Hair

I have read that a Leo's claim to fame is her luxurious, fantastic, smooth, shiny hair. I am a Leo. I don't have claim any of those adjectives. I have fine, flat, brown, boring hair. Don't get me wrong, I get great haircuts, it is strictly my hair that is the issue. I have a video of where I was on TV back in the 90's, I have the same hairstyle that I have right now! It is sad. I am going to revisit some of my past haircuts and the stylists that recreated me. Lucky for you, I don't have pictures so you will just have to use your imagination to get the full impact.

When I was very young, I had long, beautiful hair. One day, dear, old dad took me to the salon where it was cut in one of those ultra-hip bowl cuts. It was pretty evil and jinxed me for the rest of my life.

I had a mullet. It was in the 8th grade and we called them bi-levels. I am not a lesbian, just someone that had misguided hair. I hid the pictures.

The 80's left me with several perms and some bad blonde, thanks to Sun In. Thanks to whomever for inventing that stuff. My 9th grade picture is me wearing a light yellow sweater to match my light yellow hair. I am making no mention of the skunk like look of my roots.

I don't remember the hair of the 90's. Probably because it looks too much like it does today.

When beloved husband and I got married in 2003, I made an appointment to have my hair professionally done. I spent roughly 2 hours sitting in the stylist's chair while she tempted fate with my hair. I didn't tell her that I could never do anything with it, I let her think she was doing a great job. After about 100 different curlers and a million bobby pins and a gallon of aerosol hairspray, I was ready to go get dressed for the ceremony. I had to cut my shirt off because I mindlessly forgot to wear a button up. I took out my curlers and shook out my beautiful, ringlety, wavy hair. I fluffed it and sprayed again. One little problem, my hair wasn't ringlety or wavy and it sure as hell wasn't beautiful! It looked pretty much like it always did, semi-wavy, dirty brown and really sticky with hairspray. Humpf. I have since learned my lesson, hair and Seattle don't really mix. Too much humidity makes my already fine hair limper and greasier than usual. No wonder they have a high suicide rate.

After having Mia, I got brave, or stupid, and had my shoulder length hair cut to a short, short bob ala Keira Knightley. It was cute. For about a minute. My own husband walked right past me when I went to show him. He had no idea it was me. It took about 100 years to grow out. Learned me.

Thinking back over the years that I have lived in Wichita, I have probably had haircuts with about 20 people! I usually find someone who's hair I like and ask them who they use. That landed me at Eric Fisher with a great guy named, well I can't remember, but he moved and I cried for days. He always told me that I was beautiful and spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to coax my hair into a manageble style. I still believe there is nothing like a gay man to cut your hair. I had another, a gay stylist, I mean, at Planet Hair. I think his name was Ben. He moved too. Dang it. Ben and the Eric Fisher guy were the greatest. Among the worst, a guy at a close salon to my house in Riverside. He had dyed blonde hair. I could overlook that but what got me was the dripping blood from his fingertips as he razored my hair! You don't razor fine hair, come to find out. After the cut, he colored it some magenta, reddish, scary color. I was in shock, to say the least. He was later murdered. It was a very sad story that didn't surround poor haircuts.

There have been female stylists in my haircutting life. One of the firsts, was June, at Charisma. This was prior to the $7 quatrillion building they built on 21st. June was nice but there were always a few strands that came from nowhere that had to be recut. I did like her though. Then, there was Nellie, also at Charisma. She moved. I only saw her like twice, so I don't think that I scared her off. Maybe I am wrong about that. Recently, I used the guy that cuts the rest of my families hair. He is very reasonable and I appreciate that. He speaks little understandable English. I always get a good cut but the language barrier is a bit of a turnoff. I don't always know if we are on the same wavelength or not. For awhile, I went to my neighbor. She would give me a free haircut if I would watch her kitty while they were on vacation. Hell, yes! I can watch a cat for 2 weeks to get a $40 haircut.

My latest hair venture has been with a fellow mommy board member. I won't name her because I didn't ask her first and I think she probably thinks that I have boring hair, which I do, it is safer. I got a good cut and I still look like myself, meaning I really didn't do much to alter my appearance. I really like my new stylist. Of course, she has great hair, is pretty and as much as you want to hold that against her, you just can't because she is down to earth and really nice. She will probably move.

