It's so good to be right...
For decades, I've said over and over again, "I don't trust people who don't like sweets." I never found them to be very nice. And while "nice" and "trust" are two different things... mean people cannot be trusted. Right? Can I get an amen?
Anyway, several recent studies have proven that people who like sweets are more agreeable, nicer, and friendlier than those who shun them.
Singles, if you're out on a date and your potential beloved says "I don't like dessert," run out of the restaurant. You won't be sorry.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday Night Notes
Yes, I know this is Saturday, but these are my notes about last night. What happened last night? I went to a Meetup titled "Journal While Exploring Your Journey."
I love the woman who hosted. She is fast becoming more of a friend and less of an acquaintance as time goes on. She's bubbly, energetic, and very friendly.
She thought the New Year would be a good time to start journaling, and wondered if there were any others that might want to as well, hence the meetup. While quite a few signed up for it, only four of us (and the hostess) were actually there.
The hostess had taped an interview Oprah did with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. I have to admit - I didn't read the book. I did see the movie, and those of you who read a much earlier review of it that I wrote KNOW I hated it. The movie seemed so self important to me. Still, I had to admit that this was one woman who made journaling work for her.
So, after a bit of mingling, we sat down to watch the taped interview. However, before the hostess could hit "play," Miss Know It All decided to talk all about her experience with Eat, Pray, Love.
"I'm a writer" she started out by saying. I did everything I could to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. "I have had several email conversations with Elizabeth Gilbert." Well, good for you. Can I have your autograph, please? "The movie glossed over her transformation. She was depressed, had issues, was seeing a therapist, and had been on all kinds of meds."
Well. I'd like to say something sarcastic here - I really would. However, this was good information to know - even if it did come spilling out of Miss Know It All's mouth.
And it just went on and on. Every time the hostess went to hit "play," Miss Know It All just had to throw some more of her inside scoop in. Finally, she took a breather, and the hostess was able to hit the play button before Miss Know It All could vomit out more tedia. (Tedious trivia - my own word, which will soon be copyrighted, bitches.)
The interview was interesting. Yes, I still think Elizabeth Gilbert is a tad bit of a blowhard. That might be jealousy speaking, and I'll freely admit it. I mean, wouldn't I just love to be on some publisher's dime to find myself? Of course I would. Yet, I also admit that she had some interesting tidbits to share about journaling, asking yourself the hard questions, and finding the courage to change your course in life.
However, during every single frickin' commercial break, Miss Know It All had to pipe in and add commentary. It was getting to be VERY, VERY irritating.
At least to me.
After the interview, we talked about the interview, how it relates to journaling, and we also talked about meditation. Of course, when I say "we" I really mean Miss Know It All and the broad her brought her.
At some point, the woman next to me said, "Is this boring you - you haven't said really said much since the interview started." Um, maybe because every time I started to talk, Miss Know It All cut me off? And she did - every single frickin' time I started a sentence, she talked over me. However, as it would not have been polite to say so, I took a bite of my cookie (again telling: Miss Know It All wouldn't touch the cookies) and said, "I'm really just listening - I learned a lot."
I have to admit, I did get some great ideas and will start journaling again. I even bought something I can use as a journal at Target - and it was even on clearance ($2! - it was probably made in China, but if you won't tell, neither will I).
Am I glad I went? Yes. But I hope to God I never run into Miss Know It All again. If I do, I'll stick a cookie in her mouth so she can't talk.
I love the woman who hosted. She is fast becoming more of a friend and less of an acquaintance as time goes on. She's bubbly, energetic, and very friendly.
She thought the New Year would be a good time to start journaling, and wondered if there were any others that might want to as well, hence the meetup. While quite a few signed up for it, only four of us (and the hostess) were actually there.
The hostess had taped an interview Oprah did with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. I have to admit - I didn't read the book. I did see the movie, and those of you who read a much earlier review of it that I wrote KNOW I hated it. The movie seemed so self important to me. Still, I had to admit that this was one woman who made journaling work for her.
