Yes, dear reader, after years and years on the darker side of the color wheel, I decided to make a big Year of 40 change and go blonde. My hair is now a honey blonde hue and I love it something awful. Initially after the coloring, as you can see in some of the pics above, it had more of a reddish-blonde shade as a result of my red color before and the repeated lifts to get all the red out. These days, it’s definitely more honey and closer to the shade I was looking for. And I plan on going lighter! Now that I’ve learned that going blonde won’t make me look like a dancer of some sort of cheesy Vegas revue, the blonde is my oyster.
And let’s chat about that for a moment. Upon seeing my hair, my sister said the following: “Why haven’t you done this your whole life?!” Other friends also asked why I had never experimented with a lighter color before. You know me: hair experimentation has never been an issue for me. But sporting dark hair as a woman of color was most definitely a safe choice. I couldn’t imagine my brown skin against an even lighter color. (Even bright red was far more safer in my mind than anything lighter.) Now I’ve been reminded that my brown skin is beautiful against any backdrop. We hold ourselves back, even in tiny, seemingly insignificant ways, don’t we? But none of that anymore. Embrace change, embrace newness, embrace the blonde. Because…
I’ve never actually believed in retail therapy. If you’re not into shopping anyway (hello, me), the idea of massaging a bad day or a sad mood by walking around a store or even engaging in window shopping wouldn’t be the first thing on the list. But the comedy of life is that retail therapy is almost always what I do when I need to massage a bad day or sad mood. (Barring a hunkering down in my apartment with a week’s worth of carbs.) I drive right to the store, park, grab a cart, and traverse the aisles moodily until I either leave with nothing or buy something I don’t really need. And that was me yesterday.
Yesterday, I was sad and blue and glum and humdrum and needed to do something. Something. Whatever that something was, it translated into leaving work and driving to my favorite Ross, where I parked, grabbed a cart, and traversed the aisles moodily, looking for things I didn’t need. In the shoe aisle, I tried on a bunch of shoes, of which neither ended up in my cart. I ventured over to the accessories, where I touched a lot of scarves and pulled them off the rack to examine them for whatever one looks for when you’re scarf shopping. One scarf ended up in my cart. I then sauntered over to the hats. I tried a few on (see above), which was interesting in light of the faux locs (I have faux locs! More in another post) on my head, but there was one hat that incited a high level of like and also, more importantly, fit over the locs. Perhaps because the color matched my mood?
It ended up in my cart, as well. So did a pair of pants. The End.
I didn’t analyze my sadness and blue too deeply though. Mostly because 1) winter; 2) Monday; 3) single. You know what I mean by #3. The grays of this seasons and its accompanying doldrums seem to be heightened when one is going through it by their lonesome. And although, to repeat, this is a year-round desire, the fall/end of the year finds it all very pronounced. It comes and goes and it is what it is. I’ve long given myself permission to call a thing a thing (praise Queen Iyanla) and feel exactly what I feel. And I felt it all yesterday. It’s interesting how the mind finds a way, any way, to cope.
Nevertheless: here’s to distractions by way of hats and scarves, and other such things. Onwards…
I just saw this on Le Pinterest and I think it definitely captures the duality of this time of year.
Who else is a fall homebody? Because yes, I love taking in the beauty of the electric fall atmosphere, but oh, yes, do I also love hunkering down in my warm apartment, encased in a warm blanket and mindlessly watching episode after episode of my beloved Law and Order. (You were probably expecting a less intense show, huh?)
That lovely, crisp, autumnal breeze in the atmosphere? It’s wonderful. And also very, very dangerous.
This morning, as I trudged into work and settled myself at my desk, I noticed something as I was typing away on my keyboard. Something that took my breath away.
My knuckles were ashy. Like gray. The abject horror of it all.
Here’s the thing: I don’t play when it comes to lotion. Your Square Peg is a connoisseur of moisturized skin. I don’t leave my house without the epidermis gleaming from whatever silky lotion or oil I’ve decided to apply. Especially when it comes to these hands, which is the first thing folks see, other than the face. So the discovery of these ashy knuckles–and the skin between my fingers, my goodness–was like, whaaaaattttttttt?
And that’s the thing: the cool breeze comes bearing dubious gifts. Dry skin, dry limbs, the whole ashy shebang. whenever we’re outside and subject to the elements. (Even that beautiful, heated atmosphere in the home can be a little intense for the skin.) How can we counter it? A few things I plan on doing more of, although apparently at least one of them didn’t work this morning:
Lotion it up. I have lotion on my desk at work, in my handbag, wherever I go. Take the time to apply some on your hands, face, wherever you’re susceptible to starting a brush fire with your skin. Yikes.
