It's Not You, It's Me!



Photo by russelljsmith.

Yikes! I ran into my regular hairdresser today! Of all places, I was in the waiting room of my doctor’s office, when she walked in. I was reading the newspaper at the time and casually raised it high enough to obscure my face. It was reminiscent of running into an ex or a one night stand you never wanted to see again. I felt like I had betrayed her and if she were to see me with my new hair cut and color, she would know instantly I was seeing someone else!

She walked into the clinic for her appointment, and I was left sitting there, with my newspaper heft unusually high in front of me! I sat bemused and stymied by the situation. Should I say hi? How would I cover up my hair betrayal? Several ideas ran through my mind. “Oh, a friend gave me a gift certificate!” or “I did it myself, it’s awful I know!” I had never been in this situation before. Our town is small and I was certain I would have to confront her sometime. What would she do? Would she be devastated and run willy-nilly out of the office or would she slam the other hairstylist’s work asking bitterly, “Who cut your hair???”

As I thought about it, nothing I could say seemed appropriate. “I grew tired of you and wanted to try someone new.” “My hair and you needed a break.” “I have feelings for my new hairdresser, I think we should see other people”. How do you handle the hairdresser break up? Do I just let myself drop off her schedule or do I call her and tell her I’m leaving her for another woman?

Hairdresser/client relationships can be very strong for women, as they involve all the elements of a great friendship. You share stories of your life, you have placed trust in her and there is intimacy connected to the touch exchanged during your appointments. How does she feel knowing you have abandoned this relationship? Ultimately you have a business relationship with your stylist. As etiquette coach Jodi R.R Smith stated in an article titled “Breaking Up with Your Hairdresser”, “She is in it for the money, not for stories about your dog!” It is not like we hung out or anything. I don’t even know where she lives!

Do I owe her a face to face break up speech or do I do it the old fashioned way and ignore her? This opportunity passed me by, as she exited the office before I could emerge from behind my newspaper. Of course she saw me! She has probably been here before…seen the same attempts to avoid her. She should have known it would happen sooner or later, as I had after all, left someone else for her! Obviously I had to have a hairdresser in my life at all times, I couldn’t do it on my own…and I just seemed to jump from one to the other, unable to make a long term commitment.

It seems hard to demean our past by saying it was just a “business relationship” but somehow leaving seems easier if I do. I know she will be okay, she is a great lady, and other customers are going to love her. It’s not personal, I just know we will both be happier this way! My hair has outgrown her and it is time to move on. I’m in love with my new hairstyle and my new hairdresser! I can’t go back now, having tasted the forbidden fruit of great hair and tons of compliments! I just hope the next time I see her, I have a newspaper handy!

How Much is Your Hair Worth?



Photo by Sarah G





My hair hasn’t been looking so hot lately.  A key warning sign that something needs to be done about my hair is when the majority of time it is relegated to a pony tail.  I admit that I am not the greatest at regular hair maintenance but have been making more of a concerted effort to keep my hair conditioned and healthy. I use a spray in conditioner and only use a comb when it is wet.

My hair is really dry and washed out. I have a lot of grey in my hair that I have been trying hard to disguise that fact with regular highlighting for the last decade. I have used two different stylists during that time, both of whom used similar procedures to create the look. Part of me wondered if the condition of my hair may have more to do with what was being done to it and how, rather than the fact that I am getting older.

I used to have soft, straight hair. My current hair is rough and frizzy. Was I destined to have old lady hair from now on? The only way I could ever make my hair look even remotely shiny was to straighten it or blow dry it with great care. I even desperately purchased some spray-in-shine, hair varnish if you will, to see if that might bring it back to life. Even then it looked like hair that had been overworked, and I think you could guess my age from behind simply by the condition of my hair. If I were to describe my hair color it would be beige…not quite blond and not quite brunette.