So, after a bit of mingling, we sat down to watch the taped interview. However, before the hostess could hit "play," Miss Know It All decided to talk all about her experience with Eat, Pray, Love.
"I'm a writer" she started out by saying. I did everything I could to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. "I have had several email conversations with Elizabeth Gilbert." Well, good for you. Can I have your autograph, please? "The movie glossed over her transformation. She was depressed, had issues, was seeing a therapist, and had been on all kinds of meds."
Well. I'd like to say something sarcastic here - I really would. However, this was good information to know - even if it did come spilling out of Miss Know It All's mouth.
And it just went on and on. Every time the hostess went to hit "play," Miss Know It All just had to throw some more of her inside scoop in. Finally, she took a breather, and the hostess was able to hit the play button before Miss Know It All could vomit out more tedia. (Tedious trivia - my own word, which will soon be copyrighted, bitches.)
The interview was interesting. Yes, I still think Elizabeth Gilbert is a tad bit of a blowhard. That might be jealousy speaking, and I'll freely admit it. I mean, wouldn't I just love to be on some publisher's dime to find myself? Of course I would. Yet, I also admit that she had some interesting tidbits to share about journaling, asking yourself the hard questions, and finding the courage to change your course in life.
However, during every single frickin' commercial break, Miss Know It All had to pipe in and add commentary. It was getting to be VERY, VERY irritating.
At least to me.
After the interview, we talked about the interview, how it relates to journaling, and we also talked about meditation. Of course, when I say "we" I really mean Miss Know It All and the broad her brought her.
At some point, the woman next to me said, "Is this boring you - you haven't said really said much since the interview started." Um, maybe because every time I started to talk, Miss Know It All cut me off? And she did - every single frickin' time I started a sentence, she talked over me. However, as it would not have been polite to say so, I took a bite of my cookie (again telling: Miss Know It All wouldn't touch the cookies) and said, "I'm really just listening - I learned a lot."
I have to admit, I did get some great ideas and will start journaling again. I even bought something I can use as a journal at Target - and it was even on clearance ($2! - it was probably made in China, but if you won't tell, neither will I).
Am I glad I went? Yes. But I hope to God I never run into Miss Know It All again. If I do, I'll stick a cookie in her mouth so she can't talk.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Glitter on the Highway
I've been thinking about my mom a lot these last couple of weeks. I suppose I think about her every day - but this is different. There have been lots of memory triggers around lately. For example, I will be at the store, and all of a sudden I see something and think, "Gosh, mom loved that!" Or I'll come across something at the house and remember that I bought it while out shopping with my mom. I've even seen duplicates of items she used to have as I scour the thrift stores.
As the veil between worlds is not currently thin, I don't "feel" her. The memories are definitely just memories - not the overwhelming sensory perceptions they are when the veil is thin. Still, I find it odd that she's popping up so much lately.
Normally on my way into work, I listen to talk radio. This morning, though, I channel hopped until I found a song I liked. And right after that song came another. Then, as I neared work, "Love Shack" came on.
I love that song - and started singing out loud. When I sang "I got me a car, it's as big as a whale and it's about to set sail," I remembered my mom.
Now, I don't think my mom knew who the B-52's were, nor do I believe she ever heard the song itself. However, she drove a huge 1968 Mercury Parklane and whenever I heard the song, I always thought of that car.
One day we were going to go somewhere, and my mom said, "Let's take the Merc" (we normally rode in my dad's truck). All of a sudden, I sang - outloud - "I got me a car, it's as big as a whale, and it's about to set sail! I got me a car, it seats about twenty, so come on and take your jukebox money!" My mom started to laugh.
After that, it became kind of a thing. On the rare occasions we would take the Merc somewhere, I'd start singing that part of the song, and my mom would always laugh.
She loved that car, and wouldn't let my dad get rid of it, even though she stopped driving a few years before she died. While I never knew exactly why she got such a kick out of those few lines from "Love Shack," I think she felt some sort of pride about her car when she heard me chop up the lyrics. It deepened the pride she had in her car - that much I could see in her eyes.