Extra facial moisture. So this morning was a struggle, which may explain why some things fell by the wayside. But as I was driving in and applying makeup on my face (be ye not judgmental; I’ve actually gotten better at not doing this, dear reader), I noticed some dry spots on my face. So yeah, I plan on upping my skin care game for real during this time of year.
Brush your lips. I don’t know where I read this, but one way to counter the peeling of skin on the lips (something that happens to me a lot), is to gently brush them with a toothbrush. Exfoliating for the win. I also just read that a bit of Vaseline or lip balm on the lips first and then brushing is even better. Don’t brush hard, y’all. Do this one at your own risk. I’m not a doctor or an esthetician, but I play one on TV. (I just googled and there are plenty of lip scrubs out there. Research!)
And remember: all skin is capable of ashiness. All.Skin. Just a friendly reminder.
Happy Monday, y’all. Upwards and onwards and skinwards.
I’ve said it a million times over: when it comes to writing and creating, I seem to burst with ideas and projects in the fall. It’s the electricity in the air. It’s the leaves. It’s the absence of mosquitoes. Ideas have been coming at me nonstop (like legit novels, dear reader; me, who looks at the commitment of a novel with the side-est of eye), and I’ve actually not allowed them to languish in the cushiest, warmest corners of my mind, never to see the light of day. I’ve actually been working on them. It’s kind of amazing.
But it’s short-lived, y’all. This creating high will last as long as autumn lasts, which doesn’t last long at all.
Here’s the thing: I get writers laziness and/or block every month of the year. These have been pervasive problems since this writing thing took chose me all those years ago. Which also meant that the most isolating of passions chose me and brought with it, on the downside, inaction, inertia, and times when my particular muse just doesn’t want to deal with me. It’s a writerly thing. (Writing is like, that’s all you, sweetheart. Don’t be blaming me for everything.) Anyway, that’s OK. No passion is 100 percent perfect. It’s the conflicting, fluctuating nature of it all. I get it. It’s just that I want that electric, thrilling, creative push for more than a month or so.
A random voice in my head: yeah, so what are you going to do about that?
I don’t know. Just keep writing, I suppose, regardless of the season. Oh, were you expecting a grand denouement to all of this blog chatter, a remedy for this constant struggle? See below.
Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is on the telly. One of my absolute favorites of all time. And you know what? Charlie was great and good and all that, but there’s only one person I identify with. When I was younger, it was definitely a secret admiration. But now? We’re soul sisters.
Miss Veruca Salt. Selfish. Demanding. Bratty.
But she knew what she wanted, didn’t she?
Brattiness aside, I’m learning to just claim what I want in life and what I deserve, Veruca style. Even if it seems completely unfathomable or unlikely to happen. Being a general pessimist/cynic/skeptic/side eyer of all of life, as I’m wont to be, sometimes I turn that side eye toward myself. Which keeps me largely realistic, yes, but also occasionally limits me. Because sometimes keeping things real strips away that other thing I truly value: pure imagination. So I’m learning balance. Feet on the ground, yes, but not diminishing my possibilities, either.
So, yeah, I want *it* now. Whatever I want it to be.
Pretty clear, from the title, how I greeted the dip in the weather this early autumn morning.
Typically, I make use of the gym at the office in the mid-afternoons, having done an in-depth study of the time of day when I can have the place all to myself and enjoy the
machines and surrounding equipment. (And maybe a dance party in front of the mirrors.) However, following a strange Exercise Epiphany (strange because I’m of the view that opening my eyes before 6AM means I want to either join a crime gang or engage in other nefarious activities), I decided to wake up after 5:30 this morning and head to the office to try an early morning workout. If you’ve read about my fitness journey here on TSP, you’ll know that I’ve done this before, waking up early to work out. And you’ll see that I’ve grumbled about it every time. Nevertheless, I wanted to break up the monotony of my schedule. Here’s what I learned:
Regular gyms and office gyms don’t differ in the following: I’m not the only one who had the idea to work out super early. The gym was packed. So packed that I had to wait for a treadmill.
This didn’t bode well for my I-need-quiet-time-in-an-empty-gym mandate.
After such a thorough, calorie-burning workout, the ole stomach wanted to eat everything. Everything. Despite having my usual veggie omelet for breakfast and gaining that protein, I realized that I wanted so much more.
Which is weird because for all my morning workouts in the past, that wasn’t really a thing. Are you changing things, 40?
Anywho, in the end, I’m glad I committed to actually waking up and doing this. Maybe it’ll happen again…
Which means I definitely have plans to join a crime gang.