Women develop strong loyalties to their hair care providers and are reluctant to change for fear of offending them. They may have tried a different stylist now and then who butchered their hair causing them to run back to their original hair stylists, their proverbial pony tails between their legs. I am kind of the same way. But lately when I leave the usual salon and drop my $145.00 (including tip), I feel as if my stylist is just repeating the same thing over and over and my hair feels fried and she never offers new ideas or solutions to remedy the deteriorating condition of my hair. As an expert in her field, she should know the latest and greatest techniques. She spends a lot of time on her cell phone, answering calls during the appointment, or chatting about life with the other stylists in the salon. That camaraderie is great, but I felt at times it came at the expense of making the client feel as if she were fully paying attention. It also left very little time for offering her professional advice or coming up with new ideas or techniques.

One hair salon patron shared a story of a hairstylist actually skyping with her son while she cut hair. Her clients were very uncomfortable with this as her subject matter was quite personal and not something appropriate to be broadcasted in the busy shop. Another customer described her stylist chatting with the other stylists in the salon about their concerns their receptionist was skimming off the till. She said that the woman who was cutting her hair was so worked up about the issue, she ended up hacking her hair to pieces.

As I explore the world of the high maintenance girly girl, I began to wonder if it really matters where you get your hair done? Is there a big difference in the quality of hair styling services? To answer this question I experimented with a few options. Using my last 6 years with the mid range salon as a comparison, I had my haircut at a mall based chain and then went to the highest end salon I could think of in my area.

The mall based chain hair cut was pretty uneventful. I paid my $18.00 for a basic spray and cut. No hair wash or styling. When I left, I still had to put my hair in a pony tail because I couldn’t do anything with it. I had had a bad spiral perm experience in the mid 80’s at a cheap hair cutting establishment and was unwilling to let them dabble with color. I may be wrong, but I think this environment hires a lot of new graduates, and because there is not really any great mentoring, their skills don’t develop much. I think these places are great for kids, or guys who get their hair buzzed based upon a number. I don’t think these places are great for women who really want their hair to look great and can afford other options.

Yesterday I went to a higher end establishment. I was a little nervous as I really had no idea how much it was going to cost me and whether I was wasting my money. I have a couple of friends who get there hair done here who had recommended one particular stylist to me. I didn’t tell her the purpose of my visit, just to make sure I got the honest to goodness treatment.

The salon was small but clean and nicely decorated. That alone goes a long way into making you feel pampered and as if you are somewhere that is a good bet. I knew going in I wanted something different and tried to articulate this to her when we met. I told her my concerns over my dying hair and that I was hoping to return to my more natural darker color. I had decided to chose sides, blond or brunette, I couldn’t be both. She said, “You want something sexy!” I said that “Yes, sexy would be good, I’m not old enough to not be sexy anymore!” We talked for a while about my options and her opinions. She taught me about what was going wrong with my hair, and how we could go about resuscitating it. To double check her thoughts she consulted with another experienced stylist, perhaps the owner of the shop, before proceeding.

She dashed off to mix the color. What I noticed then and throughout the appointment was that no cell phones were going off, the stylists weren’t gossiping with each other, they were taking care of their clients…and that’s what she did with me, for the 2 hour appointment for the color and cut. After she confidently applied the color and put me under the dryer, she brought me a tea. As I sat there and cooked, she came back to check in on me a couple of times. I never saw her filing her nails or eating her lunch. Man, this place was professional!

When she revealed the color I was excited. It was a rich, vibrant chestnut brown! She expertly cut my hair, something we hadn’t even discussed, with scissors so sharp I couldn’t hear them! She proceeded to blow dry my hair with a really cool 5 brush technique. When she was done, I quite honestly was shocked, and I think she was too. I looked good! My hair looked great! It was shiny! It had depth, and the cut balanced the weight of my hair back towards the top of my head, undoing the bell shaped style I had been sporting. She tinted my eyebrows ever so slightly to make the look even more natural.

The moment of truth came at the cash register. How much coin was this going to set me back? The answer: $215.00. That is only moderately more than I pay at my usual salon.

