Hair - Not the Love Rock Musical - and With Less Nudity

Or more accurately; stuff you put on yer hair. I have been a major supporter of Sleek.look smoothing shampoo and conditioner by Matrix for about two years running now.


As is Glamour Magazine, obviously.


It can be found ONLY IN SALONS. At least, that's what they tell you. I don't usually like to point out when one's pants are on fire, but it can also be found in select beauty supply stores. And Target. And Vons. But, ya know, whatevs. I do the beauty supply store route because you can get the economy size for the same price as the heroin chic version found in salons. And Target. And Vons. And it lasts just shy of forever. Especially if you turn it upside down and drain the everloving life out of it. Until you have to accept that it really is empty and has just become a trash item in your shower stall.

But what's a girl to do when she finds herself out of shampoo and doesn't want to drive the three miles to the mall to get more? [It's not really that I don't want to drive; it's more like I can't walk out of the mall with just that. I'm too tempted to pick up a pair of shoes or a bag or a pair of jeans to go with my hair care products. And with the credit and debit card still smarting from Christmas; I don't want to give Mr. Farklepants a stroke. Because I'm thoughtful like that.]

So I tried to find a suitable substitute in the grocery store. Even though it goes against everything I believe in when it comes to hair products. But I did it quick. Like pulling off a band aid. And I went with the Bed Head Moisture Maniac shampoo. Fruity scent aside, I'm really likin' this.


Particularly coupled with the Joico K-PAK conditioner.

And the "silky hair that does just what I want it to with very little effort to beat it into submission" factor allows me to overlook its fruity scent. [Note to manufacturers: Try soap scented. I don't like smelling like a summer melon, thanks.]

Mr. Farklepants is not crazy about the shampoo. In his words it "feels like he never washed his hair by the end of the day". But he doesn't use the conditioner in addition to it so I can't be held responsible for his lack of enthusiasm to get behind this product.

*Matrix photos courtesy of Google Images

Now a Little Something From the Keyword Activity Files

I haven't checked the search terms in my stat counter that bring people to my blog in quite some time. And frankly, I should do this more often. That's just free entertainment, people. Let's cut right to the chase, shall we? **all typos and improper grammar are intentional**

1. Canadian Girl Doll vs. American Girl Doll

Now I don't know what image this conjures up for you but I picture a boxing ring. The Canadian doll wears a maple leaf on her chest like Superman's "S" and the American Girl doll is wearing the US flag as a cape. The American Girl is taunting, "bring it biatch!" and the Canadian Girl is all, "how did I get here, eh? What's all this aboot?".

2. Do bed bugs come from pee and juice on the couch?

First, ew. And then I'm going to wager - neither. And also? Wouldn't those be couch bugs and what's a bed got to do with it?

3. Fun things to do with your American Girl Doll

You mean besides boxing? Nine times out of ten they probably end up like any other kind of doll: naked and in compromising positions.

4. Do Olympic gymnast wear pads or tampons?

I think the answer fairly obvious but fortheloveofgod why would someone need to know this?

5. Vintage sex animation

Hey. Whatever gets your motor running. Who am I to judge?

6. If your 21 and still don't have facial hair is something wrong?


AND...

7. My daughters have facial hair

These two should talk.

And our winner:

8. Naughty Allie giving sweet whipcream humdinger


Naughty Allie doesn't live here but tell us more about this sweet whipped cream humdinger!

It's January. Dry Much?

Alternate Title: The Bathroom Cabinet Chronicles: Partie une (That's French for Part One because I'm fancy)

Ahem.

The middle of winter can be really hard on your skin. And here in Southern California the forecast is harsh:


Okay. But it's a brutally dry seventy-five degrees. And my skin has been all, WTF cracked and scaly? And Lubriderm is just not cutting the mustard. So I set about finding something with a little more...huevos. Something that could withstand 10% humidity and 13 MPH winds. Because, Lord knows, with weather like this, who can bend their fingers what with all the dry? Plus? A skirt coupled with ashy legs scares the kids.

