Gym
▪    Wear something light to stay cool.
▪    Wash your gym clothes once a week.
▪    Take a sink shower if the showers freak you out.

H

Hallways
▪    Beware of “The Reverse Commute”.
▪    Find alternate routes if you have a reverse commute.
▪    You can talk to friends (or that special someone), but make it snappy.
▪    Never get caught running or without a pass.
▪    Try not to get caught kissing your Boyfriend or Girlfriend

Bad Hair Days
▪    For guys, hats hide grease, grime and fleas.
▪    For girls, scrunches and clips can tame the wildest mane.
▪    Get a hair cut if it’s untamable.

I
J
K

L

The Library
▪    Don’t wait to get to the library.
▪    Can’t find a book? Find out who has it.
▪    The library isn't just for checking out books You can also make friends in the library.

Lockers
▪    Keep it clean.
▪    Be courteous and friendly to neighbors.
▪    Sit closest to the door to get to your locker faster.
▪    Use the one - turn.(preset the first two locker numbers)
▪    Try to keep it organized so you could get your stuff faster

Lunch
▪    Check school lunches that are posted on school bulletin boards and online.
▪    If you don’t like your lunch, trade it.
▪    Get in line early and buy for friends.
▪    No food or money? Make an instant pot-luck with friends.

M

Math
▪    Be positive, believe in yourself.
▪    Ask questions right away, don’t wait!

▪    Study group + friends = No Math anxiety.

Money
▪    Need cash fast? Try babysitting, pet care and cleaning services.

▪    Know what and when you’re getting paid.
▪    Hard work always pays off.

N
School Newspaper
▪    Not a writer? Not a problem. Learn on the school newspaper.
▪    Get your friends to help out.

Nicknames
▪    Let people know it hurts.
▪    If you’re stuck with a super bad nickname, tell the Vice Principal.
▪    Be cool and ask why.

Notebooks
▪    Take neat, easy to read notes.
▪    Copy your notes into a second notebook, rewriting will help you memorize it.
▪    You should always keep a pencil or pen with your notebook
▪    If your teacher repeats it, underline it; odds are it'll be on the test.

Notes
▪    listen carefully
▪    Use the cellphone to record but don’t turn on the ringer.
▪    take neat notes

Glick!

Friday: The US Senate Ladies Auxilliary Luncheon

"...The US Senate’s Ladies Auxilliary met on Tuesday to discuss women’s issues.  A luncheon of chicken salad, tea sandwiches (no crusts!) and sparkling lemonade followed the discussion and the event finished with a demonstration on scrapbooking campaign memorabilia.

In attendance were Senators Diane Feinstein (CA), Barbara Mikulski (MD), Amy Klobuchar (MN) and Barbara Boxer (CA).  Senator Claire McCaskill, the very junior senator from Missouri called the event to order and represented the Ladies Outreach Volunteers of the Obama campaign.  Senator Hillary Clinton (NY) whose campaign themes were represented at the meeting, was not in attendance.

All were in agreement that the topics under consideration were very important to women but no action items were proposed at this time.  Among the issues of greatest importance were, ensuring that women receive equal pay; keeping jobs in America; making healthcare more affordable; providing benefits for military veterans; and protecting the environment.  For the last item, a garden party was proposed for the next event with container gardening as the theme.

The subject of abortion was tabled until after the election as some of the ladies felt it was impolite and could be seen as offensive to some constituencies.

The group also discussed their plans for Denver and volunteers were recruited to hang the crepe paper bunting.  The colors chosen for this year’s festivities were coral, ocean and sand.  A cookie walk has been scheduled in July to raise funds for the materials.  A vote was taken as to whether Senator Clinton should give a speech prior to the coronation of Senator Obama.  The majority of the attendants thought that she should but that it might be a better idea for her to narrate the 15 minute film tribute to Senator Obama’s life and the achievements of his career.  Senator McCaskill suggested that this might be a splendid opportunity for Senator Clinton to apologize to Senator Obama for running but this suggestion did not carry the day.  Senator Lincoln (AR) thought that a sincere and polite, hand written note on personal stationary would be more appropriate than a public apology.