Perhaps it is already evident by the tone in this post what my final verdict is. In my opinion, it does matter where you get your hair cut. My recommendation is for the higher end salons. It will cost me about $600.00 more per year to get my hair done at this salon, compared to the one I had been going to. For me, that is worth it. My hair has life again, and I can’t tell you how many compliments I have received in just two short days of this transformation! One friend even told me it makes my butt look smaller! As a side benefit, my husband has new fantasy fodder as he can pretend he is with another woman! If you want your hair to look great, you need someone great to cut it.

Am I Worth It?

Today I am participating in an experiment…research if you will. I have scheduled an appointment at a fancy hair salon for a cut and color! The experimental part of this is that I will try to determine if paying the extra money for these services is worth it. I generally get my hair cut at a mid priced salon with cut and color it comes to around $125.00. My last hair cut, as part of this research, was at a mall based, hair cutting chain. I got a hair cut but must admit, I wasn’t brave enough to get my color done. That hair cut was around $18.00.

At today’s appointment I am going to challenge the stylist a little bit with different color and a different cut. I am also not going to tell her I am writing about the experience. Check back for the verdict!

Girl Talk



Photo by Sarah G

I learned about sex in gym class. I had a very thorough and clinical gym teacher who taught me all the appropriate anatomy and terminology. She was highly motivated to scare us into abstinence and thus showed us several graphic child birth videos. There was very little in the lesson plan that involved relationships, love, self esteem or shame. Those lessons came later and were harder learned.

Talking about sex is somehow taboo. Over the years I have had different boyfriends or friends with varying degrees of sex talk tolerance. Some avoided the topic altogether, while others had a limit to the amount of detail or the subject matter that they were open to discussing. I have had very few free and uninhibited discussions about sex. At book club or girls nights out the natural evolution of our conversations would often migrate to sex, with the depth of subject matter directly correlated with the amount of wine we had imbibed.

Recently, as part of research for an article I am writing for a gentleman’s magazine (topic: what men can do to get more blow jobs), I invited a panel of interesting, smart and varied women, to a formal Blow Job Panel. Each woman was informed of the purpose of the meeting. The response was overwhelming. Perhaps it was just because I had invited the right group of gals, but they leaped at the opportunity! I later learned that when they shared with other female friends what they were up to that evening, their friends begged to attend as well. Husbands were psyched, as they hoped the meeting would cure their blow job droughts.

As I prepared for the evening, I had worked on a question list, based upon my five top ways a man can lay out the welcome mat for more felatio. I was curious how freely the topic would be discussed and to what degree attendees would share. To help create the mood I went to the wine store to stock up prior to the gathering. Noting that many of the wine names were apropos for the evening, I excitedly purchased wine with names like “Swallow”, “Gnarly Head” and “Purple Cowboy”. The wine vendor noting the trend asked me “Is this for a bachelor party?” “Something like that”, I told him. I even put together all of the ingredients for Blow Job shots!

There were six women in attendance with varying comfort and skill levels with blow jobs. As we dove into the subject material, I was amazed at the desire that they possessed to talk and talk and talk. The meeting lasted four and a half hours! As we moved from point to point, often with me, as moderator, sitting back and letting the conversation wander where it would, I realized that these women were loving the fact that they could talk freely and without shame about something that, universally they reported was something they had rarely if ever had the opportunity to discuss before.

We found connection in our common experiences. We were amazed at how similar our first experiences were and how despairing it was that most of us went forward into this aspect of our sexuality blindly, without any peer support or teaching. Where we were expected to learn these things? Was this something I should be teaching my daughter when she came of age? Or like me and the rest of the panel, just let her figure it out herself when the time came?

For most women, unless their husbands regale them with compliments, they will go through their sexual lives with nagging doubts about their ability or skill sexually. Not only are women self conscious about their bodies but about how well they perform. Many women never learn how to garner their own pleasure from sexual intimacy; instead, they play a role for the pleasure of their partner.

