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11:45 a.m. - 2010-03-14
Rising need.

Everybody spring forward? Yes? Good. My time obsessed son set all the clocks last night before he went to bed. At least the house's public clocks and his own bedroom clock. My bedside clock is still off and the little clock that lives on my desk is now on the correct time, but this is only because I never got around to changing it off daylight saving time last fall. It'll take me a while to remember not to assume I still have that extra hour and that what the clock says IS the correct time. I anticipate many mad dashes to appointments before I get it right. I could do something completely absurd like set the clock ahead an hour so it's still 'wrong' correctly, but that's a bit too weird- even for a diehard eccentric like me.

Wolf's dye job came out fabulous. He's a bit disappointed, his hair is a gorgeous metallic mermaid green and I think he was hoping for something more primary colored. Crayon green. Booger green. Something obvious and obnoxious. I know when he gets to school though the compliments and comments will assuage any doubts he has about whether his hair is green enough.

Mid process after the bleach and before the green dye I was enthralled with how great his hair looked even then. I'd sectioned his hair and applied the bleach in wide stripes, heaviest across the crown and around his ears and doing a lighter 'frost' on the back. As is the chancy way with stripping bleach he ended up with strands that varied from pure white to pale copper. If he hadn't been so set on the green I might have tried to talk him into leaving it as it was. My own hair never, ever strips out that prettily. But forward ho, green it was.

We used Manic Panic's jar crème color in 'Electric Lizard'. The jar's label claims the color glows under black light. It might. Wolf is certainly dying to find out. However the only available place to check it out would be the poster section in Spencer's Gifts and that place is strictly off-limits to my child. It's not the beer and drug themed merchandise so much (though it's bad), it's the disgusting X-rated 'love toys' and 'gag gifts', emphasis on the gag. Ever wonder where those horrible penis head deely-bobbers, penis lollipops, and the rest of the blatantly phallic party favors foisted on some brides-to-be at bachelorette parties come from? Where you can score beer steins with realistic breast shaped sippy cup lids? Where your 14 year old daughter bought that glow-in-the-dark vibrator and those Hello Kitty ben-wa balls? Need a ping-pong ball gun that shoots them out of a life-sized vaginal opening? Yeah, buddy. Spencer's is the place. All that stuff plus furry hand cuffs, riding crops, lubricants that heat up, foam, and make your hoo-hoo taste like cherry flavored cough syrup.

After my previous entry you might be wondering why I object so strongly to the 'fun' merchandise at Spencer's. I'll tell you, the stuff is just gross. It's tacky and it's aimed at kids. Kids Wolf's age. Spencer's positions itself squarely in the 12-16 year old market and then sells sexually themed junk so gross, so awful, so distorting of what real sex is about that even a seasoned truck stop hooker would be repulsed. Spencer's is a total no-go place to my son and will be until he's old enough to get himself to the mall under his own steam in a car he bought and paid for himself. And/or has a master's degree, a real job and has made a down payment on his first home.

Ahhh, the funny ways of our sub-conscious! Yesterday we did all sorts of necessary evils like gassing the car and shopping of the most mundane sorts. This included a trip to Sam's. There's a few things I don't buy there, either because I dislike the brands offered or it only comes in such vast amounts as to be foolish. Those few items I buy at Shoprite and even as early as on our way home from Sam's I was plotting how best to get over to Shoprite today. Upon further rumination though I realized my want for a Shoprite run had very little to do with getting the dog food and the orange juice and had everything to do with sloping next-door into Rite Aid and buying that humongus sack of Brach's spiced jelly beans I'd seen earlier this week and hadn't allowed myself to buy then.

Hello. My name is LA and I am a spiced jelly bean addict.

For sure I like just about every kind of jelly bean, even the black ones. I could live happily if I never, ever, ever taste another Jelly Belly buttered popcorn flavored one though, those suckers are unbelievably vile. Sneaky too, in a Jelly Belly assortment pack they disguise themselves as coconut flavored ones and then spring to life in all their hideous glory when you bite down on them. Blarg. But Brach's spiced jelly beans? Heaven. Nirvana. Ambrosia. Every year at Easter time I go through this. The seductive lure of jelly beans is easy enough for me to overcome during most of the year, but during Lent when battalions of Peeps, and Cadbury eggs, and hollow chocolate rabbits with sugar icing eyes that stare with the empty remorseless gaze of assassins-for-hire appear on the shelves, so too, come the jelly beans. Intensely fruity Skittles jelly beans. Ridiculously expensive Lifesaver ones. Nasty, yet still delectable cheap-ass no name ones that come in cloudy bags with lettering that rubs off onto your fingers. But for me it always comes back to Brach's. Weighty Brach's, elliptical marbles of hard shelled sugary deliciousness with a satisfying bulge of jelly inside. The perfect ratio of crunchy outside to gelatinous inside. Add in the aromatic joy of the spiced variety and I am a goner.

And this is what I've really been jonesing for. Why I plotted and made much of the need for a new bag of Beneful for the dog and that low-acid orange juice that doesn't set a flame-thrower off in my belly. Jelly beans. An illicit jelly bean run. Like any addict it was necessary to hide my true need, even from myself. If in the course of my virtuous errands I sort of happened to go past my dealer's place and just happened to stop in just to say hello, not to make a buy! No, not me! I'm just being friendly! And maybe sort of kinda accidentally bought a huge fix, well, could I truly be blamed? I'd simply gone out for dog food! Not my fault I ended up with 3lbs of jelly beans! Really!

Oy, it's hell being a junkie.

On the wagon…for now. ~LA

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