My dad still has the car. I know he contemplates selling it, but he has trouble letting go. He told me that mom would be so disappointed in him if he sold it.
For me, the car holds a lot of memories. We took many a vacation in that car, and I learned to drive in it as well. It was the car Bobby took his last ride in before he was put down at the vet's. It was also the car I hopped into when my mom saw me crying at a bus stop after I found out I couldn't become a Marine.
That car picked me up from the airport every time I came home on leave. And it drove me back to the airport so I could go on to my next adventure. We slept in the car when we went to cat shows "down South." We argued in the car. We laughed in the car.
More importantly, I believe it was my mom's first car. She didn't learn how to drive until I was young - in fact, I remember when she took her driving lessons. I think she may have learned how to drive in that car - but that part, I don't remember. I do remember that for most of my years at home, that was that car that took me places.
Now it sits in the garage. I think it probably misses my mom as much as I do.
As the veil between worlds is not currently thin, I don't "feel" her. The memories are definitely just memories - not the overwhelming sensory perceptions they are when the veil is thin. Still, I find it odd that she's popping up so much lately.
Normally on my way into work, I listen to talk radio. This morning, though, I channel hopped until I found a song I liked. And right after that song came another. Then, as I neared work, "Love Shack" came on.
I love that song - and started singing out loud. When I sang "I got me a car, it's as big as a whale and it's about to set sail," I remembered my mom.
Now, I don't think my mom knew who the B-52's were, nor do I believe she ever heard the song itself. However, she drove a huge 1968 Mercury Parklane and whenever I heard the song, I always thought of that car.
One day we were going to go somewhere, and my mom said, "Let's take the Merc" (we normally rode in my dad's truck). All of a sudden, I sang - outloud - "I got me a car, it's as big as a whale, and it's about to set sail! I got me a car, it seats about twenty, so come on and take your jukebox money!" My mom started to laugh.
After that, it became kind of a thing. On the rare occasions we would take the Merc somewhere, I'd start singing that part of the song, and my mom would always laugh.
She loved that car, and wouldn't let my dad get rid of it, even though she stopped driving a few years before she died. While I never knew exactly why she got such a kick out of those few lines from "Love Shack," I think she felt some sort of pride about her car when she heard me chop up the lyrics. It deepened the pride she had in her car - that much I could see in her eyes.
My dad still has the car. I know he contemplates selling it, but he has trouble letting go. He told me that mom would be so disappointed in him if he sold it.
For me, the car holds a lot of memories. We took many a vacation in that car, and I learned to drive in it as well. It was the car Bobby took his last ride in before he was put down at the vet's. It was also the car I hopped into when my mom saw me crying at a bus stop after I found out I couldn't become a Marine.
That car picked me up from the airport every time I came home on leave. And it drove me back to the airport so I could go on to my next adventure. We slept in the car when we went to cat shows "down South." We argued in the car. We laughed in the car.
More importantly, I believe it was my mom's first car. She didn't learn how to drive until I was young - in fact, I remember when she took her driving lessons. I think she may have learned how to drive in that car - but that part, I don't remember. I do remember that for most of my years at home, that was that car that took me places.
Now it sits in the garage. I think it probably misses my mom as much as I do.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Sunday Seven
1) I really REALLY want to open a bottle of wine. But I won't.
2) I also really REALLY want a Claim Jumper brownie. I've hit that stage of Atkins where the food cravings kick in. Must resist.
3) I talked to a friend yesterday and we made a pact: we're going to go out once a month (at least). Music. Drinks. Try new places. I'm excited - I was a hermit for the last half of 2011 - no more Hermie for me! (or is that Hermes?)
4) I'm also thinking of starting a singles group for people of a "certain age." I honestly don't have the energy to pull it together, though - but if I'm going to do it, I need to do it by February 1st - otherwise, Meetup's costs go up.
