Hair Raising

My sister got the good hair. Her hair is thick and dark with just a hint of a wave and grows at what seems to me to be an unfairly quick rate. My hair on the other hand is made up of delicately fine strands that take forever to get to any real length.

Crazy fly away hair
Crazy fly away hair

When I was small I developed an aversion to having my hair brushed. Because it was so fine it would constantly knot (still does). Apparently brushing my hair when I was a child was such an ordeal that my mother once lost her temper and hit me over the head with a hair brush. It was one of those hard plastic ones. It had a pink handle and white bristles. I’m not sure if it was a defective brush or she just hit me so hard that it broke but I do remember it coming apart and her being left holding the handle whilst the rest of it flew across the room.

Years later I think my mother just gave up. I'm pretty sure my hair isn't brushed here at all
Several years later I think my mother just gave up as I’m pretty sure my hair isn’t brushed here at all

I’ve had all different lengths of hair from a shaved head to almost waist length and there was a time when I wasn’t really sure what my natural hair colour was (my hairstylist assures me that’s normal).  I’ve always had to work to keep it under control. I am the grown woman you will see sporting a high ponytail  even though I once saw a tongue in cheek comic that stated the higher a woman’s ponytail the lower her IQ was (take from that what you will). I’m no stranger to pigtails or braids. Sometimes I rock a little Princess Leia bagel earmuff action and pile it up on either side of my head above my ears. Why do I do this? Well other than it’s my hair and I can do what I want with it (you judgemental hair police can keep your snarky comments about age appropriate hairstyles to yourselves) it’s just a practical way of avoiding “Hair-maggedon”.  It doesn’t always work though.

The other day I woke up and found a big clump of what I think was pine tar in my hair. The day prior I had been in the garden shed, my hair piled in a loose bun atop my head, clearing out old gardening pots and the like so I hadn’t been near any pine trees. You’d think as a mortgage paying adult I would have a handle on stuff coming into contact with my head but apparently I don’t.  I still have no idea why/how I woke up with a pine tar head but having lived with this mess of hair for many years I’ve developed a list for fixing this and other sorts of Hair-maggedon issues.

What it takes to get the job done
What it takes to get the job done

Pine tar or anything really sticky can be removed with Goo Gone (in an emergency you can use WD-40 but it’s really greasy) and then shampoo. Really bad knots require a lot of patience (frankly that’s a given for any method) a comb and conditioner. Latex paint that has dried will come off with a regular wash and then brushing the flakes until it comes out. Oil paint requires a solvent to remove followed by a wash and a good deep conditioning pack. Wood glue can sort of be scraped off but if you want you can soak it until it softens beforehand. If your hair catches on fire PUT IT OUT and then trim off the singed ends as they will smell horrid and look ratty. For the most part food items can just be rinsed out but there are some exceptions.

I don’t only fall victim to knots and pine tar. If I’m enjoying an ice cream cone at the ice cream stand it’s more than likely my hair will come into contact with my ice cream, drag over my cheek and leave a streak of dairy goodness across my sunglasses (you should never lick that off as it just makes a big smudge).  Campfire marshmallows are like delicious booby traps and I have multiple memories of waking up in the tent after falling asleep in my bathing suit (don’t judge me I was a child) with clumps of hair and marshmallow glued to my face.

Dale Keys knows what I'm talking about-
Dale Keys knows what I’m talking about

I sometimes have to pull my hair out of my mouth whilst dining in areas that aren’t even the least bit windy. I’ve tooth-brushed my hair right into my teeth and chewed my hair into my gum. Gum by the way is one of those things I very rarely can get out of my hair because the strands are so fine. I’ve tried ice and peanut butter just to name a few methods but depending on how much hair is stuck there may be no other recourse than the scissors. Many years ago I was dating someone and we were joking around. I spit my gum out at him and he responded by picking the gum up and mashing it into a tress of hair at the back of my head as hard as he could. Yes we were adults. Yes it was immature and again it was years ago. I had to cut it out. I lost a section at the back of my head that was an inch across and about 6 inches long. I was lucky it wasn’t right against the scalp or I would have had a nice little bald patch to grow in.

There’s an old saying that states a woman’s hair is her crowning glory. I wouldn’t say that’s true in my case …for me it’s more of a conversation piece.

Currently I'm a brunette which I enjoy much better than being a sun-streaked blond with "oh my God she should do something about those roots" accents.
Currently I’m a brunette which I enjoy much better than being a sun-streaked blonde with “oh my God she should do something about those roots” accents.








Music for this post

Lady Gaga with Hair

Hair from the musical ‘Hair’


All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love, love. Love is all you need…or a reasonable facsimile.