I am not sure anyone from the panel ran home to blow their husbands. That wasn’t the point of the evening. What we all came away with was a shared sadness over the lack of opportunities like this one, to share and commiserate, for the simple purpose of quelling our fears and doubts and boosting our sexual confidence. Keeping the doors closed on open sexual discussion keeps us in the age of women without sexual power. Removing the negative stigma of talking openly about sex can only empower women and prevent the inevitable shame and guilt and self-doubt so many women are plagued with throughout their sexual lives.

It is hard to accept that sexual lessons are ones we must learn by trial and error or pathetically by watching porn. We can be taught to understand the mechanics of the act- what parts go where, but we aren’t taught the emotional weight of the decisions made to participate in them. I hope to spare my daughter moments of shame, these I feel are the most damaging. How can she avoid them successfully unless I also teach her the skill of sex and how to take care of her heart and her own sexual fulfillment? I would love to scare her into abstinence, but the greater likelihood is that she will be entering this realm long before she or I are ready.

The blow job panel was a smashing success. There was hysterical laughter and uninhibited sharing. Empty bottles of sexually connotative wine littered the kitchen. We grew closer as a group, appreciating this gift we had given each other. We wrapped up the meeting reluctantly, each with many more long held questions we were eager to ask. The consensus was that we should do this again. Although we had all been indoctrinated with this new found sex talk freedom, the sad reality is that we will be hard pressed to find it anywhere else.

Man Hands



Photo by Victor Bezukov.





 I am attracted to manly hands. For years I believed that you could tell how well a man was endowed by the size of his thumb. I believed that the bigger the thumb the bigger the package. I have spent a lot of time checking out this anatomical detail on men. I would blush around a fellow I suspected of sporting an exceptional endowment and grow sympathetic with one I did not. In fact, I believed this logic to be so exact that I would opt not to sleep with a man simply because his thumb was too small.

I was discussing this observation with a friend recently, as I observed the average thumb size of a guy standing next to us. She chimed in that she had been reading a book recently that discussed this very concept. In the book “The Brain in Love" by Daniel Amen, MD, he reviews the relationship between the size of a man’s digits and the size of his genitals. Needless to say, I was intrigued. It seems that the thumb itself is not the tell tale sign, but rather the relative size of the index finger to ring finger. Amazingly this has been extensively studied in highly respected medical and scientific journals.

The majority of men have a ring finger that is longer than their index finger (the pointing finger). The bigger the ring finger to index finger difference, the more masculine the man, and very likely the bigger his manhood. Interestingly, women are the opposite. The majority of women have a shorter ring finger than index finger. The theory is that the length of the ring finger is determined by the amount of exposure to testosterone in utero (whilst a bun in the oven). Higher levels of testosterone exposure correlate with a longer ring finger. This makes sense as testosterone is closely linked to masculinity.

My friend told me she fit the expectations in that her ring finger was shorter than her index finger. I was curious and checked my ratios as well. What I found was shocking! My ring finger is longer than my index finger!! The implications of this finding are astounding. It seems I was bathed in testosterone as a fetus!

Studies have shown that women with this feature have more masculine tendencies. My God!! This could be the root of my girly-girl challenged-ness! I may be too masculine to be a girly girl. There might be more to it than mere naïveté! I may actually lack the biology for perfect hair and spritely outfits! I was by nature more like Sporty Spice or GI Jane.

As I researched further I found that women with manlike ring finger are good at sports. In fact one study found this trait to be a sensitive predictor of which competitive female runners were most likely to win a given race! The running aspect has something to do with increased cardiovascular abilities which are attributed to the effects of this early testosterone exposure. Those with shorter index fingers, however, are blessed with superior intelligence. This would suggest that most men suffer from inferior intellect when compared to their shorter fingered counterparts. Affinity towards writing, math proficiency and musical ability are also characteristics that tend to relate to finger formation. As you might expect, many lesbians exhibit this trait.

Medically, the length of the ring finger in women has been shown to correlate with increased fertility (the long ones) or increased proneness to cancer (the short ones). Longer ring fingers for example, indicating greater exposure to testosterone, suggest an increased risk for heart disease, while a shorter ring finger, more closely related to estrogen levels, correlates to increased breast cancer risk. Autism has also shown a relationship to this feature.

