For real, y'all

Wow. Just. Wow.

I watched most of the Britney and Kevin show last night and I'm here to tell you...wow. I've never purchased any of Miss Britney's CDs or anything, but I've always enjoyed her bouncy pop music in a casual, wouldn't-switch-the-radio way. It's not that I expected her to be a rocket scientist, but the show proved that she has led an incredibly small and sheltered life, despite having traveled the world and made zillions of dollars. It was watchable enough, however, when it was just her on the screen. Then bad things began to happen.

The program chronicles Brit and K-Fed's "courtship". I'm not sure I would characterize a transatlantic booty call as a "courtship", but whatever. It seems a little precious and twee to use that kind of old-fashioned terminology when the young lady in question is happily proclaiming to a video camera, "I've had sex three times today!"

Ick. When do you suppose the inevitable sex tape will be released? In time for the next record?

In any event, her main squeeze is not charming, not attractive, not smart, not employed or possessed of job skills, and is clearly an opportunistic weasel. Now, we have all done stupid things in exchange for good lovin', but this guy better be phenomenal in the sack. Gross. Now I need to shower again. Dirty. And not in the good way.

new ways to waste time

I went to an engineering school for college from 1992-1995, and at the time, our campus was one of the most advanced in terms of the computer networks. As a result, I was on the early side of the Internet phenom, and had a decent sense of how to navigate that world. However, in the intervening ten years, I have had limited exposure to the online world, and I honestly can't believe how much things have changed.

This blog was created as a lark, and as a way to get back into the habit of writing things that weren't work-related. I have now taken some time to peek around at other people's pages, and it's pretty remarkable. The sheer volume of the blogging world; the incredible variety; the high (and low) quality of the writing...I wonder what makes people choose to do this. In some cases, the individuals involved are clearly spending lots of time designing and updating their pages. What do they hope to get out of this? Twenty years (or more) ago, would they have kept private diaries?

When I was a young girl, and kept a diary, I guarded it jealously, and would have been mortified if anyone else had tried to read it. Now, any theoretical number of people could be reading this. (In reality, the number is about four - hi guys!) What's so different? Maybe it's just that I no longer care if the world knows I had a crush on John Geary in the sixth grade...

In any event, if you are looking for still more ways to kill time, you might try this, or, if you are looking for a good read in the world of actual books, these are good, too.

The Rules

Like many people, I wish that the Rules of dating had been explained to me in a clear and concise fashion. They could have done this presentation at the same time as the filmstrip about Becoming a Woman. Then again, I was so traumatized by the filmstrip that it's unlikely I would have absorbed much of the dating info.

Now that I am ostensibly a grownup, and have been dating for FIFTEEN years, I should have a better handle on these things. But no. One of my problems is that I'm aware of the massive self-help market, but I would never purchase one of the books. Instead, I hear one sentence from each philosophy, and it terrifies me into submission. The latest example of this came yesterday. I was poking around on MSN and found an article entitled "10 Dating Dos and Don'ts". The one don't that I was most horrified by was "don't be too sarcastic or tell too many jokes."

Lady, you're taking away my heavy artillery. Sarcasm, jokes and sports. That's what I bring to the table. Even if I stripped those things away, and tricked someone into liking the sincere, humorless me, what is the point? Am I ever allowed to act like myself under this regime? And what kind of guy are we meant to be attracting here? Someone who likes his females silent?

So, yes, I know that all the rules I've picked up over the years contradict each other, and most seem designed for a 1950s style aspiring housewife, but they still haunt me. Because what if they're right? Why am I still single if I'm such a smarty and everyone else is wrong? Blech.

Bow Down

So I’m driving around today, enjoying the nice weather, and blasting one of my favorite CDs, a two-disc best of N.W.A. and progeny. I drive a silver SUV, and I was wearing my usual office-but-not-court uniform of cashmere sweater, trousers and heels. I aspire to the fashion stylings of Bree on Desperate Housewives. So what’s with the "gangsta rap"? In no particular order…

1. The way that Dre says "hell yeah", so it sounds like "hale yeeh".
2. Snoop’s weird sort of Southern accent.
3. The hook on "Murder Was the Case".
4. "Life ain’t nuthin’ but bitches and money."
5. Dre threatening to fade an opponent "just like a flat-top".

