I Won!! No Tiara. Happiness And...Bangs

Written in 12/2011

 

I don't think I have ever won anything...I got a call last week from my hair salon, Intrigue, telling me that I won a haircut with N.Y. Hair Stylist, Nick Arrojo! (This is a big deal, a haircut alone is worth $500.00....currently, I could not afford to even tip Mr. Arrojo. That free haircut? Tomorrow at 9 a.)

Of course I would be a lot more excited if I didn't have a haircut 3 weeks ago. Alanis Morrissette song?

You have to understand...I am 44 years old and have long hair. I am holding onto my hair length right now, as if I am hanging on to the last bit of collagen  left in the world and if any more is depleted, I may start to become arthritic, or start obsessing about plastic surgery. Ok, I am embellishing just a bit, but? MY HAIR?!!

I am envisioning Nick Arrojo now having an Annie Lennox song stuck in his head and that somehow she becomes his temporary muse and that after his coffee he may think short, spikey hair could just be the thing to change my life for the better. I so hope he had a good experience flying into Atlanta and that he doesn't have too much coffee.
I will simply have to be very up front with Mr. Arrojo tomorrow morning right at the outset of my bum making contact with the chair.

Me: "Uhhh, no creative liberty here, Mr. Arrojo, or we will end up on the national news...don't take off more than 1/8th of a milli-something of a millimeter. You have your scissors, I have mine (and just so you know, I did strength training this morning before I got here...). Just move my hair around for the camera and all will be well."

As it turns out, Nick Arrojo is the most down-to-earth and charming lad I could imagine. I was putty in his hands before I even got near the "chair".
Me: "Bangs? Sure!!! Whatever you think, Nick - after all you are the expert. "Bangs"...that's the first suggestion he threw out. (Bangs were not my friend, in fact, they had been my nemesis since I could grow hair and I had not worn them in over fifteen years.) Once he started though? I really liked what I saw...shocked, curious? In hindsight, Nick could have said, "Let's shave it on one side" and I may have considered it for just a minute...or ten.
What can I say? The man is very charasmatic and he gave me the best haircut I have ever had. I can't stop playing with it! The texture, layers...Most importantly- the Bangs! I think they may now have a long-standing place in my life.

I can now certainly see why celebrities go to Nick and people pay $500.00 for a haircut. Prior to my haircut with him, I thought anyone who would pay that much or take a flight to get a haircut must be familiar with the terms "lockdown" and "time for meds", to consider it. Now? Shhhhh...Ok.

I was so fortunate to win this haircut and have this experience. My problem now?  I am greedy. I am already considering the next cut and ways that I can justify paying for it. I was already using the shampoo, conditioiner, styling mousse, and hairspray from his Nick Arrojo Hair Care Line. They all smell amazing and I am a freak about fragrances.

Remember that "charisma" I mentioned? I walked out of there purchasing several products (He never tried to sell me anything) just uhhh, because?! ( who have I morphed into?)  "Uhhhh, I'll take the blowdryer, (yes, I know I've never even tried it...the brush, the defrizzing gel, more 'color-stay' shampoo, even though my hair is no longer colored(just particularly love the smell of this product)...and...the? whatever that yummy smelling spray is that you used at some point!" Yes, that's it.

I walked out of there thinking, "What a GREAT day!!!" I felt so good that I thought I could run countless errands and spend countless money. ( Ha! Does a healthy haircut contribute to serious delusion?) I stopped and got new contact lenses so I could actually see my new hairstyle, contemplated looking at Zappos online for new boots...then?  I dropped my iPhone and it shattered-Twice. Derp!

You know? I handled it better than I thought I would. I didn't hurl it in anger or scream obscenities at anyone or "some"one. I was actually rational. I went into the phone store, purchased an iPhone 4 with insurance this time, and told the salesperson not to tell or show me the total. Just put the receipt in the bag.

Conclusion: Some of you may not like this...It is absolutely AMAZING what a great haircut can do for happiness! (and hormone levels.)

Thank you Nick Arrojo. You are one very talented guy...

Curfews In Cairo to Manage Violent Protesting?

Written in October, 2011:
 

I wonder how the newly imposed curfews are working out in Cairo, Egypt right now?
The protesting has reached the level of severe beatings, driving over humans,murdering and a curfew is imposed to "manage" this?
I am inclined to think that if many are capable of such violence to express feelings of oppression, beliefs, principles, etc., a curfew would be rather ineffective and certainly not going to abate this situation.

