta but whose complaining when you have all that power in one room. Except for the few minutes she got that luscious blond hair caught in the hand dryer, it was pure magic. She said she used the card to get the condoms. No one would track us here. It made it all a little kinky. Knowing her history, I'll bet she' used to that. Well, we decided to meet in 9 days when our crazy schedules miraculously both had a break.


February 18, 2008: This truck stop bathroom gave new meaning to the tourist books claim that Alberta is Canada's leading producer of natural gas. Decided to have a quickie and get a bite to eat afterward. "Gwen" and I laughed nervously as we shared a tuna on white bread (her choice, not mine). How long could we keep this up? Thank goodness the truckers were all half asleep from their hauls. We felt just like them. Tired of the travel and the cheap sex but unable to give it up.


February 22, 2008: No time to get all the way back to Canada. I got an email from "Gwen" saying she bought something for me and could I meet her as I swung through Baltimore today. Always the thrill seeker she picked an amusement park as our rendez-vous site. Her instructions were, "the Midway - just before midnight. I'll be wearing a blue dress with nothing underneath."


When I found her she whispered in my ear her pet name for me "dark stallion." That always turns me on. "I bought something for you," she teased. I thought it would be dark glasses to disguise myself but when I looked in the bag she handed me it contained thong with little pineapples designs all over it. "I thought you might be homesick," she teased." She knows me so well.


I wanted to get her something to remember our special night. I knew things were just going to get more hectic in the months to come and I didn't want her to think I was so important and she didn't matter anymore. I saw the water race with the little squirt guns that made your car rise faster than the rest. That was the game for us. I'd make sure she won something tonight. We both decided to compete against each other and it was no contest. None of the others in the race even came close to us. She looked good at the start and I was a little shaky - but in the end my car pulled ahead of the others 11 races in a row.

I won many prizes for my lady that night but her favorites were the two small, matching pink elephants. She held one tenderly as we began kissing next to the mini doughnut booth. Then her cell phone rang. She had to go.


February 24, 2008: Damn, damn, damn! Life can be so cruel. The real Gwen is onto us. The account for the card has been frozen. It was over. I reached into my travel bag underneath the airplane seat and pulled out one of the stuffed elephants I won in the Midway. With a tear in my eye I turned it over and looked at the rear end where we had both written our initials.

H. C. and B. O. 4-Ever


Here's looking at you kid. We'll always have Baltimore.

POST SCRIPT: The BlogNinjas are raring to go with more Mystery Topic Challenge goodness. You don’t have to be a Blog Ninja to take part but if you want to read and then vote for your favorite, come by here.