5) Two of my "witchy" friends think they're being helpful by constantly telling me that there is no one here in Reno for me. For some reason, that really bugs me. Maybe I'll just conjure somebody up - that'll show 'em.
6) Not sure what it will show 'em, really - perhaps it will just make me feel better.
7) You know what would really make me feel better? A Claim Jumper brownie and a glass of wine.
2) I also really REALLY want a Claim Jumper brownie. I've hit that stage of Atkins where the food cravings kick in. Must resist.
3) I talked to a friend yesterday and we made a pact: we're going to go out once a month (at least). Music. Drinks. Try new places. I'm excited - I was a hermit for the last half of 2011 - no more Hermie for me! (or is that Hermes?)
4) I'm also thinking of starting a singles group for people of a "certain age." I honestly don't have the energy to pull it together, though - but if I'm going to do it, I need to do it by February 1st - otherwise, Meetup's costs go up.
5) Two of my "witchy" friends think they're being helpful by constantly telling me that there is no one here in Reno for me. For some reason, that really bugs me. Maybe I'll just conjure somebody up - that'll show 'em.
6) Not sure what it will show 'em, really - perhaps it will just make me feel better.
7) You know what would really make me feel better? A Claim Jumper brownie and a glass of wine.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Exhausted of Incense
Demi Moore has been hospitalized due to "exhaustion." Who, besides the rich, are ever hospitalized for exhaustion? Fuck - I'm exhausted. You don't see me trotting off to a hospital saying, "Admit me, I'm fucking exhausted man!"
I think by now we've come to know that the term "hospitalized for exhaustion" is just another way of saying "overdose." Perhaps in the case of some size 0 models, it could really mean "she hasn't eaten anything in three months" - if so, shouldn't the model just be admitted to the local McDonald's for a couple of hamburgers and call it good?
I digress - let's get back to Demi Moore, shall we? What the fuck did she smoke that was "similar to incense" - a bag of potpourri? Or maybe a sachet from her underwear drawer? I think not.
Apparently due to "privacy issues," parts of the 911 call were redacted. I get it - but jeepers, let's not try to be fooled into thinking that Demi Moore, broken up over the demise of her marriage, decided to light up something that's almost as innocent as incense. Because that simply did not happen. She acted like a meth head let loose in a meth lab and grabbed everything near her that could get her high.
The real part of this story that pisses me off, though, is that Demi Moore is having a very public breakdown because she lost that fucking loser Ashton Kutcher. Seriously sister? You should be kickin' up your heels and celebrating. He was cheating on you for years. Plus, he's not even a good actor!
Here's a hard truth, sister: People lose all respect for women who self-medicate to get over someone. The fact that your self-medication became public is humiliating and embarrassing - not just for you, but for all women of a "certain age." You might be thinking we're in your corner, saying "Oh you poor thing. We understand."
Nah - we're sitting around the water cooler saying, "What a fucking bimbo! Did she really think Ashton was in it for the long haul, especially when he was flicking his dick every which way but loose?"
Look lady - you're rich. Don't spend your money on drugs; take yourself on a whirlwind vacay around the world. Or scurry off to a spa. Or buy yourself a boy toy. Just please, stay away from the drugs.
For heaven's sake, use a little common sense. People don't pity a self-medicating cry baby. Take a page from Jennifer Aniston's book: act with a little dignity, okay? Then maybe we'll feel sorry for you.
In the meantime, stay away from incense. Especially the Nag Champa. I hear it's a killer.
I think by now we've come to know that the term "hospitalized for exhaustion" is just another way of saying "overdose." Perhaps in the case of some size 0 models, it could really mean "she hasn't eaten anything in three months" - if so, shouldn't the model just be admitted to the local McDonald's for a couple of hamburgers and call it good?
I digress - let's get back to Demi Moore, shall we? What the fuck did she smoke that was "similar to incense" - a bag of potpourri? Or maybe a sachet from her underwear drawer? I think not.