Every year a sort of whole sale slaughter goes on in my garden. Flowers and shrubs face an onslaught of hungry over sexed Japanese beetles that skeletonize foliage leaving only fragile ghosts of delicate lacy green. I’ve seen entire plants stripped bare, left to die in the heat of the August sun. According to Wikipedia the Japanese beetle isn’t much of a problem in its native Japan as natural predators keep populations in check. Here in North America we’re not so lucky. The plants that seem to attract the beetles to my yard include hostas, hollyhocks, snowball viburnums and corkscrew hazels. The beetles’ M.O. is to set up shop in these plants and fill their days and nights with snacking and shacking up.

Corkscrew Hazel

I decided this would be the year I fought back. An internet search was narrowed down to two popular methods of attack, each with their merits and draw backs. The manual approach is to place a container of soapy water under the plants and knock the beetles loose. The beetles are quite clumsy and usually drop right into the water and drown. Effective I suppose if you have twenty-four hours a day to sit in the garden like some kind of beetle chaperone keeping an eye out for any sign of beetle hanky-panky. The other suggested method is a Japanese beetle trap that uses scent to lure the beetles to their doom. The traps could be effective if used correctly but if used incorrectly might draw more beetles to the area. Given the mixed reviews I thought I’d try both.

I bought two traps but decided to only set one up. I had read how the traps worked so I already knew that floral or pheromone scent was what attracted the beetles.  When I opened the package I found the manufacturers had been much less euphemistic.  The outside packaging indicated I had bought a “Biolure Beetle Trap” the inside literature made no bones about it- I had bought a “sex trap”. I’m not big on the old nudge-nudge wink-wink type of humor. I do remember watching some of the old ‘Carry On’ movies on Sunday afternoon television when I was very young but I primarily recall being vaguely repulsed by the innuendo while enjoying the slapstick.  Still when I read Japanese Beetle Sex Lure (no biolure euphemism there) on the bait package and saw one of the ingredients was something called PEP well my brain did a little 360 and once it started it would not stop. It was wincingly juvenile and yet I just couldn’t (and still can’t) help myself.

Selective Advertising

The Truth in Plain Print

“PEP” Really? I thought…PEP? What was that? Some kind of Japanese beetle Viagra? What if I got it on my hands? Ew-w-w-w. Would beetles chase me around the yard? I told myself not to be so silly. I gingerly put the bait package down and picked up the little plastic walls that would form the top of the trap. The instructions said to “slide the vanes together at the slots to form a cross”. I slid the vanes together and in my head a little voice whispered scissor together. This thought was immediately followed by an intense self-irritation manifested through my aware interior voice answering that whisper with an “OMG REALLY???” Did you really just think that? WHERE did that come from?  But it didn’t stop there. To my chagrin everything about the process seemed to engage the formerly unknown juvenile that hitherto had resided silent in my head. I tried to be careful when I peeled the cover off the bait package. I tried not to get it on my skin but I couldn’t avoid smelling it because it smelled really strong. A-a-a-a-a-ah I didn’t want to smell it but I couldn’t help it! The voice inside my head said that’s what Japanese beetle sex smells like. Some part of me acknowledged that, as if I would need to know it sometime in the future.  Will that be the answer to some long far off crossword puzzle clue? Will I meet an entomologist someday and need a topic to make small talk about? Ugh why would I do that? Talk bug sex talk with an entomologist. They might think I was making some sort of overt pass at them. If you’re curious I can tell you that it smelled like cloves. There, now you can make bug sex small talk with an entomologist. There’s some underlying pheromone thing going on (that’s how it works for people too) but to my very human nose it smelled like my kitchen when I’m making spiced coffee cake.

Setting up the trap wasn’t rocket science and before too long the bag hanging below (see there it is again) was full. There is a bug bordello in my backyard that smells like spice cake and I am the bug bordello Madame. I get that it smells all sexy (Love for sale, appetizing young love for sale) but it doesn’t look anything like a den of iniquity. Maybe the pheromones are hallucinogenic (Love that’s fresh and still unspoiled)  and the beetles hear a siren’s call or imagine they see the seduction of  will- o’-the-wisp fairy lights leading them on (Love that’s only slightly soiled, love for sale).

The disposable collection bags are just plastic bags with holes in the bottom so the rain won’t fill them up. The beetles don’t die right away. As a matter of fact by the amount of writhing that seems to be going on in the bags I’m pretty sure they are still doing it. Even in the throes of death they are still getting it on…orgy style (OMG will it never stop?). Each new addition to the trap is probably doing it right on top of the dead beetles that were trapped there days before. Maybe the new beetles are even doing it  with the dead beetles. Maybe they’re self-aware. Well that took a dark turn. Maybe they think the entire world is ending. It’s the Japanese beetle apocalypse. There’s nothing left to lose so they might as well screw. I imagine I hear the chorus of Ultra Vox’s “Dancing with Tears in My Eyes”. SHUT UP Ultra Vox in my head.

