Friday, December 18, 2009

Covet

I saw her again today at the bus stop. We commiserated about the face shearing cold. Her voice has a Spanish lilt. I sat behind her on the bus and stared so hard I got dizzy. She is the woman with

THE HAIR I COVET.

It's a kinky, curly mane, like mine, with a few different textures. She has a few blond highlights among deeper honey tones. She wears it all one length and it reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades. She never wears a hat. It's long enough that the weight of it elongates the kinks but there are shorter, curlier bits around her face. It has life. It lifts. It moves. It is a crowning glory.

I don't covet the color. Been there, bleached that. I want the length, the weight, the feel of it brushing my back and shoulders. I want the "mane-y-ness" of it. Derek, my rock-n-roll hair dude has similar hair that he wears in a plaited rope down his back. When released, it crackles with life. Boing. I want the boing.

It's like a diet, ain't it, growing out your hair? Fits and starts. Those horrible "Krusty the Clown" periods. The lure of gorgeous short cuts. The Freedom of the Bald--how I loved being closely cropped. I'm currently struggling with wicked hat head--the longer curly hair needs to be watered-down each morning, a miniscule bit of product applied, and then the battle between keeping the ears and head warm and the hair style intact begins. The headband and the right wind produce an instant mohawk. A full hat, a kind of Lucy Ricardo roll, like a shubbery around the head.

I can't actually believe I have had the patience, or perhaps it's just bone idleness, to let it grow so that I can have a little afro-tail when necessary and it does seem like a bit of a pipe dream to have the mane I covet. Maybe I'll tie it in with my new food plan--become a Samson(ia), losing weight, gaining strength, growing healthy hair, knocking down temple columns. Grrrr.

(Then botox, a few bits and pieces lifted, some foot scraping and I'll be good as new.)

Here's to our lovely, vain dreams.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

crankypants

I know this will be hard for you to believe, but I'm a little moody at the best of times. For the past two days I've been taking what will be a 10-day regimen of progesterone to jump start my menstrual cycle. I've happily not had a period in 6 months which is damn fine with me. But the endocrinologist (you know, that one) tells me that I'm not in perimenopause, even after all the steroids and chemotherapy, and that it's wise to stimulate a period to get all that stuff out of there. So I'm taking the damn medicine.

For the past ten years or so I've had a couple of days of PMS where I'd swing from weeping on the bus to coming close to homicide. Girls, you got to know what I mean. So it was with some trepidation that I began this drug regimen.

And today, PMS Jo appeared. Headachy, nauseous, and ready for bear. Grrrrr. But because I'm so well trained, I cover this monster with a veneer of politeness, sometimes icy, but never rude.

So a woman pushed past me to get on the bus. I gave her back my peel back the eyeballs glare (which is based on my mother's "horse eyes" expression which has been known to intimidate the most thuggish urban teenager). Then the impossibly jaunty pharmacist told me my anti-depressants are going to cost $97. "You don't want to pay $97, do you?" he said, jauntily, as he checked the price on the computer.

"Not today!" I responded jauntily, as the ogress inside roared, "I will tear your jaunty head from your jaunty neck, tie your jaunty Santa tie around it and use it like a yo-yo, you jaunty S-O-B!"

"Oh, it's a mistake. It's just $10!" jaunty boy skipped happily back to the counter. "Aren't you glad?"

Ogress: "I'm glad I don't have to make your jaunty wife a widow!"

Me. "Good news! Early Christmas present!" I reply.

Girrrrrrlllllll...

It was snow-raining at the bus stop and some teenage boys were acting up, spitting and talking loud. One of them spit particularly close to my boot. I let a little ogress out and he blushed to the roots of his hair. Why all the spitting? Do they have all have emphysema? Grrrrrr!

As I got on the bus, the same lady pushed tried to push past me again. "Oh, excuse me," I said, "You go ahead..."

Ogress: "...since you in such a damn hurry to get on an empty bus that you have to push me out the way, Witch!"

"Oh, sorry, sorry," she replied and coughed, a wet one, full in my face.

"Oh, sorry, sorry."

"That's okay," I said, wiping my face with my scarf.

Ogress: "...disgusting swine-flu spreadin', halitosis havin', guttersnipe!"

It's the duality that many of us live with, isn't it? The calm, cool, happening, stylish exterior, can handle anything, is calmer as pressure mounts, smiles at the most callous behavior, gives to charities, counsels friends VS.

FASTER PUSSY CAT KILL KILL!!

I hate hormones.