I’m reminded of the scene in "Office Space" where Michael Bolton is listening to rap in his car on the way to work, and he turns down the volume when he pulls up next to actual African-Americans. Why? Why do the extremely white (like myself) feel so dorky about enjoying this music? I get that it bears no relationship to my life, but neither does Wagner. And white mid-to-upper class people would never be ashamed of that. For that matter, there are lots of songs about drugs and addiction that "mean something" to me, even though I have little to no personal experience with those topics.

I intend to blast "California Love" on the way home tonight, and to proudly sing along with Tupac as he raps, "out on bail/ fresh outta jail/ California Dreamin’ / soon as I step on stage / I’m hearin’ hoochies screamin’!" Because it … speaks to me? Okay.

Only My Hairdresser Knows For Sure

I am engaged in pitched battle with my hair at all times. It's a fair fight, with thrilling reversals of fortune and momentary victories to be savored. I should know by now that I must be prepared for anything, but lately my hair has been cooperative, lulling me into complacency.

Until Saturday.

One of my friends had recommended a new home highlighting kit, which she promised was really easy to use and gave great results. I was pleased at the thought that I didn't need to spend $100 at the salon, so I figured I would give it a whirl.

The idea is that you mix up the color and apply it using a special two-pronged plastic applicator. Easy! Unless you have long, curly hair, in which case two evenly-spaced lines begin at your head and stop around ear level when the product is all used up. Like a fool, I thought "no big", because my roots were more the problem anyway. As I flipped my hair around to cover all areas, I began to lose track of where I had previously painted on the solution. I kept at it until I used up the bottle, then went to the kitchen to smoke cigs and do the crossword while the color took.

After about thirty minutes, I wandered back into the bathroom and gasped out loud. The top three inches of my hair were orange, while the rest was still light brown. I tried not to panic, and jumped in the shower to rinse it out. I was clinging to the hope that the color looked different before it was washed out. I got out. Still orange. Maybe it looks different wet. I dried it. Orange.

I began to panic a little, realizing that my friend was coming to pick me up in three hours and I looked like I was wearing Loki on my head. I braided my mess and put on a Red Sox hat. I went to Safeway and got dark brown hair dye, on the theory that dark covers light. While I was standing in line, the 19 year old boy working the register wanted to chat about the Sox. I could barely focus. I thought about removing my hat to impress upon him the urgency of the situation.

Returning home, I applied the new dye to my head. Now I could spend the next thirty minutes pacing, smoking, and wondering whether my hair would fall out. Surely this level of chemical warfare would not go unnoticed by my hair.

Shockingly, the resulting "Cocoa Brown" color came out looking good. And my hair is still attached to my head. Now I wish I had taken a picture to serve as a cautionary tale, but at the time, I was too freaked.

$100 is a perfectly reasonable price for peace of mind.

Hero Cat Saves Ingrate Mom

Just in time for Mother's Day, Living in Bolivian has learned of a heartwarming story of courage by a medium-sized orange cat. Let's allow Loki "the locust" Smith to tell his inspiring story.

"The other night, I went into Mom's bedroom to alert her to the fact that the water in my bowl was lukewarm, and needed to be freshened. I found her lying on her stomach, with her arms over her head, covering her face. This caused me some concern, so I made three circles around her, and she still didn't budge. Now I knew something was wrong - usually walking over her pillow gets some reaction.

"Thinking quickly, I walked behind her and gave three rapid head-butts to the small of her back. Success! She whipped her head around to the clock and said, "Guzzah? Fife-thirdy i'th mornen!" Her speech wasn't clear, so to be sure she had recovered, I licked her eye. I'm not saying I expected thanks, but being shoved off the bed seems rude to me."

Conflict of Interest

My friend and I have spent the winter supporting the Colorado Eagles hockey team, attending most of the home games together, getting to know the players, and generally having a great time. The Eagles won the President’s Cup, and are champions of the CHL. All good, right?

The "problem" is that we had tickets to Game 6 on Saturday, when the team was scheduled to come home. We attended Games 1 & 2 of the Finals in person, and I was convinced that we would get the chance to see our lads win the Cup in person, as well. Those clowns won in five games, on the road.

I felt a similar disappointment when the Red Sox won the World Series on the road. Clearly, being there in person wasn’t an issue that time, but even on tv I would have loved to see Fenway just going nuts.

The Eagles are coming back on Saturday to host a free fan appreciation party, but it isn’t the same. I will miss hockey season.