Apparently due to "privacy issues," parts of the 911 call were redacted. I get it - but jeepers, let's not try to be fooled into thinking that Demi Moore, broken up over the demise of her marriage, decided to light up something that's almost as innocent as incense. Because that simply did not happen. She acted like a meth head let loose in a meth lab and grabbed everything near her that could get her high.
The real part of this story that pisses me off, though, is that Demi Moore is having a very public breakdown because she lost that fucking loser Ashton Kutcher. Seriously sister? You should be kickin' up your heels and celebrating. He was cheating on you for years. Plus, he's not even a good actor!
Here's a hard truth, sister: People lose all respect for women who self-medicate to get over someone. The fact that your self-medication became public is humiliating and embarrassing - not just for you, but for all women of a "certain age." You might be thinking we're in your corner, saying "Oh you poor thing. We understand."
Nah - we're sitting around the water cooler saying, "What a fucking bimbo! Did she really think Ashton was in it for the long haul, especially when he was flicking his dick every which way but loose?"
Look lady - you're rich. Don't spend your money on drugs; take yourself on a whirlwind vacay around the world. Or scurry off to a spa. Or buy yourself a boy toy. Just please, stay away from the drugs.
For heaven's sake, use a little common sense. People don't pity a self-medicating cry baby. Take a page from Jennifer Aniston's book: act with a little dignity, okay? Then maybe we'll feel sorry for you.
In the meantime, stay away from incense. Especially the Nag Champa. I hear it's a killer.
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Friday Five
I haven't done this in a while... shame on me.
1) I'm losing weight - and it feels good. I have on a pair of pants today that feel like I need to keep pulling them up.I've checked myself in the mirror several times- yes, my pants are still on.
2) I feel so good about myself that I may wear a dress tomorrow to the company holiday party.
3) Then again, it's as cold as an icicle out there, so maybe not.
4) Yes, we're having our holiday party tomorrow - normally I wouldn't go, but as I've been talked to about participating in company events, I'll be there. With bells on. Why? Because I want everyone to NOTICE that I'm there, so maybe I'll stop getting pulled into meetings and told "you know, it hurts me personally when you don't participate in company or team events."
5) The thing is, it sounds like there will be a lot of good food there. And I'm on a diet (see #1). And that makes me not wanna go - but I'll be there. With a muzzle on.
Go team!
1) I'm losing weight - and it feels good. I have on a pair of pants today that feel like I need to keep pulling them up.I've checked myself in the mirror several times- yes, my pants are still on.
2) I feel so good about myself that I may wear a dress tomorrow to the company holiday party.
3) Then again, it's as cold as an icicle out there, so maybe not.
4) Yes, we're having our holiday party tomorrow - normally I wouldn't go, but as I've been talked to about participating in company events, I'll be there. With bells on. Why? Because I want everyone to NOTICE that I'm there, so maybe I'll stop getting pulled into meetings and told "you know, it hurts me personally when you don't participate in company or team events."
5) The thing is, it sounds like there will be a lot of good food there. And I'm on a diet (see #1). And that makes me not wanna go - but I'll be there. With a muzzle on.
Go team!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Have some butter, y'all!
Ugh. If I hear the words "Paula Deen," "butter," and "diabetes" in the same sentence again, I am going to throw something at the next reporter I see. Honestly.
And while I know that ignorance can be bliss, it's not when it's a reporter being ignorant. Look here, media: butter does not cause diabetes. Neither does fats in foods.
Diabetes is a metabolism disorder, plain and simple. Paula Deen did not get diabetes because she uses butter in her recipes. She may have gotten it due to eating a lot of starchy and sugar-laden foods. The truth, as the Department of Health states, is "The cause of type 2 diabetes is largely unknown..."
So to all you reporters out there who think it's ironic that the thing Paula Deen loved so much in her food is the thing that caused her diabetes - you're so wrong it's almost laughable. I say "almost" because the truth is you're getting paid to put out that trash - and that's nothing to laugh about.
