My Hair Salon Depresses Me

I have to start by saying that I absolutely love my hairstylist.  She’s been cutting my hair for pretty much all of the 20 years I’ve lived here.  She’s the only one who has ever cut my kids’ hair.  I’ve never, ever hated my hair after she does it.  (O.k., there was one time when she gave me a new cut, we both looked at it, and said, “Ummm . . . No!!!”)

I like the other stylists in the salon (well, one of them talks too loud for me but that’s my personal issue).  I usually look forward to getting my hair cut but, in the end, my time there depresses me.

Its the conversations the other stylists and customers have!  They complain about their ex’s or gush about their new crush.  They complain about their bodies or talk about their new makeup.  They discuss whatever they’re watching on TV and complain about cramps and bloating.  They talk about their terrible teenagers.

Mostly, I sit there and feel terribly out of place.  Like I just can’t relate.  Don’t get me wrong . . . I love being a woman.  I love dressing nicely and putting on makeup.   I love getting my hair done.

But I’m happily married.  For the most part, I’m ok-ish with my body.  I mean, I think I need to lose 10 pounds but when I say that other women tell me that’s absurd.  I’m super sorry to say it but I’ve never had cramps or been bloated.  I had easy pregnancies.  I don’t watch much on TV (we gave up cable because no one in our family watched anything on it) and my teenagers are really amazing kids.

And why do women complain so much???

I don’t mind commiserating.  And I don’t mind listening.  But I just don’t feel like I can really contribute without coming off as snobby or like I have all the answers.  But I don’t!!!  I don’t think I’m snobby and I certainly don’t have all the answers.

Maybe part of it is that I’m fairly private so even if I did have cramps, I wouldn’t share it with the hair salon.

And again . . . the complaining!  Am I the only one who feels like so many women just sit around and bitch to each other.  I definitely believe there’s a need and a time and a place for that but can’t we get past that and encourage, support, and uplift each other rather than just agreeing that everything sucks??  O.k., so maybe everything does suck but what are we going to do about it??  And wouldn’t it be better if we did that together??

I just want to belong.  And I don’t have all the answers.  And I’m sorry you have cramps.


Living on the Periphery

I live on the periphery.  At least, that’s how it feels.

I drive around in my nice car.  I have nice clothes.  I always look “put together”.  My outward demeanor tells you that I can handle anything.  I smile.  I come home to my nice house.  I have nice kids who are straight A students.  I have a nice, yellow lab.  I ride horses.  I travel.  I like to read.  And some days, I think I’m smart.

You assume that I have a lot of friends, go out, and have fun on the weekends.

But you’re not correct.  And you don’t know because you don’t ask me to coffee or invite me out to lunch.  If you and the other girls are going out for a drink, you don’t include me.

Why?  I don’t know and you might not really know either.

I try to participate in conversations.  “Oh, I really like chicken fried steak too!”  And you tell me about the restaurant that has really good chicken fried steak, where you and the other co-worker are going out to lunch today.  But then you turn around to finish discussing what time you’re going out to lunch and don’t invite me.

So I live on the periphery and am left to wonder why.  Left to imagine what I’m doing wrong.  I come home to my nice house, pet my nice dog, and drink my nice cup of coffee.  Alone.  I don’t always mind being alone but I so desperately want to be part of the group, want to be thought of as fun and someone you want to hang out with.

But apparently I’m not.  So I live on the periphery.

When Do You Say, “Yes, Dear”?

I have trouble keeping my mouth shut.  I believe that situations will improve if things are discussed, if people can communicate honestly, and if folks say what’s on their mind.  I’m really, really good about saying what’s on my mind.

This occasionally  causes conflict in my marriage.  So, I’m wondering . . . when do you just say “Yes, Dear.”?

I know all about “pick your battles” and I’m pretty good at that.  I mean, I do my absolute best to not argue over petty things, let little slights go, etc.  But when do the petty things add up to “too much!”?  When do the little slights turn into one big “F___ you.”?

I think the timing of discussions versus a simple “Yes, Dear.” is important.  I try to not start discussions late in the evening, when I know husband is tired from his long days at work.  I try to not interrupt when he’s in the middle of something.  But I also don’t believe there’s a “perfect time” for anything.  And, like I said, I find “Yes, Dear” very difficult in general.

Does it matter who’s right or who’s wrong?  Does it matter the degree of right-ness or wrong-ness??  Is it subject matter that’s important?  If I manage a “Yes, Dear”, is it fair to bring up the subject again later?  Is a “Yes, but . . .” reasonable?

O.k., I get that all those things are important . . . so maybe its just a matter of balance.  I know there’s not one right answer here.  Maybe I just need to practice “Yes, Dear” more and I’ll figure out the nuances.

Any suggestions?  When do you use “Yes, Dear.”?

Sparkly Purple Toenails



My day was going along o.k. until I had to listen to another tirade from my husband about how the world is ripping him off.  Ugh.

I promised myself that I was not going to use my new blog here to complain about my husband.  And I fully intend on keeping that promise.  So, let’s just say that he tends to be more pessimistic than I am.  I choose to believe in the good in people.  Maybe I’m naive in that regard but really, its what gets me through my day at times.

Believing in people . . . and sparkly purple toenails.  That’s what I’ve got to rely on sometimes.  And sometimes, when people aren’t quite doing it for me, it just comes down to “oh, hey, look, my toenails are sparkly purple and that’s happy.”

My 11 year old daughter picked out the polish that resulted in this crazy amount of sparkle.  Its a result of these polishes:  20170418_145200_resized

I call them my “Vegas show girl toes”.  And that’s happy.

Other happy things are the fact that my horses were delighted to find that my kids had made large ponds in my arena.  The horses thought these were super fun to play in.20170418_142831_resized

Watching horses splash in puddles is happy.  If I actually rode in my arena (rather than just turning my horses out in it), I might have been irritated that the kids made large ponds.  But, since I don’t ride in it (that’s a story for another day), and the horses thought the ponds were fun, well, that’s happy.

So, there, negative thoughts from husband’s tirade . . . . BE GONE!!!!

Replaced by the happiness brought to me by sparkly purple toes, horses splashing in puddles, and a general belief that most people are o.k.