Behold the vat of Eucerin! It's 16 ounces but weighs five pounds, just trust me. One tub should get you through the winter. Apply liberally to hands, feet, elbows, and the often neglected chest - because how else to get rid of those unsightly wrinkly betwixt the boob creases from side sleeping - and who knows what I'm talking about? Your eyes are not always the first signs of age; I'm just sayin. It's a known fact that moisturized skin appears younger - because that is what all the beauty magazines tell us.

Speaking of eyes, have you ever scrutinized glimpsed a picture of yourself and thought, what in THE hell has happened to my eyes? That's okay. You don't have to admit it out loud. And did you then think to yourself, it's time to build a weapons arsenal to go all daisy cutter on the offensive surrounding area? Well, so did I. And build it I did. To recap:




To any ancient Spaniards that may still roam the New World: The fountain of youth is not a well in Florida, Juan Ponce de Leon! It's aisle twelve in your local Target.

Another also? This is why it takes 45 minutes for me to get ready for bed - and we haven't even discussed cleansing the face prior to application of all of the above.

Join us tomorrow for our next installment... focus: hair.

Her Name Was Baby...

The Farklepants family lost a dear friend today. She was a member of our family for thirteen years this month.

She was Boy-Child#1's best friend.

She was my lone companion while the kids were in school and Mr. Farklepants was at work.

She loved underpants and had an ongoing not so secret love affair with the cardboard centers of toilet paper and paper towel rolls.


She frequently raided the pantry.

And the trash.

She enjoyed stashing prepackaged snacks into the corners of the sofa.

She was known to steal a roast or the Thanksgiving turkey carcass right off the counter.

She hated the vet and, in the office, would stand on her hind legs and wrap her arms around my neck whenever she had to go there.

She thought she was a lap dog. She weighed nearly one hundred pounds.

She liked to be in whichever room we were all in.

She slept in our room.

She liked to chase rabbits and birds.

She didn't like to leave the house.

She was often the thorn in my side and the straw that broke this camel's back.

She often slept on our beds when we left the house.

She always greeted us upon our return.

She enjoyed helping me do laundry, fold clothes, take a shower, cook dinner, bring in the groceries.

She did NOT enjoy helping me vacuum or blow dry my hair.

She was not a fan of bodies of water, rain, snow, or wind.

Cell phones drove her mad. So did air compressors. And vacuums. And hair dryers.

She scared the bejesus out of the pizza delivery guy. And the UPS man.

She was as gentle as a lamb even if she looked super ferocious.

Her bed lay empty. Yesterday's food still sits in her dish.

We were all with her in her final moments.

And there is a hole in my heart now that she's gone.

I miss you Baby. We miss you. May you rest in peace you sweet Baby, you.

The Universe Called, There's Been a Change of Plans

Today started like any other back to school after a long break day. Three weeks is a long winter break; and while the first two weeks were filled with exciting events like Christmas and a trip to Disneyland, this last week brought about a raging case of cabin fever for all three kids [and one mother who had had it up to *here* and who also likes to preach to the choir - can I get an amen?].

The morning was a balmy 75 degrees, clear blue skies, and a breeze coming from the north-east. I dropped two of the children off at the elementary school and then it was off to the junior high. Idling in gridlock traffic because - Note to city planner: Whose idea was it to situate the high school and junior high and one (not ours) elementary school across the street from each other with a combined enrollment of approximately FIVE THOUSAND?!?! With only one way in and one way out? So that it takes 30 minutes round trip to take my son to school only 1.5 miles from my home? - ahem... oh, yes...Idling in gridlock traffic I was silently berating myself for electing to volunteer in Girl-Child's kindergarten class for the morning because it would have been really nice to have the house to myself for the first time in three weeks, even if only for just three hours. Nice and quiet.

I've often noted that with the high volume of traffic I deal with on a daily basis each morning and afternoon just to get my son to and from school, and the number of fender benders I'm witness to; it would only be a matter of time before I was involved in one myself...

And who knows where this is going?

