Red me up…

‘Had my hair done last night. I walked into the Salon - swish sounding but it's just a shop about a block from my house - and...let’s call her... Zoe …shrieked when she saw me. Zoe is the salon owner and she only ever fills in on rare occasions. I like Zoe a lot - except I refuse to let her cut my fringe (bangs(?)) as she always cuts it too short and I look like a five year old. She thinks fringes should be short and always says “what are you hiding from?” Nothing, I just don't want to pluck my eyebrows and I wouldn’t be me without hair in eyes. Anyway, she shrieked because firstly she had not seen me in ages and secondly my hair was its 'natural' colour and "bloody hell that really suits you,” she said. I know - who knew what you were born with was correct for you? I had gone back to natural brown for a while because I had run out of time to sit for a couple of hours to get the whole red streaks thing done on a regular basis. Anyway we discussed the natural look for a while before we both agreed to slather my hair with intense red dye and foils once more. Actually Zoe wanted me to go blonde but I just wasn’t feeling blonde....you have to be don’t you?

One of the many things I like about Zoe is that she can talk non stop in a breathless way and she looks all agog and sprinkles the conversation with 'oh shut up' when she thinks something is amazing. She was appalled when I told her how I dry my hair at the gym after a shower before going to work. "Oh shut up- you do not!" Well, shut up I do. You know the automatic hand dryers that blow warm air? I turn the nozzle around and use that ala Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan - well, it's the same principle isn’t it as a blow dryer.

Zoe has a never ending chocolate supply that we all munch on and she provides wine and beer as she wanders around cutting and colouring. Basically we're all happy and drunk. One thing about Zoe. She thinks she is a great painter. She's not - her artwork is...well...um...I like to call it challenging. She likes that description. It's one that could mean anything and frankly trying to think about something nice to say about her work is a challenge. I try not to drink much wine while I'm there just in case I become suddenly truthful and blurt out how I really feel about her paintings – which adorn the shop. But I guess it's all about beauty being in the eye of the beholder isn't it?

www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

What the???

OMG…eye roll…I think I have mentioned my neighbour across the street. He’s the one with hair past his shoulders and he never, ever seems to wear a shirt. He is always bare-chested. No, it ain’t pretty. Anyway, it’s winter in OZ. I find it cold. I went to roll down the roman blinds just now and there he was – bare chest, in jeans and wearing a beanie (knitted woollen cap) on his head. Yes, what a sight. He saw me at the window and I started to laugh. I have a horrible feeling he thought that was a smile of interest from me as he smiled back…god help me…I ain’t going to happen beanie boy – and yes, looks are not important but I require some basic level of sanity in my men.

So what am I blogging about today? Hair…no, not because beanie boy has hair past his shoulders…no, this is about women, hair and age. Have you noticed the older you get the more preoccupied with hair you become? And are you sick of it?

I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows-- Janette Barber

When I hit 40 I was okay with that. I get better with age. I expect to be fantastic at 50 and fabulous at 60. The one thing I wasn’t okay with tiny little, annoying hairs that started to appear on my chin and upper lip. What was that about? Up until then I had been genetically lucky. I had not had to do the waxing, bleaching thing – but suddenly the odd black hair appeared. Huh? So you get rid of it then suddenly you notice as the years pass by more facial hair appears. Your hormone levels are good. You could be the poster child for PMS so there’s no worry about excess testosterone. Then suddenly your friends have the same problem with the hair thing. Why facial hair? Is this some cosmic frigging joke? I just feel that as women we have enough to deal with without hitting a certain age and then God or whatever deity you believe in, goes “Bugger it, we’ve toyed with her insides, now let’s give her a beard and moustache. Let’s see how she deals with that.” Were periods not enough to stick us with? Was menopause just because it seemed like a good idea, Cosmos? Now it’s hairy upper lips and chins? Why?

Wax on... wax off. Wax on... wax off --Karate Kid

And have you noticed that if you let the hairs on your chin grow, and maybe beaded them as author Anny Cook suggested, they would grow thick and black – but the roots of your hair on your scalp only come in grey? Huh? What’s that about? Now you not only have to wax parts of your face but you have to think about whether to go grey naturally or touch your hair up. Women are not allowed to grow grey gracefully are they? Men can. They look distinguished. Women just look older. So you think, okay, I’ll dye my hair. But then you have to keep touching it up because you look in the mirror as you are tearing the hair off your face with a wax strip to see the grey growing back in on your scalp. So there you are wax on your upper lip, dye in your hair and still probably having the curse or in the midst of menopause and you think ‘what the fuck is going on?’ Men aren’t putting themselves through this crap. Is there some male deity laughing his arse off at our predicament?

Then you look down at your legs and see the forest that is growing there. I remember being a teenager and shaving my legs for the first time. Mum said,
“You’re going to be doing that for the rest of your life.” You’re not wrong, Narelle (it’s an Aussie saying.) So while you have to eradicate this sudden facial hair and deal with grey roots you have to shave your legs because while the hair on your head may be thinning, it’s still coming in thick and fast on your legs. Who invented women? What were thinking? Do you sometimes wonder if they were looking at the plans the wrong way?

And yeah, I know what you’re thinking – why put yourself through the whole wax, dye, shave thing? Why indeed? Be yourself. Have a beard, trip over the hair on your legs and who cares if boy scouts want to earn a merit badge helping you across the road because of your grey hair? Why do we care – or should I say why do I care? While I am never going to be a raving beauty, I want to look as good as I can. No, not for anyone else – but for me. I don’t want to be sitting somewhere toying with a stray chin hair or going to the restroom and thinking all fluorescent lights in the ladies loos should be banned because they show all the grey. I think, as a woman, I want to be comfortable with who I am. I don’t want a beard. I have the wrong facial structure for that and grey hair – it’s doesn’t suit me. As for hairy legs – I can live with them but sometimes you need to use those legs to make a point and hair free legs are excellent weapons.

