What Can I Say

What can I say, it was raining again, and my hair was too weird, darker than it should be which looks funny with my gradually  disappearing eyebrows.

That’s a family thing with the eyebrows. Some of my family members have no eyebrows at all to speak of.

At least I started out with some ..

Do you doubt me? There they are on that chick in the middle:

planning the prom at Somerville High School

I guess I was in my early twenties when that picture was taken.

When I was 19 they  were  DARKER STILL:

Me at Smith

(I know, I know. All I need is a mustache and I’m Tom Selleck in a wig circa 1980.)

But even my sturdy Irish brows are thinning now and the it seems the roses have  gone my cheeks as well. At the frame shop last month my friend behind the counter said, “Well hello! Your HAIR is so dark I didn’t know you!”

I mumbled something about how I told my  stylist  how I kind of hated the blonde direction he was heading in so he made my hair dark. But In the days just after he colored it even I could tell it was a mite TOO dark; just a mite too Morticia Addams. Plus I could sense small children edging away.

“I thin it looks better to have light hair around the older face,” she said. Whose older face she meant was pretty clear to me.

And so it was that I ducked into the salon last week and showed him my roots.

“So these are basically the color of old snow,” I said pointing to the half-inch of grey sprouting up from my scalp, “and this is, like shoe polish black, practically,” I added, pointing to the other 15 inches of hair. “So what do you think, can we look for something less dark that will diminish the contrast between the real and the dyed as the hair starts to grow in?”

“Sure!” he crowed. He’s waited for years to throw the whole Magician’s Book of Color at me.

And so yesterday with rain one again pelting down on the Ark we’re all bobbing about on in this soggy month of June,  he lightened it a tad, got out the bleach and the  tinfoil and gave me a kind of maple syrup with tones of umber base with streaks of Christina Hendricks Red.

Christina Hendricks: That’s  Joan Harris on Mad Men,  as I’m sure you know. You see the resemblance I’m sure? Uncanny isn’ t it? 😉

christina hendricks as herself


Get the Good Bra

We’re talkin’ the old days here, or we were yesterday. Back then I was built along the lines of Madmen’s Joan Harris, but it didn’t last long. Life has since sanded off a lot of that padding, which is fine with me.

I mean I’m not thin like the girl modeling the baby doll top from yesterday: the fattest thing about her is her belt buckle.  My situation is that even though I have been going to Weight Watchers for five years now I have yet to reach my lifetime goal even though we inched that goal up ten pounds to accommodate My Changing Body. (There’s a catalog with a name like that and it sets my teeth on edge. It’s for us older gals.)

If I’m skinny-looking at all I’m the keep-the lights-low-while-in-a-bathing-suit kind; the Skinny-With Cellulite kind and hey, why can’t that be a look?

But I’m not here to talk about my personal architecture.

I’m here to talk about bras.

And the best advice you can get about a bra is: SPEND THE MONEY. GET A GOOD ONE.

One of my daughters talked me into going to the Really Good Bra store once and then there was no turning back.

What they tell you at such a store is:

·         You may have all kinds of upholstery around your torso but what they measure is the size of your rib cage. They take that measuring tape and they s-q-u-e-e-ze until they can feel your bones, sunk under there like Lost Atlantis. They write that number down, take a glance at what you’ve got up front and come back with a bunch of bras that make you want to laugh out loud. They said I was a 32 bandwise, me, a person who has to head for the XL’s when it comes to tops.

·         The front of the bra has to touch your sternum. If it gaps out there, you need a bigger cup.

·         You have to clasp it low on your back for maximum lift in the front.

·         You have to bend forward way as you ease the thing on.

·         You can’t ever to put these babies in the washing machine and finally…

·         You have to come back to the Fancy Bra Store and keep buying bras there because costly as they might be, they certainly do do the job.

Save your pennies therefore. A picture is worth a thousand words, isn’t that what they say?

Get the bra that fits.

Always get the good bra:

Kill the Babydolls

See this look? I am now officially done with this look.

They ushered it in a few years ago but come on: We’re going to go back to wearing baby clothes? I mean this chick is skinny but most of us look like we’re in total baby clothes when we wear tops like this.

Or wait are they actually maternity tops?

Some of us remember the days when maternity clothes looked like baby clothes, smocking and all.

I look at pregnant women today with their form fitting t-shirts and think Good for you, kid! Let it show!”

Some of us are old enough to remember baby doll pajamas which looked like this.

And how about baby doll dresses? Peggy Olson appears in such a dress on Mad Men’s Season 5 Episode 7. She wears it to the dinner her boyfriend asks her to when she imagines he’s going to pop the question. (He pops the question all right only it turns out to be, as Joan later puts it, “Want to shack up?”)

It galled me to see her in that dress. Here she is getting so tough this season, drinking at work with the fellas and not batting an eye when that moron who does the art makes yet another reference to his private parts and now she shows up dressed like a child?

What was that in the 60s?

I’ll tell you what it was: it was an effort to infantilize us, make us into little sex kittens (minus the claws, minus the fangs) at a time when we were slowly but inexorably gaining power.

Nice try fellas. It worked, but only for a while. True, in the 70s we dressed like extras from Little House on the Prairie but then came power suits in the 80s. I’m not sure where we’ve gone since then; we can look at that another day. For now though let’s just regard these images and ask ourselves What on EARTH were we thinking? When I got married women 60 came to the wedding dressed like this! I was 21 and I knew enough to stay away from the look.

I was built more along the lines of Madman’s curvy Joan, so I stayed away from this look back in good old 20th century….

…So what on earth made me fall for it in the 21st?

The Week in Review

I found the bird who was flying all around my house over the weekend. She was lying against the window-glass, a soft glove of feathers on the  bookcase. Also point of information: she was never the same bird as the one on my windowsill having sex in public for the last two months and just about runnin’ the place. That one never came inside. This one was all over the house: went to the bathroom in the kitchen, the powder room, on my favorite bright red raw-silk sofa cushion etc…

Also, that isn’t really Gandhi in yesterday’s post. Gandhi is dead now. That is actually a statue of him next to me at Madame Tussaud’s House of Wax in London. I myself am not yet dead but when that picture was taken I had not yet heard about beauty products. I look like the scene in the first Batman movie where the news team is afraid to wear makeup on account of how the Joker poisoned the Gotham’s City ‘s whole supply.

Also, I posted the wrong picture of me looking down at my own chest at age 12 in The King And I . The right picture is up now if you scroll down. This picture, that picture: they both make me cringe.

And speaking of pictures,  another awesome picture of busty Christina Hendricks up now too.

Ok that’s it. Driving 300 miles now, meetcha at the second the rest stop….!