Readers, please add some butter to your food tonight. It won't hurt you - and you'll actually enjoy it.
Imagine that... eating food that actually tastes good. Here's to you, Paula Deen! I hope you figure out how to continue using butter in your new diabetic-friendly recipes!
And while I know that ignorance can be bliss, it's not when it's a reporter being ignorant. Look here, media: butter does not cause diabetes. Neither does fats in foods.
Diabetes is a metabolism disorder, plain and simple. Paula Deen did not get diabetes because she uses butter in her recipes. She may have gotten it due to eating a lot of starchy and sugar-laden foods. The truth, as the Department of Health states, is "The cause of type 2 diabetes is largely unknown..."
So to all you reporters out there who think it's ironic that the thing Paula Deen loved so much in her food is the thing that caused her diabetes - you're so wrong it's almost laughable. I say "almost" because the truth is you're getting paid to put out that trash - and that's nothing to laugh about.
Readers, please add some butter to your food tonight. It won't hurt you - and you'll actually enjoy it.
Imagine that... eating food that actually tastes good. Here's to you, Paula Deen! I hope you figure out how to continue using butter in your new diabetic-friendly recipes!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Woof
I want a dog. Or rather, wanted. Well… I still want one. Kind of. But now my home is overrun with animals – okay cats – and so it probably isn’t the best time to get a dog.
The lady who wanted to rehome her Scottie fell off my radar. She always had some excuse as to why I couldn’t meet him – and so I’d give up, and then she’d contact me. “Still interested?” “Hells yeah!” And we’d start the process all over again and it would always end the same way: I would not get to meet the dog.
While I was waiting for her to squeeze me into her busy schedule, I decided to visit other dogs. There are plenty of them available. I visited adoption sites and the Humane Society. I sat with dogs, talked to dogs, and played with dogs. Still… I didn’t find one who seemed to like me as much as Buster did.
And in case you didn’t catch it, Buster is a cat – my new cat.
Apparently I’m not as patient as I like to think I am, because after about a month, I decided to give in and adopt Buster instead of holding out for a dog. According to my other two cats, that was a mistake. They might be right… but I won’t admit it to them.
I still yearn for a dog, so I’m going to have to go back to my original plan which was this: get myself a boyfriend who has a dog. Or two. Think that will work?
The lady who wanted to rehome her Scottie fell off my radar. She always had some excuse as to why I couldn’t meet him – and so I’d give up, and then she’d contact me. “Still interested?” “Hells yeah!” And we’d start the process all over again and it would always end the same way: I would not get to meet the dog.
While I was waiting for her to squeeze me into her busy schedule, I decided to visit other dogs. There are plenty of them available. I visited adoption sites and the Humane Society. I sat with dogs, talked to dogs, and played with dogs. Still… I didn’t find one who seemed to like me as much as Buster did.
And in case you didn’t catch it, Buster is a cat – my new cat.
Apparently I’m not as patient as I like to think I am, because after about a month, I decided to give in and adopt Buster instead of holding out for a dog. According to my other two cats, that was a mistake. They might be right… but I won’t admit it to them.
I still yearn for a dog, so I’m going to have to go back to my original plan which was this: get myself a boyfriend who has a dog. Or two. Think that will work?
Bad Hair Day
Like most women, my confidence level is equal to how good I feel about my hair. If my hair is frizzy, or my grey streak wide, I find that I don’t want people to notice me. On the other hand, when my hair feels soft and the grey streak is gone, watch out world: I want you to notice me!
A few years ago, my stylist introduced me to a wonderful hair product: Kerastase. It’s from France, and falls under L’Oreal’s umbrella of products. She raved about it and said that I’d never even know my hair was colored – that this product would make my hair feel soft to the touch.
Now excuse me for being skeptical, but I can’t count the amount of times a stylist has gushed about this product or that, only to find that the product did not live up to the hype. So, I told her I while I trusted her, I was going to hold judgment on the product until I saw the effects myself.
