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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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11:58 a.m. - 2008-07-28
My goodness it was a slam bang crammed to the tippy top weekend! Friday was the market as usual. Not usual was the trio of young musicians playing cool jazz on a very warm day. Not much of a jazz fan but these kids were good and kept the extemporaneous free-form stuff to a minimum so I wasn't going buggy and mentally begging them to find a melody, any melody pleeeeeeze before the discordant cacophony made my ears curl up and die from the lack of coherency. As I said, I am not a jazz fan. Bebop, especially. Maybe it's lowbrow or something, but I'm one of those crazy traditionalists who likes music that hangs together and has a discernable tune. The squawking and random honking of riff jazz sounds like chickens playing traffic to me. Even though the music was good, business was not. Oh stuff sold, but tunes at the farmer's market just means there's a lot more hungry nibblers mooching samples and not buying a damn thing. A daytime cocktail party on the village green and we schmucky vendors are the hapless caterers. GBW says the Wednesday market up in Hippy Town is even worse, they have live music every week and other things like craft and cooking demonstrations besides. People go there to be entertained, not buy cheese. So the organizers crow about how many people their goo-bah-dee-dah extras draw in and blissfully ignore how badly it dents the vendors' bottom line. Friday night Mick and I watched the Tour de France and cheerfully wrangled about the ethics of doping, the Tour's messy and overly complicated scoring system, and why one American team's argyle jerseys were a-okay with me. Mick the bike sports stiff-neck thinks solids, stripes and (at most) harlequin patches are the only acceptable ways to make jerseys. In making my case for the argyle I pointed out we're talking about skinny thoroughbreds with shaved bodies wearing spandex and gaudy brain bucket helmets, a little plaid wasn't going to make these guys look any goofier. Saturday morning was given over to cooking…and uh, shaving my head. Sick of trying to have transportation and money at the same time I was needing to get to a salon, I finally nerved up and with Mick's help just buzzed my head with the Wahl. Used the longest blade guide and while it is VERY short, my hair isn't quite G.I. Jane. I don't know whether GBW was overwhelmed with party stuff and didn't notice or perhaps she thinks my buzz cut looks horrible and that's why she didn't say anything, so far she's the only friend who knew me with regular hair to see my radically shorn noggin and she didn't faint or puke. Met a bunch of new people at A.'s birthday party and nobody asked how my chemo was going, so I guess it looks fine. In any case I love it and Mick thinks it hot. What else matters? I've got wicked fun hair and have reduced my salon budget from $850 per anum to almost nothing. A box of Mega-Bleach 40% peroxide every few months to put in the highlights myself and my brave (and talented) guy to do the scalping in our home salon aka: my bathroom. Before the shrieking for pictures becomes deafening, let me say once again that I am having camera problems. I cannot find a replacement USB cord for my Fuji. I even went so far as to buy a super cheap iLogic digital to fill in for the Fuji and even it is being uncooperative! I am trying, really! Something about me being unable to upload a couple decent pics of my dog and my hairdo is pissing off the universe and I've had nothing but hassle for months now. It's gotten to the point where I hesitate to even say anything about new stuff in my life since I can't provide pics and am tired of being told I'm some kind of selfish hold-out or worse a big fat liar because I'm not 'proving' the veracity of my words. I appreciate my friends wanting to share the fun and pay me pretty compliments, but jeeze, how did we all survive before digital cameras and their instant gratification? Okay, rant is over. I mentioned A's birthday party. GBW's darling daughter is now a big 11 year old. For a wonder Wolf got on with A's other friends just fine. It helped that goofing around in the pool was the order of the day. My water baby was too busy having a grand time swimming and splashing and cannon-balling so his awkward social manner didn't factor in much. Poor kid did suffer some scorching embarrassment when it was present opening time though. Mick had picked up a birthday card for Wolf to give to A as we had forgotten to buy one when we were gift shopping. The card was a glittery confection with a Mariposa Barbie on the front and a treacle-sticky message inside. The birthday girl was nice about it, but her friends thought it was disgusting and hilarious. Wolf (who secretly thinks A is as gorgeous as Barbie and about 90 times cooler and smarter) immediately eschewed all responsibility for that warty horror of a birthday card and after A opened the accompanying gifts he sloped off to blush in private. Oy, the agonies of being a tween-ager. I had a lovely, non-agonizing time at the party myself. GBW's crew is amusing and varied. The talk was interesting and the weather was kind. Mick, who'd begged off, had sent deviled eggs and pasta salad in his stead and I was pleased when his goodies were eaten with gusto. I think it's wonderful how my guy has blossomed from Mr Heat-n-Eat to an accomplished enough cook to whip up party-worthy eatables. Sunday was devoted to all things domestic and many adventures in housekeeping we had. Thanks to improper eating and hydration after a killer bike ride, Mick got a whopping case of the dizzies and almost fainted. Even after a good breakfast and lots of liquids he was cranky. He and Wolf went off to a local car show together and I spent the whole time fretting they'd be pissy with each other and come home expecting me to take sides. Mick's parents were supposed to come to dinner so we were cleaning and Mick got into an argument with the vacuum cleaner, which promptly quit working and stayed out on strike until I spoke with it and calmed its hurtsy feelings. A crashing thunderstorm rolled in and I hastily ran around shutting off the electronics, I just knew it was one of those days and everything would fry if precautions weren't taken. Then the new washing machine was installed and flooded the basement during its maiden load. You'd think I would have known better than to think anything connected with my idiot ex-husband would work properly. Whoever he scored this hunk of junk off of must be laughing like mad. Trust Mike to accept a broken washing machine as payment for a job. And then to foist it off on me like he was doing me this HUGE boon. Feh. So instead of a leaky rusty but functioning washer I have nothing. Go Mike! And a smack in the eye to me for trusting him like a dope. I added 'fix washer' to my endless To-Do list and am looking forward to the broken fingernails, scraped knuckles and screaming frustrated hissy fits trying to get that piece of shit to wash clothing and not make my cellar an indoor swimming pool. That is, after Mick gets paid and I can afford parts. GAH! Sigh…That tubby chick with the buzz cut at the laundromat for the next few weeks will be me, do stop in and say, "Hi!"
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