Since this incredible discovery, I have been frantically looking at hands. Checking out thumbs was so much easier than trying to determine the ring to index finger ratio. Hands don’t hold still long enough for that observation. I would see a girly girl, or a man who was stereotypically gay, and try to see if the finger theory held up. So far all I have accomplished is creeping people out with my staring.

Super Cute!

Photo by (nutmeg).

Women who shop together could be accused of enabling. In general women tend to buy more when shopping with friends than when shopping alone. Shopping “wing-women” can talk their friends into buying just about anything by saying that it is “super cute”. Last night I attended a “Cabi” party. This is the clothing version of the “Tupperware” party. (I seem to be going to a lot of these lately). I realize that the powers that be in these companies have tapped into a brilliant business model- using the guests of said parties, to sell their merchandise.

At the kitchen party I attended (the one where I was dressed like a slut); I bought all sorts of gadgets that fellow potential buyers raved about. “Oh that hamburger breaker-upper thing is awesome! It gets all the lumps out when you fry it”, one guest would proclaim. “Oooh, that sounds amazing! You mean if I buy that I will never have lumpy Hamburger Helper again? SOLD!” Regardless of the utility of my hamburger crusher, there is a sense of connection when I show such confidence in another women’s opinion and buy what she recommends to me. Our generation also seems to thrive on buying. It doesn’t matter what we buy, we feel good, really good, after we buy it.

This clothing party featured a variety of women. Different sizes, shapes, ages and budgets. The representative for the products begins by following a company catalogue and shows each featured piece. This portion of the evening gets the frenzy started, with each women calling out progressively more complimentary statements. “That is cute!” That is really cute!” The ultimate cuteness rating was then shouted out, “That is super cute!” It’s the one-up-manship of cuteness comments! Unconsciously, as the cute rating is established, the women in the group would reach for their pens and circle the item, intent on capitalizing on the guaranteed cute factor.

Once all of the clothes are revealed, the women in the group quietly rush to the rack to be the first to try on the cutest clothes. As each shopper returned to the room after having donned her selected pieces, the rest of the women in the room would begin telling her how she looks. This is the part that resembles a dysfunctional relationship. The more we can get our friends to buy, the easier and more acceptable it will be for us to buy. “That jacket looks amazing on you! When I saw the colors I thought they were hideous, but on you it looks fabulous!”. “You really think so?” the temporary model asks. “Oh absolutely, it is super cute on you! You should definitely buy it!” Cha-ching! Sold!

This scene repeats itself until each women has added a number of items to her personal shopping list. Very much like my hamburger smoother, many of these clothes they were brain washed into buying, will end up buried in their closets, as the colors of that jacket are indeed hideous, and whatever possessed her to buy it in the first place?

When I shop I like going with friends who I know will absolutely tell me the truth about what I try on. These shopping buddies are not motivated to cover up their own expenditures with my much larger ones, but are genuinely interested in my level of cuteness. Select your shopping sidekicks wisely as you must trust that they are unbiased or motivated by such factors as man competition. In this case they may try to sabotage you by encouraging you to buy highly unappealing clothing. “My, my! That glitter pant suit looks wonderful!” “Really? Don’t you think it is a little tight?” “Oh no! Camel toes are in right now!” Cha-ching!

As FTC (Fashion Tacky Cop, our fashion advisor) recommends, know your personal style! You must mentally prepare yourself before these peer pressure sales parties to resist the super cute sales pitch. You must have a clear and unwavering idea of what you are looking for and and what you are not. Like any great plan it will only succeed if you stick to it. If your defenses break down, you can pull out the emergency reverse cuteness move, by saying “This would look way-super-cuter on you!”

Motherhood Sucks!

Photo by bbaunach.