"Hummm...I better stop bludgeoning this guy right now and go retrieve my machete- it's time to go in!
Maybe If I leave now, I'll have enough time to stop and pick up some cheap Take-Out Kabobs for the wife and kids!"

Good luck with that...

Marley, I mean Truman...Puppy Payoff

First let me start by trying to catch my breath.  I don't think I need to work out anymore; I have a young, yellow, Labrador puppy named Truman!

What once was a "too good to be true, just bought a beautiful, yellow lab puppy- came when you called him, no accidents in the house the first two days. So a few flip flops were casualties, as well as a roll or two of TP? 

I knew what I signed on for; I saw the movie, "Marley &Me".  Labrador Retrievers tend to have a long "puppyhood"...about 2,3 or 4 years.

Life with Truman is like living out  the movie, "Groundhog Day", with Bill Murray, where my day infinitely repeats itself.  I keep telling myself, "sure, I can get through this- he will be such a great adult dog"..."hang in there".

 Now? I think he is my nemesis.  Hopefully this is just  intermittent and temporary.

Now Truman bullies me on a daily basis. He runs from me when it's time to go out or into his Kennel. I think he is convinced that the floor vents are strategically located throughout the house for his convenience to use as urinal drains. The poop piles just keep getting bigger and bigger, along with my tears and vile vocabulary.

Cleaning up after Truman is a definite appetite suppressant.  The Berber carpet on the stairs is starting to develop a haphazard pattern. The many shredable ( Is shredable even a word?) items in the house just multiply. I think our trash service may start charging us more for all of the garbage Truman creates.

 I have, by no choice of my own, started to become a "minimalist". Who needs more than one or two pairs of shoes? Or toilet paper when I am in the bathroom and he comes and takes it before my very eyes, rendering me helpless and  trapped . (Toilet paper is very expensive these days, it is quite a commodity in this house right now, especially since he inhales his very expensive dog food without chewing it, only to regurgitate it back up, and might possibly recycle that.)

Note to everyone: If you are in the market for a large breed puppy, look at the size of their paws as well as the size of their head before seriously considering what your household, bank account and sanity can tolerate!

Our first outing to Pet Smart and our new puppy actually seems to reach celebrity status as far as attention? When at least a dozen customers and employees stop and say to you, “WOW, he's going to be a reeeaalllllly big dog!  Look at the size of those paws!!!!" We couldn't get out of their in less than an hour in a half because people kept stopping us to comment on the appearance and size of Truman. I wasn't concerned a bit.  It wasn’t until our first visit with a new Vet and he asked me if I have ever heard of, “Clifford, The Big Red Dog”,  that I started to emerge from my state of denial about being able to handle a dog of this size, work, and give my children the attention they need.  This would also include keeping the house clean, with progressively fewer contents, as they get eaten or chewed to what is unrecognizable… and keep my nerves intact.

Short-term memory!? I have been through this before, but with a female German-bred, German Shepard, named "Abby". This was nine years ago.  A" friend" (now former  friend) who breeds them, gave Abby  to me because she couldn't take care of her. "Friend",  had recently undergone hip replacement surgery and her husband travelled all of the time. This beautiful Shepard was already five months old and "trained".  I'm guessing that after exhausting myself just trying to get "Abby" into the Suburban, "Friend" was trying to refrain from, what had to be, the most diabolical laughter..."muwhahahahahaha, sucka"!!!

 My children were small at the time that Abby came to live with us. Did I say that I was told that she was "Trained"? I guess my understanding of "trained" varies significantly from that of "Friends".

During the day, while my husband at the time, was working , the kids and I were held hostage by Abby. She was huge and it was impossible to contain her. Kennel, bath, having friends and family over? Nah...Abby wanted no part of any of that. 

Perhaps "friend" thought that as long as Abby didn't maim or kill the members of my little immediate family that little bit of loyalty went along way and constituted as, "fully- trained"? People outside of our household? They were subject to being attacked, or at least frightened to the point that they refused to come to our house anymore. The one advantage to that? Some relatives (ex father-in-law, wasn't seen for months! )  or Jehovah's witnesses,  that I wouldn't want to visit, stopped visiting; thus establishing boundaries that I wish I had in place years before. Even my own father, who is retired from the FBI as an undercover, special agent, said he would not come to our door until we got rid of Abby. Abby would poop huge piles in the house and then eat them. (Saved me a fortune on dog food!) However, her apres-meal activity was to knock down my two year old daughter  and lick her face.