Senator Cantwell (WA) took meeting minutes and when finalized, will send a copy of the action items to the regular Men’s Senate for approval.  The meeting was adjourned and all in attendance agreed that the scrapbooks make lovely coffee table decorative accessories..."

...all in the same day~

Yeah-pull my hair baby-just not too hard, it's been through a lot...it may come right out.

This story is old now-a lot has happened since.

My hair is now "throw dimes at me blonde",

I have had another lawn accident

Hey, at least I'm still not a slut. It pays not to take my doctor's advice. I am herpes free for one. That and I didn't have a lot of explaining to do when Mr. Take My Breath Away showed up unannounced a couple of weeks later.

That day, I started out with high hopes. I was gonna get rid of my haircut that had developed a bit of mulletitude, have some highlights done....and get some yard work done to boot. (with my new highlights...shining in the sun. Who knew...maybe the evening would get more interesting from there, it could not have gotten any duller than the past few weekends had been.)

Here's how it went.

The mulletitude DID go away once the back was trimmed. Instead of highlights/lowlights...my hairdresser attempted to color it. "Let's try some color!" she had said, in her perky voice. (probably because it was EASIER and less TIME CONSUMING than foils.) I have boring, sandy colored hair to begin with...BUT it has many shades that make it this way, from a few left-over practically platinum ones from childhood to some that have a darker golden hue. Dye + that apparently equaled ORANGE on those strands. I didn't notice in the salon-probably due to the lighting in there.

I left and headed straight to my lawn. It was actually nice outside. Perhaps my skin would not look like winter-death after a few hours outside. Well...that was short-lived. I had a "lawn accident". Serious enough that I had to visit the doctor. So much for my afternoon in the sun.

When I got into my car, I looked into the rear view mirror-THAT is when I noticed the afternoon sun shining off the top of my head. The top was ashy blonde to orange...the bottom, light blonde. Nice.. I wanted to cry. This is a lot different than my closet dream of jet black hair with dark blue highlights. This sucked...royally. It was like a layer of orange on top of Malibu Barbie blonde...and I had a "medical emergency"

There is a quandary for ya' ....medical emergency vs. hair disaster with the weekend approaching. For a moment, I was glad there was a 90% chance of not having my thong torn off by way of a much younger, smokin' hot guy's teeth later on that night. *sigh* memories.... but I digress.

Off to the doc I went. I signed in and didn't have to wait long. Who wants to be there, late on a Friday afternoon? No one. Most people are probably home, getting ready for their real lives to begin. Everyone, that is but me and my trashy hair and my injury. After my doctor patched me up, I pointed out my hair. WHY? No idea. I guess I was feeling self conscious. Maybe I was hoping he could fix it. I dunno. I was despondent.

"It's not so bad honey-I hardly noticed, it looks fine to me"

That was NOT encouraging at all, I'd seen his wife. "Thanks a lot" I said

"So what are your plans for tonight..? Hair all done, you're all fixed up here and good to go"

"Probably go home and finish my yard"

"You are NOT-every time you are in here, I ask and you say you have no social life...GET ONE"

...if he only knew....what had become of my sorry-assed attempt at a social life

I had nuttin. I was standing at the door to the treatment room, trying to leave...

"Here's what you do" he said.

OMG-my doc was acting out how to pick up a one night stand! *exact words of my doctor as he nudged me with his elbow* "Hey Paul, here's my number, you're kinda hot-why don't you come over, give me a scream or two, then you're free to go, no questions asked"

wtf? *what comes outta my mouth?* "He's gotta be under 35-and it can't be a random guy"

"WHY?"

"I dont sleep around-especially with random strangers" I told him. (why the hell was I feeding this discussion?)

