Thursday, September 15, 2005

Won't cause build-up, dulling or flaking!

Although I’m an expert buyer, there are times I just enjoy browsing. Stores that specialize in books or music are my particular favorites. They allow a person to experience the item without having to buy it. It’s the non-committal way of having a relationship.

The other day I was walking through Borders with no particular quest in mind. Larry often says that I’m too agenda-oriented. We often quarrel over my rigidness and his casualness. I always say to him, "Spontaneity has its place and time." He finds that ironic.

So I’m practicing to be “leisurely.” It’s a struggle, but in places like Borders, it becomes easier. I can listen to music and browse through home improvement books.

This particular day, there was an author who was to speak on his latest novel. The crowd had already swelled to about 200 and there was standing room only. In my efforts to experience new things, I decided to find a spot and blend in with the group.

All I knew is the author was British and wrote humorous fiction. That is an oxymoron to me… like leak-proof diapers. Seriously, I don’t even like Monty Python.

But this was an opportunity for me to be out of my element; to hear an author I don’t read and to expose myself to something new.

I positioned myself midway through the gathering mass and waited in anticipation. One of the employees announced the author’s books had sold out, but that tickets were still available for the book-signing afterwards. The gentlemen next to me took two books from his knapsack, looked over and said, “I brought mine from home. Isn’t he the best?”

“You bet,” I said, realizing that if his humor had to do with the protection of family values or the destruction of musicals due to allowing movie stars in Broadway roles, I was going to be terribly disappointed.

“Which is your favorite book? Mine is Going Postal?”

At this point, I snort and recognize that my ability to fake my way through this is waning. “That one is funny.” (Shit, do other people consider the British funny? My cover could be blown momentarily.)

With that, the event satarted and a little man, no more than 5 feet tall with silver hair begins to speak after the deafening round of applause. Crap, he has a heavy country-sounding accent and I begin struggling to understand him. And he’s not Ewan MacGregor British; he more Benny Hill British. Even my friend Kate, wouldn’t find him attractive.

He spoke on and the crowd embraced him. I became more obsessed with watching them than him. I lost track of the speaker’s words and politely laughed when I heard the people did, but truthfully, I didn’t know what the hell was being discussed. He spoke of character development and if the movie would ever be cast.

As I looked around, I realized the commonalities of the onlookers. These folks all read Lord of the Rings; they all play chess; they all shop at co-ops and eat natural foods. There was a shared understanding that they were slightly geeky and yet, they embraced it. They understood dungeon and dragons, owned camping gear and had an extensive collection of flannel…shirts, not sheets!

I didn’t belong, but yet, couldn’t tear myself away for fear the group would discover I had masqueraded as one of them. I tried concentrating on the thoughts of “Discworld” yet mentally noted that I was one of the few who realized Britney Spears would be giving birth in just a few days.

Don’t let me writings lead you to believe that I’m above such people. On the contrary, I’m humbled by the fact a community exists that I’m not a part of, nor will ever be. And in theory, almost every one of these folks made more money than I did. But there was characteristic about this group that could not be overlooked.

They all had bad hair.

Seriously, there was not an ounce of product to be found. Woman wore their hair parted down the center like Janice, lead guitarist in the Muppet band. Most had never used a bit of hair dye or conditioner for that matter. Stringy, gray hairs resembling an overused brillo pad dotted the audience. Mixed in were combovers, 20 year old pony-tails and self executed crew cuts. I found myself unconsciously running my fingers through my hair, which contained a 60/40 mixture of Biolage Shaping Creme Wax and Anthony Logistics Alcohol-free gel.

As I mentally noted grooming care solutions for certain individuals, I marveled at how the people all smiled and laughed in unison. You could see certain folks nodding their heads in agreement as he discussed the intricacies of his incomprehensible plot lines. They were awestruck. He was like Jesus with hair challenged disciples.

As quickly as it began, it was over. The crowd gave their accolades and began forming an orderly queue for his signature. (The British call it a queue, by the way.)

I smiled as I left; following a family that was expressing their enjoyment over this evening’s activities. The mother and daughter held hands directly in front me. It was a beautiful moment. How nice they could spend an evening together as a family.

And all I could think was that a Thermal-Active Setting Spray would add control, shine and a solid hold, while it constantly worked to nourish their hair.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Minor Surgery

Guilty pleasures exist in many different forms; good coffees, traveling, nice cars. Mine is watching terrible movies just to see total hotties. Case in point: The Transporter 2.

My friend Sue has the same complex and she & I, along with our very reluctant spouses, went to go see Jason Statham in this ridiculously stupid movie. People warned us that the plot was brainless and the dialogue was inane. Did we care? Not one bit. The man is SEX!

With plenty of car chases and improbable action sequences, all of us left the movie mildly satiated. There was one nasty chick that used lots of ammunition & liked to lick… A LOT. That made Brian (Sue’s hubby) happy. And Jason had two shirtless scenes. That made Sue and me VERY happy.

While the entire movie was filled with blood, Brian had some blood issues of his own. There is not a man out there who doesn’t understand the difficulties of a runaway razor. Poor Brian had cut himself that morning and the injury wouldn’t stop bleeding. He graciously made it through the movie, but fearing a fainting episode, we decided to head to the local CVS to cauterize the wound.

While Brian dabbed himself repeatedly with a leftover napkin, the three of us scoured the aisles, making jokes at all the things we could do to his face to stop the bleeding. From Tampax to Glade room sprays, we delayed our nursing duties by suggesting improbable solution to our patient. After ten minutes, we settled on the trusty Styptic pencil.

Although it stings like hell, this little gem has saved more shirt collars than I can remember. Any time I cut myself; this stops the bleeding in seconds. If I lost an arm in a tractor accident (not that I have much access to farm vehicles), I could easily be back to work in an hour just by dabbing the pencil against the gushing artery.

We walked to the car and after Brian promised not to drip blood on our back seat, we prepped for surgery.

He opened the package and read the directions. He looked up from the packaging in horror. “It says I need to moisten the tip.”

The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Sue looked over and between fits of laughter said, “Babe, you have three people in the car that can do that professionally, but you may have to do this one on your own.”