The final straw was when my oldest son had a friend over and Abby lunged at his neck as he was walking up the stairs. I happened to be there just in time to grab her by her collar. 

It was time... I was sad to see her go, but she was a major liability and we couldn't live in damage-control mode anymore. She went to work for the Cobb Co. K-9 unit, under the condition that she could be trained. We're so proud. Hence, I forgot about all of that; like a woman who gives birth, somehow forgets about the tremendous pain she suffered and later has additional children.  It must be God's plan, so the human race can propagate, and people will continue to get pets. 

Back to Truman. I didn't care...I was already in love with little, "Truman". Great passenger rider; actually came when called, didn't bark, didn't eliminate in the house. That was the beginning. Labs are VERY smart dogs. I am now at the point where I am afraid he may corner me into his Kennel and lock me in.

 We no longer need our pest exterminator service, or need to use the filters in the pool, Truman loves to eat bugs, leaves, basically anything he can catch or get a hold of. I think he has an affinity for Haivanas flip flips. Not that I am thinking that he is so smart that he can read brand names....he just seems to gravitate towards those when I forget to close my closet door.  As far as actually trying to adapt to a "minimalist" way of living?  Why can't he shred the ugly, leather, Recliner chair that I can't stand and caved to, for all to see when you walk into the house (No, I didn't purchase this; yes, it's a point of contention). 

As I type this, Marley, I mean Truman ( I, as well as a few neighbors and later, his Obedience Trainer have accidentally referred to him as Marley several times since his terroristic acts have ensued.) is now trying to get a hold of my, "Reef" flip flop, toes included.  He then ventured to the corner of my laptop.  While trying to catch my breath and wipe the slobber off of my scratched up forearm, I push him away as I verbally correct him and try not to scream obscenities.

I'd kill him, but he is so damn cute. What keeps me from killing him? The way he greets me in the morning, the way he follows me everywhere, the way he looks at me when we go for walks, watching him when he sleeps, and his immediate loyalty to me and my entire family. Plus, Truman loves Karaoke- although he isn't very good at it. 

 9/25/11 -  Second Entry. This may be the last entry!   Loving Home, anyone?
You must have a high tolerance for frustration, slobbery, slimy things; not mind visiting a Pet Store very frequently, the ability to quickly forgive, hence, adapt to losing sentimental or expensive items … and contained acreage.

Changes in Truman:  Almost 6 months, 60 pounds.

He now looks full-grown and jumps like a Kangaroo.  That once “cute” loyalty when Truman followed me everywhere?  It is NOT cute anymore. I can’t put on my makeup without him leaning those 60lbs. on me, or basically attempt any task,  while he is outside of his kennel. Now he weighs 130lbs!

“Cute” can segue to “highly annoying” rather quickly in any relationship; like with my ex-husband.

For example, when my ex and I went to France and Italy years ago; I adored him the first four days of our thirteen day trip. By day five?  Contempt, feelings of wanting to flee, or at least take separate cabs hi-jacked those previous favorable feelings.

Truman is also becoming increasingly more expensive; to the point that I may soon be sharing his bowl with him. 54.00 per bag of food that lasts about three weeks. He has eaten through three leashes in one month, including the leather training leash purchased from his trainer.

Dietary changes:   He has recently  developed rather  expensive taste. What used to be the flip flops, socks, molly bolts and razors has  evolved to my Prada eye glasses, Neighbor’s Polo glasses, my favorite Merrell shoes, Dish Towels (only my favorites from Sur La Table). Let me now add, the rug my sister brought me from Morocco. Tears...

Truman loves to B-line into my closet to brush through my Athletic and Business attire, to get as much hair and stink on as many of my clothes as possible.

My changes: I now live on Zyrtec, added to my Advair and I am considering switching from Chanel perfume to Febreeze to ensure I don’t smell like Dog everywhere I go.

Wholesale clubs – now a must. I have to load up on Lint Remover Rollers, TP, Febreeze, Chew Toys and Bones in Bulk, oh, plus wine.

To get through this puppyhood, I am considering Valium at this point…I can’t drink during the day. Hummm…

I am too afraid to show up for the Obedience classes I signed up for. We’ve missed 3 out of 4.  I feel like it is me who needs the Obedience training to get through one class without having a severe anxiety attack.  I am too nervous about what Truman is going to do, that I don’t take in what I am being told to do to correct him. 