After coloring my hair, she used the then new Kerastase products to wash and condition my hair. Then she used some styling Kerastase products on my hair before blow drying – and I had to admit that afterwards, my hair felt soft. But then again, it always does right after getting it done. She said, “Just wait – your hair will still feel this great three days from now.”
She was right. Not only did my hair feel great on the third day, but it felt good on the 4th and 5th day as well. I was sold – but my wallet wasn’t. Kerastase is expensive, and so I was going to have to make do with my Nature’s Organics products (which did not have the same effect!).
Then I was laid off, and my stylist gave me a full size Kerastase shampoo and conditioner for Christmas. “It’s all I can do – but at least you’ll have great hair for your interviews!” I thanked her profusely.
The next time I visited, she gave me some full-size tester styling products, too. I was set.
In the years that have passed, I’ve been lucky to find the products at a deep discount on eBay. So, my hair has remained soft, shiny and supple ever since. And because I’m sold on Kerastase, I am hesitant to try other products.
The other day, Eco-Emi sent me hair product samples from Neuma. Organic. Sustainable. Smelled great. I thought, “Why not?” So, I used the products on my hair the next day. Washed my hair with the shampoo. Conditioned with the conditioner. Used the styling products afterwards.
After blow drying and flat ironing my hair, I noticed that it didn’t feel good. Well.. it didn’t feel bad, either… but it definitely didn’t feel as good as it did after using Kerastase. And now it’s two days later, and my hair feels dry and almost straw-like. And even though the average passerby has no idea what my hair feels like – and the feel hasn’t affected the look – I find my confidence is waning. Strangers might not know that my hair is dry, but I do… and it bugs me.
Lesson learned: Stick with what works. When it comes to something as important as my hair, experimentation isn’t always a good thing.
A few years ago, my stylist introduced me to a wonderful hair product: Kerastase. It’s from France, and falls under L’Oreal’s umbrella of products. She raved about it and said that I’d never even know my hair was colored – that this product would make my hair feel soft to the touch.
Now excuse me for being skeptical, but I can’t count the amount of times a stylist has gushed about this product or that, only to find that the product did not live up to the hype. So, I told her I while I trusted her, I was going to hold judgment on the product until I saw the effects myself.
After coloring my hair, she used the then new Kerastase products to wash and condition my hair. Then she used some styling Kerastase products on my hair before blow drying – and I had to admit that afterwards, my hair felt soft. But then again, it always does right after getting it done. She said, “Just wait – your hair will still feel this great three days from now.”
She was right. Not only did my hair feel great on the third day, but it felt good on the 4th and 5th day as well. I was sold – but my wallet wasn’t. Kerastase is expensive, and so I was going to have to make do with my Nature’s Organics products (which did not have the same effect!).
Then I was laid off, and my stylist gave me a full size Kerastase shampoo and conditioner for Christmas. “It’s all I can do – but at least you’ll have great hair for your interviews!” I thanked her profusely.
The next time I visited, she gave me some full-size tester styling products, too. I was set.
In the years that have passed, I’ve been lucky to find the products at a deep discount on eBay. So, my hair has remained soft, shiny and supple ever since. And because I’m sold on Kerastase, I am hesitant to try other products.
The other day, Eco-Emi sent me hair product samples from Neuma. Organic. Sustainable. Smelled great. I thought, “Why not?” So, I used the products on my hair the next day. Washed my hair with the shampoo. Conditioned with the conditioner. Used the styling products afterwards.
After blow drying and flat ironing my hair, I noticed that it didn’t feel good. Well.. it didn’t feel bad, either… but it definitely didn’t feel as good as it did after using Kerastase. And now it’s two days later, and my hair feels dry and almost straw-like. And even though the average passerby has no idea what my hair feels like – and the feel hasn’t affected the look – I find my confidence is waning. Strangers might not know that my hair is dry, but I do… and it bugs me.
Lesson learned: Stick with what works. When it comes to something as important as my hair, experimentation isn’t always a good thing.
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