I ’m feeling for my sister. She is back in the throes of new born baby-dom. She welcomed her second child a few short weeks ago at a petite 9 pounds 4 ounces…and she did it without drugs. No joke! Word was that awestruck women throughout the maternity ward spread this incredible achievement along the hallway grapevine as they walked through their labor pains. She became the stuff of legend. I think it is safe to say her feat inspired more than one woman that day to deliver her own baby au natural! (I am sure later they cursed her, when they realized it was too late for the epidural).

The birth of a child is a miraculous time, where the joy and blessings of the new baby flood the mother with love and bonding. The natural pleasure of breastfeeding, so easy and comfortable, is a cherished moment for both child and mother. Adjustment to motherhood is seamless, as the woman’s instincts take over and she easily sacrifices her own needs for those of her child. Wearing long flowing nightgowns and dancing gleefully with flowers in her hair, small rodents and chirping birds, gather around her, celebrating her happiness!

God were we ever sold a load of bullshit! I swear our parents told us how great it was to have kids, just so they could sit back and laugh their asses off as we lost our minds! “Oh please, please give me grandbabies!” (wink wink, nudge nudge). My sister and I appreciate the ability to speak candidly about the realities of parenthood, so I hope y’all won’t mind.

I got a great text from her the other day, “Motherhood Sucks”. Hardly the leave it to beaver version of motherhood that we were led to believe was normal! Honestly, I’m no June Cleaver, I like my sanity far too much.  Memories of sleepless nights, endless crying, days that dragged on for what seemed like eternity, incredible feelings of isolation, crying for no apparent reason and husbands who just look at us wondering what we've done with their wives, highlight those early months.

I am sure for some psychotic woman they love every tortuous moment of sleep deprivation and engorged breasts! Yes sir, may I please have another! Who wouldn’t miss the days when our infants screamed if we put them down or bit our nipples? I am still recovering from the sleep torture my son subjected me to, much like a released prisoner from a Japanese war camp. We would have sold him to the lowest bidder during the dark days, as that period in our lives has come to be known. When anyone messes with my sleep now, they are met by a wild and frenzied woman, incapable of kindness or empathy. My wraith is terrifying, “Woe to the man or child who wakes my ass up!”

I am headed up there in a couple of weeks to help her out…support her so she can get through another week without losing it. I remember the great gift it was for someone to just be there to make me feel connected somehow to who I really was, as I got lost in the mayhem of parenting a newborn baby. Having access to a sympathetic ear while I slapped my breast pump on for more solitary confinement was like a beam of sunlight shining through a trapped door.

The highlight of this time will be when I take the baby for a night time stretch so her and her husband can sleep for more than 45 consecutive minutes. The baby will be about 5 weeks when I get there. I realize I could probably charge them for this, as I am sure they would pay whatever I asked. When she had her son, I offered her this nighttime treat for the first time in 11 weeks. It turned out better than expected, with him stretching through his next feeding, and sleeping for nearly 6 hours. I remember vividly her sleep drunk husband stumbling out of their bedroom, completely disoriented asking “Where’s the baby?” When you are this exhausted your body laps up sleep like a water starved camel! I will be her slave. Having been in the trenches myself, I know the agony of those days.

Parenting is the hardest job I have done or will ever do. At the same time, it is the most inexplicably rewarding. In time, the worst days and moments are forgotten…and all I remember are their smiles, giggling laughter and profound innocence. There even comes a day when bizarrely I miss those days- sour baby smell, nuzzling cheeks and hard won successes of their deep slumber. I hope my sister can find some time to see and enjoy all of these things. I hope she can learn to ignore all the presumptuous bitches that offer their condescending, unsolicited advice. Perhaps a nice visual to distract her throughout the day, would be her freely pummeling each of these know-it-alls about the head with a baby monitor! (God I hate baby monitors! At the first opportunity, I threw mine out the window! Really! I threw it out the fucking window!!!!)

I wish I lived closer to her, so that I could be there more to support her and help her beat off her mother in-law with a sharp stick. She and my older sister both came to my rescue when each of my children were first born and for that I am eternally grateful. I will do my best to breathe some life back into her to help her through the next several months. I am ready to jump back into the trenches (at least for a week). Hang in there sis, I will be there soon!