Incredible!

Everyday that I look at Mia, I am reminded of how impressive and awe inspiring that pregnancy and childbirth are. I still marvel that I was able to keep Mia alive when she was a baby. Not that I am a horrible person, I was just totally unaware of the kinds of feelings and responsibilities that you just "do." It all becomes second nature and it is totally worth every sleepless night, every yucky diaper, every little bit of baby barf.

With that in mind, a mom I know, just gave birth to twins. You might not think this is a big deal but she had them at home, surrounded by her birth crew and family. By birth crew, I mean doula etc. She put together an amazing and powerful slide show, chronicling her labor and the subsequent birth of these 2 amazing little people. It is a very powerful testament to the love that a mother has for her children. You can see the pain of her labor and the fruit of her delivery. It is a wonderful thing to see. Pass the Kleenex.

http://www.dfwbirthphotographer.com/Chantel.html

Asshat-Or, Loosen Up Your Velcro Shoes Because Your Brain Needs Oxygen

Before I plunge into this exciting post, I must, at the very least, offer one of my favorite authors, Jen Lancaster, credit for the word, "asshat." No, I know she didn't make it up and there is no trademark etc, but she uses it pretty freely in her last book, so I am giving credit where credit is due. I know she won't be reading this, damn it, but one can always dream. Just an FYI, her last books is great.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I received a particularly startling and rather disturbing email last night. It was sent via Ancestry.com. I have semi-legitmately used this site to search for family members and family history. A little background, my maiden name was, Scuka, pronounced Sue Ka. Obviously, not too easy. In school, whenever I entered a new grade or class, I would cringe waiting for the butchering of my last name. Eventually, I would just bark it out, probably rudely, but since I have heard all kinds of weird pronounciations, I figured I would clear it up right away. I have found some Scuka's on this website, but I am not so immersed that it clouds my mind.

This is the email I received. "My father was Clayton Leon Scuka. We may be related. Do you need further information? Give me a call if I can help." Sounds pretty secretive, doesn't it? Almost like he has discovered some family treasure or something. I was startled and then began to convulse with laughter! Yes, I know Clayton Scuka, pretty well, actually. He was my grandfather. He used to take me out on his bass boat, let me drink his beer, which I have previously mentioned, as well as letting me have cream soda, a little less lethal than all the beer I drank.

So, who did this email come from? My uncle. Mind you, he lives in Augusta, just a stone's throw from Wichita, yet obviously many moons from here. One wonders how the gene pool has not arranged for a quicker elimination?!?!

At 60 something years of age, he still wears velcro closure tennis shoes, or maybe I should call them tennies for his sake. He is just plain odd. I don't know how he was growing up, and am afraid to even ask. I know how he is now and that is pretty scary. I used to work with him at the prison in El Dorado. When I was interviewed, I had to tell them that I had a relative that worked there. I didn't want to tell them, but they asked. Once the cat was out of the bag, the interviewers just stared at me like I was an idiot. Then, they laughed it off and stated that they were sure I would be fine. Uh-oh.

So, how did I respond to this peculiar email? Well, it was a toss up as to whether I would be a smart ass, which I thought could be really interesting, or be nice, and just say, yes, we are related. What I ultimately settled on was, "Yes, you are correct, we are related. You are my uncle." I'm still not sure as to if he knows it is me. He probably isn't sure either. What an asshat.

Here and Everywhere

I blog mainly for my own enjoyment. If I can't be bitchy, sarcastic and rude to myself, then who can I be bitchy, sarcastic and rude to? Seriously, the offers from magazines have fallen by the wayside, so I am just a run of the mill mom, woman, grouch, yada yada. I don't think that I will ever fit into the blog hall of fame, but I doubt there really is one in existence. I read a lot of blogs, and I mean A LOT of blogs. Some famous, some not. I kind of fit in the "not" category, but that is cool because I have people from all kinds of places, including some that I have to Google to figure out where they are, read my blog, or at least an entry or two. I am wondering how these readers find me and why they are reading. Sometimes I can be pithy etc. etc. but what in the world are these people Googling to end up on my blog? Whatever it is, thanks and welcome! And a big shout out to Ennice, NC!