So there – hair – can’t live with it and seemingly can’t live without it. Can hardly wait to see what other freakish thing the cosmos wants to stick me with…bastard.

I have everything I had twenty years ago, only it's all a little bit lower -- Gypsy Rose Lee

Off hair….I read two excellent e-books – Beyond Meddling by Barbara Huffert – click here to buy - and Tempting Tess by Regina Carlsyle – click here to buy. The things I like about both these books? The characters in each are real. I believed in them and their actions. I liked them. To me, that’s the mark of a great book. And the sex? Well, it’s hot, funny, sweet and it’s believable. Buy these books. You won’t be disappointed.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

A blonde Irish moment….

I used to work with this really nice woman called Pat. She was a character – funny, wise and sad. Anyway, any time she ever did something wrong she would always say she was having a ‘blonde, Irish moment’ Yes, it’s politically incorrect but in a office full of people who were all politically incorrect who is going to point fingers? Today I said to someone – ‘Oh crap, I must have had a blonde moment when I did that.’ Yes, naughty Amarinda. I usually say ‘I must have been having an artificially dyed red head moment.’ Anyway, this woman got upset at the blonde comment. “I’m blonde and I take offence at that.” I looked at her and said "you’re not blonde – that’s peroxide.” She swore blind it wasn’t and that she is "naturally" that white blonde colour. Yeah, and I naturally have intense red steaks in my hair – had ‘em since birth and my nails are naturally turquoise. Anyway, I said – ‘You have regrowth’ (as anyone who dyes their hair does.) Her answer – ‘That’s just the lighting in the office.' She was serious. Uh huh…I must remember that one. No, that’s not a bulge of fat – it’s the lighting that makes me look that way. Anyway this made me wonder – why do you reckon people insist that they are something when they are not? I have shoulder length mid brown hair. That’s me. I choose to dye it. Ethel, best friend, has brown hair but insists, and will fight you to the death over it, that she has naturally blonde hair – yeah, right…me too, Ethel. So what is it? Is it a case of trying to be something we aren’t? Are we wanting to deny reality? Is it a self esteem thing? Do we believe a blonde version of us is more attractive? Or are we just bloody minded and refuse to acknowledge the truth? As for political correctness – yes, we should think before we speak but I believe sometimes we have OD’d on PC.

Last night a tribe of African Warriors descended on my sleepy street and started chanting and banging drums loudly in a rhythmic way. I assumed that they were announcing a herd of elephants were approaching and they had to be loud to get our attention. I was in the middle of doing a final draft so I swore as my concentration was screwed. I stomped to the window and peered out. No - no tribesmen out the front of number 18. I realized it was the prick of a teenage boy next door. He is a horror - whiny and mean to his little sister – and nasty as to his mother. I am tempted to go over there and smack him in the chops to teach him some respect. He is just horrible. He reminds my of my older brother. What a horror he was. He liked to kick and punch and he enjoyed telling me, on a constant basis, that I was the ugliest girl he and his friends knew. Now, as a teenager with braces and freckles it was not something you wanted to hear and I believed him for the longest time. My mother told me her oldest son was an idiot and not to listen to him. But what do you do with kids like this? It’s not my business to go and tell this dear little soul next door to pull his head in but it annoys me he treats his family in this way. I am the sort of person who sees something and acts. It kills me to sit and try and ignore it. As for my older brother – we don’t speak to each other and I would hate to see another brother and sister go that way again – but you can’t pick your relatives can you?

When I was in my early 20’s I was working and travelling overseas as a lot of Aussies do. I went over by myself at 19 and set myself up in London. It was a strange city, I knew no one but that was okay. I was looking for adventure and I wanted to see how I could survive by myself. It was the best learning experience. I think more people should do that before that get settled into the blah existence of jobs. Why do I mention this? I have to deal with a twenty something year old in my job. She sees me as a threat. I can be if I choose to be but honestly I have no interest taking over her tin pot kingdom. Unlike Precious, my work is not my life. I know there is stuff that is way more important. I look at her and I think I was never like that at her age – and I believe that all comes down to life experience. She has none so she protects what she sees as important. I wonder what she will be like in 20 years time? I suspect she’ll be in the same job and fending off younger people coming in. No, there’s nothing wrong with that but it’s really not living is it?

I did something today that took a lot of people by surprise. I like to do that. Someone said “Holy crap you’ve got balls.” I have to ask why taking a risk equates to ‘balls’ and in turn masculinity? Women have been kicking men’s arse way back to Boadicea and beyond. I’ll know if my bold/pushy move is successful tomorrow…I let you know.

Excellent response to why people are changing blog templates all of a sudden – good comments on my blog, other people’s blogs about it and some excellent pissed off emails sent to me personally – quote by Author X - “Who do you think you are?” Response - Why I’m me…Amarinda…my name’s at the top of the blog above ‘Go ahead give an opinion.’ Emails – pissed off or happy gladly received night and day on amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au

So April fools day today. Who have you been a complete romantic fool over? Was it one that got away or is it the one you are with now? What is the cutest, most foolish thing you have every done in the name of love that is legal to speak about on a blog? Me? Not saying. I want to retain my air of bitchy attitude and mystery.

The gripper gals, and I believe there is a boy as well, are venting their collective spleens on the Oh Get a Grip Blog to prove to me they can bitch with the best of them…go check out what drives good girls wild…er…in the pissed-off-ed-ness sense. Then swing by Anny and Kelly’s blogs for revelations and ruminations.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?