"I mean why under 35?"

"I've never gone out with anyone older than that in my life" (Truth be told-before thong tearing, tongue ring wearing, Mr. Take My Breath Away..., .I had not dated since I WAS 35) Just a technicality.

"Well okay-but you need to get out more, you should start tonight, doctor's orders"

WTF? I'd just been ordered to have random sex by my doc. Why? He running a special on Valtrex or something? I was going to go home, be depressed and do nothing. It had become my routine while trying to break the "Ashton habit"

Why did he say that to me? It bugged me. All the way home...truth be told, it creeped me out a bit. The entire acting out thing...just eww. Freak magnet am I.

It had to have been the hair. He was lying. He had to have noticed it.

I may not have ended up looking like Malibu Barbie that day-but I sure as hell was not the STD infested Bratz Doll he had mistaken me for either.

I think my hair color that day resembled an imitation, dime-store Barbie's. The ones you could buy for 75 cents. Remember them? They usually came without clothes and were treated a bit more roughly than the real Barbies. You could pull their cheap hair, dress them up however you wanted and bend them all sorts of ways.

Oh just great. d- the kinky, dime-store Barbie who dresses up for you and likes it rough. Maybe that's why Mr. Take My Breath Away came back for a visit. ;)

*scuffle-hoe this...ya'll know I have better stories* that should be left untold as well.

Some feel the heat and decide that they can’t go on… ”

~ Robert Palmer, ‘Some Like It Hot’ lyrics

I grew up hating my hair.  I grew up embarrassed because I had a fro and I was constantly teased because of my hair.  In my mid-twenties, after several years of finally getting it to grow long (to my waist), I cut it all off again… and chemically straightened my naturally curly hair.

And I hated it.

I cried.

And cried some more.

For many months.

I cried.

All I wanted was my curly hair back.  I have never wanted anything more than at that time.  And I have come to LOVE my curly hair.  That was 8 years ago.  It’s taken me a long time to get ride of the damage I did to my hair when I chemically straightened it.  And having a very tight ringlet… it’s hard to grow it long.  You don’t realize how long it is until you blow dry it straight.  And then it’s more than double the length it is when curly.  And – I have a lot of hair.  A lot.

Now… having curly hair is a blessing on many levels.  But it is a curse during humid summer days.  Especially in SW Ontario… where the humidex runs high on a daily basis.  That’s when the loose bun on top of the head or pony tail becomes your best friend.  Otherwise… you end up looking like a bad version of Diana Ross in the 70’s and cousin to Buckwheat.

Today is one of those days.  I left home for work today – it was all nicely put together – all cutesy and shinny.  Walked out my front door and BAM!!

I never walk around outdoors in the summer time without my supply of hair bands.  And I’ve given up on even trying to make my hair silky soft and supple.  I have a tremendous amount of hair.  I get heat stroke easily if not careful… and I am careful (in case a certain someone from THIS site decides to not read the entire post and use me as an example without putting all the facts out there before making a mockery of me.  I wish I knew how to remove an unauthorized link to my post because I would… Apparently I am not as open minded as she asks her readers to be… but I digress)

The humidex today makes it feel like it’s in the 40’ºC (110ºF ++) but add in the thickness of the air that you can cut with a knife… and it makes one hell of a day.  Having thick curly hair… is hell.  But it’s even worst for those who have health problems.

My dad is struggling with this weather.  He isn’t acclimatized to it yet.  And I worry about him.  I don’t like to see him struggle to catch his breath and get chest pains that aren’t going away.  And I worry about having asked him to move here with me – for this reason only.  Being in an old Century home – we don’t have central air.  Fans have become our best friends.  And I will be putting in a window air conditioning unit in his bedroom to make sure the man can breathe and have a room where it is safe for him to be in.  His chest pains have become more intense this past week with the increase in humidity in the air.  And the air is stale… immobile.  There is virtually no circulation … and it’s VERY hard on him.  I have warned him that nothing is worth it right now that can’t wait.  If he needs to just do NOTHING today so that he can breathe… then he will have to do nothing.  But we could be visiting the hospital if this keeps up… I believe that to be inevitable.  I’m just dreading it.