I’ve only managed to get rid of a dozen or so beetles by knocking them off the plants into the bowl of soapy water. That might simply be that there hasn’t been as many on the plants because of the traps. I’ve had to change the bag three times in the past week.  I think I’ve trapped over two hundred beetles. Holding a bag heavy with Japanese beetles I can see little legs waving out of the drainage holes on the bottom. I wonder why they don’t climb out of the bag. I think I’m killing them with sex. It’s a sexy, sexy, death, and then, Should I shake the bag? NO! Just put the full bag in the garbage…sigh… It’s like I’m arguing with a 12-year-old psychopath but not out loud because he/she is sitting inside my head.

Do you think a time out will work or is it too late?

Songs for this post.

My U tube search for music for this post was a hilarious excursion. Did you know Tom Jones has a song called ‘Sex Bomb’? I had to look up the lyrics. Though he was singing “infrared to see me move through the night” to me it sounded like “infrared semen move through the night” (what???) . I decided to double check just in case I run across one of those obscure crossword puzzle clues. I’m not linking to the video. I’m embarrassed for him. You can look that one up yourself. I found many, many other things that were funny both to my adult self and the wayward child inside but I digress.

I thought I would include the Cole Porter classic ‘Love for Sale’ as I used the lyrics above but there were so many good versions I couldn’t choose. Some of the runners-up were the Vengaboys ‘Boom Boom Boom’, Nazareth’s ‘Love Hurts’, Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get it On’ and Barry White’s ‘Can’t Get Enough of Your Love’ but I finally decided on the ones below.

Redbone’s ‘Come and Get Your Love’ .

Crowded House with ‘Into Temptation’.

Ultra Vox’s ‘Dancing with Tears in My Eyes’.

If you’ve never heard of the “Carry On” series you can check them out her .

Enjoy The Day

"In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it ‘Christmas’ and went to church; the Jews called it ‘Hanukkah’ and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank.  People passing each other on the street would say ‘Merry Christmas!’ or ‘Happy Hanukkah!’  or (to the atheists) ‘Look out for the wall!’ "
 ~Dave Barry, "Christmas Shopping:  A Survivor’s Guide"
Wherever you are, what ever you’re doing, do it well and thoroughly enjoy yourself.
Best wishes to you all!
L =) 

Ode To The Muse

I found this little poem while I was out crawling around the web. It’s by Quentin Huff and I hope that he doesn’t mind that I’ve posted it.  It made me think of certain people here in spaces. So with a great deal of affection and more than a touch of understanding I present Quentin’s "Writers Anonymous".
Writers Anonymous: A 3 Step Program
[Step One: Resentment]
Hi, My name is Quentin.
I’m a write-a-holic.
I can’t control it, can’t curb
the urge to write.
I need help.
I want my life back.
[Step Two: Commitment]
I write poems on fast food napkins,
with toothpicks, using ketchup for ink.
I jot ideas for poems
on my arms and legs. When I run out of space,
I use my shoes.
I make motions
similar to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk
when I need to erase.
I make up stories
while making love to my wife.
She left me. Who needs her?
She was suffocating my creativity.
I await submission replies
like an addict, hands trembling,
head shaking in disbelief.
Not another bout with rejection!
I’m manic depressive.
I’m happy to be here.
No I’m not.
I live for revision.
Instead of sex, I have poems.
I eat feedback.
[Step 3: Contentment]
As a recovering write-a-holic,
admitting my problem
has provided a much needed catharsis.
Joining this nurturing group has
(Excuse me, but are you going to throw away that paper cup?
That’s good paper!)
taught me to reconcile my past
and move forward.
Quentin Huff is an attorney, writer, visual artist, and professional tennis player who lives and works in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Tag I’m It


I have been tagged by Amanda. She’s living the good life over at Vida Bonita


You can visit her at


She’s a very lovely girl who paid heed to my whining and said it was okay if I did an abbreviated version of this quiz. So with gratitude to Amanda’s understanding heart here’s…


7 Things About Nothing

Please substitute the number 1 where you see 7

 Deadly Something or An others….


7 Things that scare me:


Not dead people but the act of metamorphosis itself

I know it’s coming I just wish I wouldn’t see it on the face of every person I meet


7 things I like:

Like not love right? I like books…not just reading them, but the way they look, the way they smell.  I want to own books just for the sake of owning them. The older the better. I’m a book junky and I get my fix whenever I can.