On a brighter note, I have taught Truman to sit (not stay though),  so he sits only for a second.  He can shake, “kiss”, but that often comes with a price, because he doesn’t know his own strength and a kiss may cause tears and a possible concussion.

More to come...

 

FUNNY FARM STAND UP ACT - Fall of 2007

The following is my (one and only) comedy stand up act (Monologue for Atlanta Job Zone Contest) performed at the Atlanta Funny Farm in 9/07. This had to be edited to less than 4 minutes. Writing it and delivering it are ALL TOGETHER different....

Hi! My name is Libby Rouleau and I am here to tell you about my first job experience.

But first I need to tell you a little bit about how I grew up for you to understand.

My parents divorced when I was twelve… and both are remarried (Dad, more than once… and OH dad is a retired F.B.I. agent and pilot. / That’s really a separate story altogether… Not quite Jerry Springer caliber, but close. / Then again, since I don’t watch Jerry Springer, a stepmother or two from my past, may have already appeared on the show …

Don’t get me wrong, my dad is a GREAT guy. He just lacked some crucial judgment skills when we were younger…That would include some time management skills too – Such as…Quality weekend time with your young daughters should not overlap with your undercover drug busts.

And just from experience, it’s probably NOT a good idea to read from “Helter Skelter” about the Charles Manson Family massacres to your 8 year old daughter as a bed time story. (Pause)
L o nn gg term effects….

Anyway…So that’s a little background..

Thanks to the yellow pages, my first job out of college was working for an adoption agency as a counselor to expectant mothers. YEA…That lasted only a few weeks.
Actually,/ I was fired. I honestly don’t know why they hired me to begin with.
I had no experience dealing with pregnancy other than at the age of 12, watching my hamster that I had for only a week, give birth to seven baby hamsters…She ate one of them and my Dad dropped another.

So realistically, my only experience for this counselor position was that I had had sex before, while trying to AVOID pregnancy, had suffered from bad cramps, and watched a rodent mother eat her young…that’s about as close as I could get to relating to what these young, pregnant women were going through.

Twenty-one years old, equipped with only a bachelor’s degree, bad hamster care, and excruciating cramps and the agency sent me off to Chicago the day after Christmas for several weeks of training.

How in the world am I supposed to “counsel” these young women? Assure them they are making a good decision…Just get a puppy. Taking care of a baby is way outside the parameters of daily dog care… After all, dogs don’t talk back, can’t use weapons, or do drugs, and if they get another dog pregnant, you’re not responsible for the next 18 years of your life. Simple SEE? / Let’s talk birth control.
My first case meeting was with an 18 yr. old pregnant girl at a McDonalds on Chicago’s south west side. She was due to give birth any day, and with her were her, two small daughters; each from different fathers.
Oh, and mom’s gang-related. “What? Yea…Nice homemade tattoos.
No, I don’t want one. They look really good on you though.”

“So, what colors should I not be wearing in this hood right now? Hummm… Freezing verses drive by shooting?Okay, I’ll lose the coat and shirt… So-- it’s snowing, only 18 degrees outside with a wind-chill factor of -14

Questions I need to ask at the next Staff Meeting:
Do I need, as my dad would say, “to pack heat” for this job?…Do I need to get a gun permit or a gang code handbook? Can we go over my benefits, as in Life Insurance? (build) employee protection plan as in a body guard …maybe relocation if necessary as in Des Moines?

Their reason for letting me go? … They didn’t like questions.
ANY QUESTIONS! That led to inflexibility.

“So, the birth mother did a few a drugs and is mildly retarded? You gotta problem with that?” …“The kid will be fine, maybe just a touch of addiction or fetal alcohol syndrome… “Eh, you want to go see that ‘Drag Queen Show’ tonight, before Nikki goes into Labor?” “What’s your name again?”
… “Eh, FORGET ABOUT IT.”

Do I have a choice? I’ll just get my bag. Do I have time to make a quick call? Did I mention that my dad flew Mafioso, Sammy, “The Bull”, Gravano, to trial before he testified against mob boss, John Gotti and Vinni the Chin? Yea…They’re pretty tight now…
That call?AAAGGGHHHH !!!!
Evidently, I wasn’t “flexible enough”. Too many questions for the “Bada Bing- You Want A Baby, No Questions Asked- No Trails Or Birth Parents To Surface” Adoption Agency.
Buh Bye, Bada Bing…

I had to sleep with the lights on for a few months…
Did I say that my name is Libby?