Yes.  Today the humidex is high.  Higher than it has been all week.  A week full of rain… and living in a very moist and fertile part of the country (between two Great Lakes), SW Ontario is very humid.  Period.  On a regular basis.  Today is the first of many high humidex days.  In fact, it’s now dangerous high – warnings have been issued for our elderly to not exert themselves, keep cool and drink lots of water.  To move is to sweat profusely.  I think we should all heed this warning.

And for the superficial aspects of my complex personality… to move, to walk, to go outside… gives way for a very bad hair day.  I’m glad it’s Friday.  But don't ask me to have a good hair day.  It ain’t gonna happen.  Not for the rest of the summer.

Beware ladies ... your hair has memory ... and mine is holding a grudge!!!

Having a great hair day or do you need extra help for your hard to control hair?  I got to work today and realized my hair was sticking straight out on the side.  I must have screwed it up when I pulled my shirt over my head this morning.  So, here's a little tribute to Good & Bad hair days...a poll to see what your favorite hair styling product is.  Do you use:

Hairspray, Gel, Mousse, or Bic Razor?

Ladies don't be afraid to chime in, but please don't be offended by the Bic Razor comment (unless it applies!)

What's your style preference?

I realise that it is generally not the done thing to pass judgement upon the hair styles of female pollies but when I saw Julia Gillard on the Insiders this morning I was struck by just how much her current coiffure looks like a dead spit for the hair style of Wallace's friend from "A close shave" so I just could not resist a bit of photoshop fun.

Really of the many and varied hair styles sported by the deputy PM over the last couple of months he latest has to qualify as one of the worst, Perhaps she has been taking style advice from the other woman who is close to Brother Number One.

Cheers Comrades

:roll:

A few weeks ago, Kate Nash played at my University. As  huge fans of her, me and my friends booked our tickets the very second they came on sale.....then I annoyed everyone for weeks on end by constantly saying 'Have I told you I'm going to see Kate Nash??!'

Anyway, she was amazing live...and she really seemed like a pretty normal gal (yes, she had been to Toys 'r Us that day)....but I only realised how 'I fucking hate men 'cos they're shit' she is when she performed a new song (which, I hope to God doesn't get released because it's A) Shit and B) Her mother will never look at her the same way again) called 'You don't have to suck dick to succeed'. I've included a little clip below.....it's not very good quality...but believe me, the live version wasn't much better.

Oh Kate, you used to be such a sweet girl!

Being a huge Kate fan, I usually love all the clobber she wears (I actually have a cardigan which has cute heart buttons on which I call my Kate Nash cardigan, absolutely ridiculous)

As you can see, she doesn't usually scrub up too badly:

Fit hair: Check

Beauuuutiful clothes: Check

But at this concert she looked like she'd been dragged through a bush for about six miles, then came back to Lincoln and back combed it a bit more! And don't get me started on the tribal make-up...

I don't want to criticise Kate anymore because I love her, but she really let go that night in terms of the old outfit.....a bogey coloured floral dress and dirty leggings...it's a gig, dress up woman!

But what she lacked in outfit and hair, she made up with visual props. Her set was stunning! It looked a bit like a living room, I felt like I wanted to pop my slippers on a get comfy. Given the 'personal nature' of her songs (as seen above!) the set suited her well. Lots of cosy lighting and the band stayed quite close together rather than spreading out on the stage.

And she also had a fantastic support band (which I wished I'd paid more attention to now instead of rearing my head above the crowds going 'Can anyone see Kate?', 'Where is she!? What could she possibly be doing!?' ) called The Black Kids.
Having downloaded them after the concert I can't get enough of them. Jonathan Ross played their new single 'I'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you' on his show on Saturday and when you're played by JRoss, you've obviously hit the bigtime haha!