I dropped my son off and made my way through the circular drive and waited to pull into traffic. My view was hindered by a city bus depositing an assload of teenagers. I inched forward waiting to see if all was clear. I determined it was and cautiously accelerated only to have to stop abruptly when a car whipped around the bus, darting into my lane. The car behind me? Not so much with the stopping. There was the telltale CRUNCH and I was all...well...it rhymes with DUCK.

We got out to survey the damage and fortunately I only lost a tail light. And also fortunately the driver? My neighbor from across the street - boy did he have egg on his face. So once we knew who each other were, and he knew I wouldn't slap him with a bogus whiplash claim, and I knew where to find him when I needed the bill paid for the light; we were all - see ya on the cul de sac homeslice [or at least I think that's what he said since he speaks very little English. He probably straight up called me a whore in Korean].

Now I was running late to make it to Girl-Child's class on time and I was about as NOT in the mood to deal with 30 kindergarteners fresh back from a three week vacation as I could be. But, I'd made the commitment. I relayed my accident news to Mr. Farklepants and then jumped in the shower. I was in the midst of prettying up when the phone rang.

Oh, what. the. hell. now-uh?

"Mrs. Farklepants? This is the nurse from the junior high. We have your son in here. He took a nasty spill and hit his head on a trash bin in the cafeteria. He's got quite a... (insert my visions of HORROR here...blood? Gash? Spurting? Stitches? Brain matter?) ...nasty bump on his head and you should probably pick him up and have him see a doctor and keep him home for observation".

Oh. Well, of course. Because obviously this day is just a test for how well I'll perform once I get to hell.

Who Needs an American Girl Doll When You've Got These?

Remember way back in April of 2008 when Tootsie wrote about her Cousin K? Well, trust her - she did. And here is what she said:

Vanilla candles: No matter where I am when I encounter this scent, I'm immediately flooded with memories of spending time at my Cousin K's house, as a child in the 1970's. She's really my mother's cousin and has always been more of an "aunt" to me, but I've always called her "Cousin K" [there's more to her name than "K" but, you know, anonymity being what it is]. There are the copper bracelets she wore, the white four poster bed that I eventually inherited, the little Russian wooden dolls that opened to reveal a smaller doll and so on until the tiniest carved version emerged, the step down den, the fruit trees in the backyard, and the crazy jigsaw coffee table that I could crawl around in like a maze. You know how you can look back on your childhood and there was that ONE adult that stood above the rest? Yeah, it was like that. And, K, if you're reading this please will your copper bracelets to me. If they're still around. I promise to cherish them.

As noted, she is not Tootsie's first cousin, she is her mother's cousin; but Tootsie's family is not one to split hairs. So, way back when Tootsie looked like this:


...and indulged in such things as Magic Mountain African Safaris with declawed, defanged, drugged kings of the extreme petting zoo jungle; she also played with Russian nesting dolls at her cousin K's house.

Flash forward thirty-ish years later.

Cousin K came to visit over New Years:


(Everyone say hello to Tootsie's not first cousin but who is concerning themselves with lineage anyway - Cousin K!)

And Tootsie's not first cousin but who is concerning themselves with lineage anyway - Cousin K brought with her THE Russian nesting dolls. Not "some" but The. Same. Exact. Ones. If you don't know what the hell Tootsie is talking about she will walk you through the explanation step-by-step, ahem:

A little wooden doll with a secret. And that secret is inside.


What the?!?... Surprise!


And that secret has a secret.

But wait! There's more! If you act now, that secret within a secret is harboring a - you guessed it - secret of ITS own. If you're as fascinated confused as Tootsie was then it's helpful to name them.

And finally, Pickles Larue reveals the final secret in this simple complex journey through toys manufactured in the former USSR: Gorky Puddin-Pie.


...You want to know something super special? With all of her fancy baby dolls, and My Little Ponies, and advanced technological toys; Tootsie's Girl-Child is just as in awe of the Russian nesting dolls as Tootsie was herself. Thirty-ish years ago.