Big Hair

Big Hair. I've got it. I walked with Blair to the library on Saturday and found (or if you believe in a higher power, "was led to") a book called Curly Girl: The Handbook. Tagline is "More than just hair...it's an attitude."

Well, it's something. After reading it, I have decided to give a go to freeing my curls. All my life, I have battled curly hair. My mom and my sister both have ramrod straight hair and I'm forever envious of silken tresses that fall easily into place, or can be combed back into a ponytail.

Not moi. If there's the smallest amount of moisture in the air I frizz up like a puffer fish under attack. But the frizz is so noticeable because I try my hardest to keep my hair smooth--straightening conditioners, blow drying, straight iron, hair wax.  I'm tired of it. Plus, given that I run 4-6 times per week and my hair becomes drenched, there is just zero chance of flat hair happening this summer. And my hair is at the point where it's actually long enough to see the curl. (I'm aiming to grow out my layers enough to have--reach for it!--a ponytail.)

The book emphasizes no blow-drying and conditioner, conditioner, conditioner. It says it takes about 3 weeks for soft curls to really set in. I'm on day four. With big, scary, 80's hair. I'm going to try and tough it out though. Thank God I work from home because there is no freakin' way I'd try this experiment while having to go into an office each day. (I'm not entirely sure my buoyant head of hair would fit in a cubicle, anyway.)

Blair loves the curls, which is a plus/minus. A plus, because even on days I think I look freakish, he's admiring. Minus, because his opinion on whether or not I look suitable to leave the house can't be trusted.

Hair takes up way too much time in most women's lives. It will definitely be a focus for me in the coming months, but the goal is to stand firm this summer in the hopes that once I get some length and conditioner in there, everyone will settle down and start behaving.

Of course, stay tuned to this Big Hair channel for all your curly hair updates.

"Kiss My Kitty Butt" Home Game Sweeps The Nation

My friend Ed has two daughters, ages I think 9 and 11. He called me last night about six and I heard the screams and laughter of about 5 pre-teen girls. "Dena's on the phone," said Ed, and all the girls shouted a chorus of "HI!"

"What's this about?" I asked.

"The girls are playing Denaball," Ed replied.

I have no memory of inventing a game called Denaball, so I took the bait. "And what, exactly, might that be?"

"That," said Ed, "means they've taken one of their stuffed cat dolls and lined up on either side of the dining room table. The object is to push the cat doll past the players on the other side, and have it fall all or partially off the table."

"Uh-huh," I said.

"Well then, if you succeed, you yell, 'Kiss My Kitty Butt! " As he said this, screams of laughter came from behind him.

How cool is that? There is no greater compliment in life than to have a group of pre-teen girls--the harshest critics on the planet--embrace your vision of a world filled with "Kiss My Kitty Butt!"  I begged Ed to send me a picture of the girls playing the game, to post on the blog. I also asked for the complete set of rules, so I can post those as well. Then all of you can enjoy the home version of "Kiss My Kitty Butt."

I didn't stop smiling all night.

"This Shouldn't Hurt A Bit..."

I gave blood yesterday. I'm fortunate in that a church two blocks up the street from where I live holds a blood drive every three months. It's the most convenient thing to just walk to the church, give, and walk home.

The doors opened at 3 and I arrived about 3:10. Still, I was#8 in line. Not to worry--I'd brought a book of Truman Capote essays to occupy my time. I selected a metal folding chair at the end of a row and opened my book.

"Oh, you brought a book! That was so smart." I look up to the eager smile of a middle-aged woman. When she sees me look up, she turns to her husband and daughter on either side of her. "We should have thought to brought books! They should make books available. Books make the time pass by so fast. What book are you reading?"

Needless to say, I didn't get much reading time in. Still, she was sweet.

After the screening process (Have you ever had sex with an HIV-positive, gay, drug-using, tattooed prostitute who may or may not  have or been exposed to the Hepatitis A virus while living in Europe for longer than 3 months and reusing needles? Um... no. Not to the best of my memory.), I hop up in the blood-donating chair. The technician looks at my left arm. No good. He sends me to a chair on the other side to give through my right arm.

There are two women techs on that side. One is buzzing right along while the other, M---, hangs about shy and unsure, like the new kid on the playground. "Should I start her?" she asks the older tech, nodding towards me. "Why yes, honey," said the tech. That's all I need to hear. I have a newbie.

M---- had an electronic check-list she consulted every few seconds. Tape my blood bag to the chair--check the list. Swab my arm--check the list. It was cute how she tried to make conversation with me ("Where are you from?") while having to ignore my replies in order to focus on the proper order of the list.

She marked a vein on my right arm with purple marker. The older tech checked behind her. "Uh-uh," she said. "See here? This other vein is much bigger. That's the one you want. Plus, it's got tracks in so we know it's been used before." (For the record, I looked closely at my vein and couldn't see the tracks but then again, I'm not a professional.)

Finally I'm properly marked and swabbed. "Ready?" asks M---, pulling out the needle. She looks reluctant to proceed.

Oh God. "Ready," I said. "But I'm just going to turn my head to the side, if that's okay."

"Oh that's fine. It's better not to look." Oh MY God.

But I have to give Melinda her props. The needle slid in and I barely felt a thing. I told M--- she did a great job and she seemed appreciative. She shared with me how the day before, she'd gone in too far on a man and punctured the vein.

The only slightly painful part was when she withdrew the needle. I don't usually bleed, but my arm gushed blood for almost a minute.

And that was that. Blair gave blood later that night and I asked if he had M--- for a tech, but he'd landed with the older tech. Or maybe M---was just done in for the night. Until you really know what you're doing, that's got to be a stressful job--sticking volunteers with a needle. She did well.

As for me, let's hope I never get arrested for anything serious.

I don't know how I'd explain those track marks.

My Favorite Phone Call

Blair works for Hanesbrands and he never calls me from work. We're just not the kind of couple who chit-chats during the day. Work is work, and we'll see each other when we're home.

Which is why I was curious, yesterday, when I left a meeting and turned my cell phone on to see that I had a message waiting from Blair's work number. I punched in my voicemail code and listened to his message. His first words, delivered in a tight, tense tone, sent a shot of fear down my spine.

"Hey. Huh--you're not there. I need you to call me at the office just as soon as you get this message."

Layoffs? Sick relative? Worry raced through my mind. Why would he be calling? Then came the follow-up sentence.

"They're giving away wedgie-free panties and I'm not sure what cut or color to get you. So... call me."

Wedgie free panties? Wedgie FREE panties?? I almost crashed the car, I was laughing so hard.

I do so love that husband of mine.