It's bad enough this poor sap has to go through life with a name like Billy Ray (can we hear the banjo playing?) but damn...

Who the hell told men that the mullet was sexy.

What psycho, mincing, whining, coke snorting fashion designer thought of this?

 And then there's our bad boy mullet.

And when our sexy, westie boy is not doing time for armed robbery or assault with a deadly mullet, he will be adorned in tracky dacks, flannie shirt and a pack of Winfield Red in the top pocket - yep, he's a catch. The sort of catch that John West rejects, but still a catch.

Now for our darker, gothic type mullet.

Kiefer, you're a damn sexy man, but not with this hair!

And I loves me a man that wears make up, but sheeeeeeeeeit!

What the hell was that?

Fuck me dead. Did anyone find the mullet sexy?

*shudders* That's just plain nasty.

So next time I start thinking, 'How awful it is that...', I'm going to turn it around into, 'I love how awful it is.'

I like to think I've learned something from this, but I'm not sure what it would be.  Maybe I  should learn that if it doesn't feel right, I should just say so, and go home.

Dreams:

I had these three dreams on three consecutive nights.

#1) I was responsible for watching my friend Elissa's baby.  We were at a large house party, for reasons unknown ... for quite a while, I was with the baby in a kind of sun porch, with a lot of white wicker furniture.  Then suddenly the baby was gone.  I hadn't let her out of my sight, and I couldn't figure out how this could possibly have happened.  I was terrified.  I went into the main part of the house to look for her; it was very crowded and noisy, and I didn't know how I'd ever find her, even if she were there.  I felt completely consumed by despair.  After what seemed like forever, a complete stranger walked up to me and gave the baby to me.   She was fine, and the stranger seemed mildly amused at my gratitude.

#2) I was traveling somewhere with my little weasel cat.  We were at an airport, and I had her in a cat carrier.  Somehow, the door of the carrier opened, and she got out.  The airport was very crowded and noisy, and I didn't know how I'd ever find her, even if she were there.  I felt completely consumed by despair.  After what seemed like forever, a complete stranger walked up to me and gave my precious bad cat to me.   She was fine (although still weaselly) and the stranger seemed mildly amused at my gratitude.

#3)  I had this dream after the date with Joanne.  I was going back to Oberlin for some unknown reason.  I was picked up at the airport by a black limousine and taken to the home of a professor; I wasn't sure whether I'd been invited to a party, or if I were staying there.  The professor was a woman in her middle sixties, and throughout this dream, I wasn't sure what she taught ... at one point I thought it was French, but then it seemed to be comparative literature, and then it seemed to be philosophy. 

The professor wasn't particularly attractive in a conventional sense ... her face was deeply lined, she was rotund and rather sloppy, and her hair looked like a rat's nest.  But the minute I saw her, I wanted to go to bed with her, so I did.  I felt completely at ease with her, and in the dream, I was amazed at how easy this was, compared to the horrifying date I'd just experienced.  I very seldom have orgasmic dreams, but this raddled old professor of God knows what really did it for me.  Either the climax didn't wake me up completely, or I went back to sleep and continued the same dream immediately afterward; but it became clear that this woman was married, and that things were going to get complicated.  I had to tell her that I was only visiting, and had to go back to Portland.  The dream ended with us standing in line outside a greasy spoon restaurant, waiting for breakfast.  She did try to do something with her hair before we went out, which was nice of her.

"You're next.", he says.

"Oh, shit.", I say.