7 important things in my room:

The light. It’s not good to sleep in the dark….


7 random facts about me:

There is a boy on my son’s football team that thinks I’m attractive…sort of gross I know but it is random. He’s really weird about it…saying hello and standing over me while an awkward silence ensues.


7 things I plan to do before I die:

See the pyramids. Mexico or Egypt… either would be fine but both would be better


7 Things I can do:

Make something out of nothing. Be it the kitchen, the shop or an argument trust me I can make something out of nothing.


7 things I can’t or won’t do:

Kill an animal. I know I’m a hypocrite. I love a steak but if I had to kill the cow I would pass. PETA should shun me as a lost cause.  


7 things I say the most:

Look you don’t have to say “Sorry” just don’t do it anymore. The dog thinks I’m an idiot when I say this to her.


7 celebrity crushes:

Johnny Depp (a la Benny and Joon) is pretty hot but I have to say John Goodman. I love a man with a sense of humour who can eat ‘cuz I like to laugh and I like to cook (someone’s got to eat all that food and it’s not going to be me!)


7 people I tag to do this:

Anybody who wants to do it really


And that’s it. It isn’t what you really need to know about me. The most important thing I can tell you “That’s really about nothing” is that I am crazy about Rice Krispies squares. Not the kind that you buy already made in the individually wrapped packages. I’m nuts for the home made too much butter, vanilla from Mexico, extra gooey because you used too much marshmallows kind. I like to go in the kitchen and cut myself a one inch by one inch square piece because I’m trying to show some restraint. Then it’s just one more “small” piece and then one more…it never ends. It’s too sad how those little golden squares reduce me to a quivering mass of desire…sigh

Because I love my sister

My sister has asked that I fill out this quiz and because I love her I will do it but I think that she is a big poo. I will try to make things difficult by inflicting this on at least one person who will be irritated at HER for the whole sordid affair. 





Three Things Quiz


1. Harlequin

2. Ticky tocky

3. Private Lopez (don’t ask)



1. I am terribly tormented.

2. I am emotional unstable she said with a Cheshire grin

3. I am extremely demanding of myself. 



1. Ditto

2. Ditto

3. Ditto



1. French Canadian Newfie

2. Ukrainian

3. Crazy woman (they run in the family)


1. Failure

2. Success

3. Myself


1. Solitude

2. Coffee..don’t care if it’s instant

3. Music



1. I’m not wearing 3 things does a scrunchie in your hair count? 





1.  Audioslave

2.  Damien Rice

3.  Gillian Welch


1.  Going to bed before 8 am

2.  Finally getting my act together and opening my studio

3.  Travel travel travel



1. Utter and total capitulation

2. Utter and total rebellion

3. The complete opposite of comfortable and boring

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE: (in no order, it’s more fun that way)

1. I didn’t get my driver’s licence until I was 26.

2. I have been to Europe.

3. I used to bartend in a strip club.


1. Dark hair

2. Big hands 

3. His ass has to be larger than mine I am NOT sleeping with a guy whose ass is smaller than mine


1. ?

2. ?

3. Cure diseases…this is my sister’s answer but I agree with her



1. Playing guitar

2. Reading

3. Over feeding my family and making them feel guilty if they don’t eat enough



1. This is a family orientated site.

2. Ditto

3. Ditto



1.  Queen of South Western Ontario

2.  The next "It" girl

3.  How about the next Anne Savage 



1. Egypt ( Valley of the Kings)

2. Mayan Ruins 

3. The Mediterranean


1. Spanky

2. Darla

3. Alfalfah


1. 3 tattoos (all dragonflies, hip, ribs and shoulder)

2. Pierce my eyebrow

3. Make enough money so my hubby can retire from the job he absolutely hates 




1. Chany

2. The Man (my brother in law)

3. Nathin’s mommy



An addendum in reference to the August 14th entry "Lionized".
After reading said entry, my sister has done me the "disfavour" of searching through some old pictures to find this little gem. In case you’re interested…that’s me at 16 (with Telly Savalis and Orphan Annie), whiskered and flat as a board in my little catsuit and wig (there’s a cropped head underneath) living la vida loca. =@) 

A week’s hiatus

I am going on a trip
Saturday afternoon will find me on the road heading northwards.

There are books to be read, paths to be walked and shores to be painted. I will rest my feet in the cold waters of the western arm of the mighty Lake Nipissing and lift my face to the northern sky. I will sleep at night lulled by the gentle lap of water and wake in the morning to a murder of crows.