Thank you…and have a great night!

 

I Never Thought I Would See This...

Sunday, February 14, 2010

 Who have I become? I am in a bidding war on eBay right now with a potential nemesis over what better be less than $50.00, for a Banana Republic, leather bag! I need to get a life... Now, back to see what's going on.

Ok, I'm back and IT-IS-ON....Chick from Long Island, or husband, boyfriend...or whatever you are!

Why do I feel so entitled to this? This is the way auctioning is set up. The rules apply to me as well. It's merely a material thing- that I happen to want at a very low price.
This is what I am reduced to for hitting the 'BROWSE' button? Then typing in 'HANDBAGS'? Click 'WATCHING NOW'? Then, 'BID NOW'? I know....it's ridiculous. But do you know what this bag would sell for, Retail?

I see how you're going to be Long Island....I bet you have too many handbags already. Sure. Unlimited time to spend on searching and bidding for items that you truly don't need. I don't have that kind of time!
Come on! With your persistence, there's a nice Omega watch you could get for under $100.00 if you jump over to that now.

Why this purse? Shouldn't you and your other handbags be determining which one you will use next? Or getting ready for a nice Valentine's Day dinner? Aren't you hungry right now? Go open a bottle of wine and forget about this purse for the next hour and twenty, uh thirty minutes. It's ok. You and your aggressive, clicking, bidding finger just sit..waiting... for the laaast minute to attack...I mean, bid.
You know, this could qualify as a competitive sport! Ughhh, now I am stuck here to fight it out. Sorry kids, get yourselves a Pop-Tart! (the organic with whole grains, of course.) Shame is already hunting me down.

Did I say I need to get a life? Ok, maybe a therapist too.

"You Better Work, Bit, er uh..Mom"

Have you ever heard the song by Brittney Spears, "You Better Work, Bitch"?  I can't say that in my current set of circumstances that I can relate to her lyrics..."You wanna drive a Maserati? You wanna party in France?"...on & on with other questions about doing wonderful things on various continents and driving additional exorbitantly priced Italian cars.
Great Brittney. You go do that, Brittney. You better work, Bit..rittney.
But I find myself singing along. Yes, I better work, bitch.  I am immediately reminded of the conversation with my husband the previous night regarding work and how I should work additional hours, more...blah, blah...things...more.blah. life...blah blah.  What honey? Of course I want to work until I am 85 or maybe even longer.  Maybe whatever retirement community I end up in will let me work full time there? Or if one of the kids still pays attention to me, they will visit me when I have vacation time. Whatever it takes to? I don't even know what I said.  I tuned out and just wanted to go to bed at that point; so I could be fresh to start the next work day.

Back to the song. I just picked up my 13 year old daughter from Soccer practice and the song comes on the stereo. Of course she knows all of the words and she smiles awkwardly at me when the word "bitch" comes up, like she is getting away with armed robbery.  

Brittney is belting it out: "You wanna drive a Lamborghini? ..." Party in France...You wanna a tight body? You better work, bitch."
I started singing along with Brittney, but with subtle changes..."You wanna go to Publix? Pay for your car insurance? You wanna drive a Chevrolet Equniox? Have a support bra for your saggy boobies...you better work, bitch."

My daughter looked at me like I had lost my mind and replied, " Oh my gosh, you sound just like a suburban mom!"

You think? 
We both laughed and then she tried to coerce me into getting her a $7.00 Smoothie because she had to run laps at practice. ???
No hint of logic to be found.
"You better work, baby".

Thank You Note to Mattel for New Barbie...

 

Here is a "Thank You Note" for Jimmy Fallon...

Thanks Mattel for making a new Barbie that makes my job as a parent to an 11 year old daughter a little more difficult now...Pink hair, Tats, extra piercings, short skirts, skull and cross bones t-shirt, stillettos...

Well, on the plus side, I bet Barbie still has a 40-inch bust with a 14-inch waist.

Of course there will never be "Muffin Top" Barbie! Where is "Recovering from Plastic Surgery" Barbie? Bruised and swollen...Maybe spring?

Or, Barbie has breastfed three babies and needs a "lift"? No...we won't be seeing her.

Where's my future leverage now?
"But Mom,  Emily has...even Barbie has...."

TOUGH little girl!!! You are still required by law to sit in the back seat!!!

 

Written in 2011