This isn't exactly what signed up for, but I'm open minded and willing to try just about anything, so I take off my clothes, slip into the outfit that has been chosen for me, and put on a pair of Adidas tennis shoes I brought with me from home for the occasion. I allow a woman to take a hot, metal, iron rod to my hair and sear curls into a style -- it's not quite what I had in mind, but she seems to know what she is doing and what she has chosen to do to me seems appropriate under the circumstances. She butters my lips with some pale pink gloss, puts thick coats of mascara on my lashes, hangs big bubbly pink and white earrings from my lobes, then declares that I'm ready.

In the few moments that elapsed while I was being prepared, the interior of the space ship changed. No longer was it a frightening space, but rather a peaceful space lit with soft white light columns, a big screen along one wall and a comfortable place for me to sit. I sit and am soon joined by an alien. He's your typical alien, the type you see in all the typical supermarket checkout stand tabloid magazines -- big almond shaped eyes, loose pale green skin covering a thin skeletal frame, and an expressionless face on a head that is mostly cranium.

"Humm," I think to myself, "with a head that huge, he must be really intelligent."

We communicate telepathically and learn a little about each other. I smile and nod. He nods back. (Since his face is devoid of a mouth, it is impossible for him to smile back). We watch movies about planets and have a good time together.

I'm not at liberty to describe everything that happened during my visit, but my advise to anyone contemplating being abducted by space aliens is this: don't judge an alien by his gigantic bulging eyeballs, bald head, skeletal body, pale green skin, and lack of facial expression. He might be a really nice guy inside.

Confessions of Alien Abductions, filmed in Berkeley and Mill Valley, California is produced by IndigoFilms. The series will air in late fall on Women's Entertainment TV (We.tv).

I take a deep breath, then answer the phone. The anxious voice on the other end begins with typical pleasantries, a Japanese accent, and sounds more than a bit rushed. Beneath the attempted calm facade of the caller I detect a note of panic.

"Where are you?", I ask.

"In the studio.", comes the reply.

"What is the problem?"

"The synthesizer is broken."

[silence]

I feel adrenaline beginning to rush through my body, knowing I'll need to spring into action, but for the moment I remain seated, calm, but even as I listen and carefully take notes, I look at the clock and start to formulate a plan and calculate what is possible in the time remaining. After the caller is done, I assure him I will do all I can to help and will call him back as soon as I make the arrangements.

I grab my backpack, my phone, my keys and begin the sixty mile drive west. Through the valley and over the hills I drive until I reach the studio. I rush into the studio and realize I need help. I can't do this alone. I go to find a young strapping fellow that looks fit enough to help me carry out my task. Once found, the two of us head back into the studio together to locate the two keyboards that must make it to Los Angeles by morning. We load the equipment into my car. I thank him, then take off for the nearest FedEx location.

At the FedEx location I am standing in a long line of people each with little white boxes donning a cheery purple and orange logo. I notice some of the packages are letter sized flats, some of the packages are shirt box sized, and some are narrow and long as if they contain blueprints or posters or yoga mats. I also notice that I am the only person in line with two huge naked keyboards by my side. The fact that the keyboards I'm with aren't even in a white box with a cherry purple and orange logo makes me a bit of an outcast, and I see that I have become the object of curiosity to many of my fellow FedEx patrons who are staring at me. Always with an eye on the clock I ignore the stares and casually inch myself and each of the keyboards a few inches up in line every time the opportunity presents itself. Finally I make my way to the coveted spot of being the first in line.

"Next." says the FedEx employee behind the counter.

I inch the keyboards up to the counter and explain that I need to have the keyboards boxed up and sent to Los Angeles for a studio session where they are needed tomorrow morning.

"I'm sorry." says the FedEx employees with the white shirt with a cheery purple and orange logo.

[silence]

Apparently I've missed the deadline to get a package to L.A. by the morning, but I am assured that if I drive 45 miles south to another FedEx location and arrive there within the next two hours, I'll get there before their deadline for overnight shipping.

"45 minutes in two hours? No problem.", I say to myself as I inch the keyboards out of the store and down the street and back into my car and head south.

I arrive at my second FedEx location for the day. Again, I unload the keyboards, inch them into the FedEx store and stand in line. Again, I work my way up to the counter with my cargo and finally reach the counter to discover that I arrived with a whole 15 minutes to spare before their deadline to ship to L.A. by morning.

"Sorry," the cherry white shirted FedEx employee says to me, "we don't have any packing material large enough to package your keyboards. They are too big. You might want to try UPS down the street."

[silence]

So, I scoot the keyboards back to my car, again and head down the street to UPS. There I find a jolly fellow with a plain brown shirt who is pleased to inform me that he has packing materials large enough to pack up the keyboards and can have them ready in about 30 minutes -- I am relieved - but, he says he cannot get them to L.A. by tomorrow.

"You might want to try FedEx." he suggests.

[silence]

I tell him to pack them up -- I'll be next door having a sandwich and will be back in 30 minutes. While having my sandwich and cookie, I realize that I never even combed my hair before heading out on this adventure, then I contemplate taking the boxes to San Francisco International Airport and hopping the next flight to L.A. to deliver the packages in person. I finish my late lunch and walk back to the UPS store where I find two beautifully packaged keyboards waiting for me. As I pay and thank the UPS guy, he suggests one final thing.

"The regional FedEx terminal is just a few miles down the road, you might want to check with them before you head to the airport."

I thank him for the recommendation and load up the car with my two giant boxes and arrive at the regional FedEx terminal a few minutes later. At FedEx I am greeted by yet another cheery fellow in a white shirt with a purple and orange logo who helps me unload the packages and carry them into the building.

"Yes," he answers to my question about getting packages to L.A. "yes, we can get your packages to L.A. by tomorrow morning."

I smile, pleased that all will be well in the recording world tomorrow morning. All will be well.

The next morning I receive a call from Kitaro.

"Thank you. Thank you. Everything just arrived. Thank you. Thank you", says the happy man.

"You are welcome, Kitaro. You are welcome.", I reply.

I'm Cheryl Itamura, E.M.T. at your service.

Kitaro's new album, 'Sacred Journey of Ku-kai 3', will be released September 25th in the U.S. To coincide with the release Kitaro will embark on his Peace and Love World Tour in the fall of this year. This will be a tour that will take Kitaro to the four corners of the globe, shining the spotlight of his musical message on audiences as he inspires fans from around the globe to unite as one.

My first enthusiastic stop is to the costumer.

She smiles and asks, "American or TWA?".

"TWA.", I smile back.

She asks, "Can you fit into a 25 inch waist?"

"24.", I reply.

She hands me a short, bright blue, strapless dress with a thin satin sash.

"Strapless?", I ask myself. "Flight attendants wore strapless dresses?"

Apparently in the 70's they did.

Just as she hands me a lime tinged yellow jacket of the mini-trenchcoat variety and a pair of low black pumps, an escort whisks me away to the dressing trailer where I am to try my new uniform on.

Inside the trailer with the other flight attendants, I quickly slip out of all of my clothes and toss everything into a big pile. I remove the blue strapless dress from the hanger and slip it over my head and down over my body. The zipper is surprisingly easy to manage, and I zip it up the back.

"A little snug", I think, "but hey, I guess ths is how it was in the 70's."

I tie the sash around my waist and rummage through my bag for the nude pantyhose I was asked to bring. Once found, I slip one foot into the pantyhose and then the other, and carefully pull them up my legs. As I squeeze my body into them, I suddenly realize that I haven't worn pantyhose in quite a while and having this tight translucent casing clinging to the lower half of my body is starting to make me feel like one big giant breakfast sausage link. Sausage link feelings aside, I realize I'm hungry, start thinking of breakfast, and hope there are some decent goodies on the kraft table to munch on. Hunger and the temperature inside the trailer quickly rising to an uncomfortable high aside, I'm feeling good. I'm feeling really good. I'm having a good hair day.

Before I can seek out sustenance, I'm informed that I'm needed immediately upstairs in makeup, so, I rush up the stairs with the other stewardesses (70's lingo for the contemporary, politically correct 'flight attendants') to seek out the makeup room, only to discover that we are actually expected in the makeup trailer downstairs, next to the dressing trailer we were just in. I descend the stairs with the other flight babes (another 70's term I believe), and happen to catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a window.

"This dress looks pretty good with my hair. I'll look good on camera today. I'm having a good hair day.", I muse.

My makeup lady is pleasant and assuring. Gentle brushes of all sizes and shapes fly around my face as she tints my lips and eyes and cheeks with retro makeup colors and applies eyelash extensions. The extensions feel strange, as if a gang of flies decided to make my eyelids their turf on what is now becoming a very hot summer day, but this is supposed to be the 70's and I have to admit to myself that the ridiculously long sexy lashes do look rather good with my hair. I'm having a good hair day.

The next move I make is over to the hair lady's chair in the makeup trailer. Just as I'm sitting down, Alan Rickman (one of the stars of the movie and coincidentally of Harry Potter, Sense and Sensibility, Love Actually and Die Hard fame) sits down in the chair next to me and says a pleasant 'hello'.

"Hello," I giddily reply, then say quietly to myself, "boy, I'm really glad I'm having a good hair day!"

No sooner had this most pleasant little exchange occurred, before my hair lady grabbed my head with her claws, attacked my hair with her big, giant, hairy brush and brushed every iota of style out of it. She pulled, yanked and twisted my hair with such ferocity as if to masochistically train each and every strand to obey her commands, then with the bright bulb lights around the mirrors contributing to the already uncomfortably high temperature in the trailer, and before I could attempt to put her in a headlock and try to body slam her to the floor, she pinned all of my hair to the back of my head in the tightest, most severe (read: 'ugly') looking French twist known to man, and then sprayed the whole thing with a thick black hair paint. At least she told me not to breathe while she was spraying it, so I don't think she was actually trying to kill me, but she might as well have.

In ten seconds flat my hair 'stylist' managed to completely and throughly ruin my perfectly good hair day.

I hate my hair lady and I hate 70's hair.

"TWA, you are needed on the set!", I hear a voice call to me from outside the makeup trailer.

"Great. Just great," I mutter, "I'm coming!"

I don't say 'good bye' or 'have a nice day' or anything at all to Alan, who is still sitting in his chair with the perfect looking hair that his hair lady gave him. Mr. Rickman is having a good hair day. Jealous, I slink out of the chair and out of the makeup trailer, then slowly walk over to the set and drag my feet to stand on my mark behind the TWA ticket counter.

As the glaring set lights come up on my shiny, tight, plastic looking, black hair helmet I hear the director say "action", feel beads of sweat gathering on my scalp, and start dreaming of swimming though a big cool glistening pool of shampoo.

Bottle Shock is currently being filmed on location in Sonoma, Napa, and other picturesque wine country towns north of San Francisco, California. Stay tuned - coming up next, notes from a romantic photo shoot along the Russian River, E.M.T. and suffering for art's sake.

For most of my life I have known that I have a lot of hair.  People have always commented on it and hairdressers usually tell me that they wish their hair was this thick.  I have always taken that with a grain of salt because it is very, very difficult to manage.  I require at least 3 hair products if I am going out in public, and even then I look like a cross between Bette Middler and the Bride of Frankenstein.

So after much cajoling, bribing and general all around threats we get the aforesaid pictures taken and then the hubby takes the kids while I get to select our "favorite poses" from all the shots.

Ummm, I think they mixed up my photos with Carrot Top's. 

Excuse me, ma'am?  This doesn't look right.  That hair...it's just so huge...and what about that extra chin?  Can that be airbrushed out?  Ah, I see that for a small fee, you do cosmetic touch ups.  Too bad I'm so cheap.

I think it's time for a new do.