Tuesday, November 25, 2014

A Whole Lotta Big Hair Ago...

Well my 25 year high school reunion came and went, yet still I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it really has been a quarter of a century since we tossed those green caps up into the stale air of that high school gym (we got moved inside at the last minute due to the possibility of rain that never came). Then there are times when it seems that was an entire lifetime ago and in many ways, I suppose it was. 

As I studied our class photo we had on display, I found myself right there in line with my three best big-haired high school friends on the gym bleachers (along with all our many other friends/classmates) and realized that while we have all grown and matured and experienced countless joys and triumphs, and celebrations and milestones, and devastating life blows and griefs that none of us ever could have imagined, our core personalities are still recognizably, familiarly, the same. 

Then later, after everyone had arrived and began to mingle and take their seats, I took in the goings-on of the room (as us hardcore introverts always tend to do in such situations) and noticed that out of the small percentage of our class who showed up, we had pretty much all navigated to the little groups we most often found ourselves forming way back then. I was not surprised by this as it has been the case in the other two reunions we've had in the past and I imagine it will be the same at any others we plan for the future. 

Of course I was sitting at a table with my three formerly-big-haired friends who have remained among my closest and dearest over the past two and half decades. My BFF and I (as little as we see each other anymore) both showed up sporting black faux fur vests while our husbands dressed so much alike some probably wondered if they had called each other. We used to do that sort of thing often. At first it was on purpose. 

I've told that story here before but in case you missed it...

We both moved to this area during the summer before our tenth grade year so we were both the new kids on the block and our friendship was truly formed from a shared misery and what we had both thought at the time to be the greatest torture and misfortune of our young lives. Given the circumstance, our friendship/bond grew very quickly, so much so that we thought it'd be just charming if we bought matching outfits at the mall one weekend that we'd then both wear to school Monday morning.

This was back in 1986, when pleated, puffy-sleeved rompers were all the rage. So we bought us a matching pair in a glorious shade of peach and even splurged on big arse matching peach hair bows for our big arse hairdos. Oh yes. We were fly. I don't think we made it to our homerooms before we were regretting our decision at a level of intensity neither of us ever thought possible. Everybody knew our names after that, though most of them just called us The Bobbsey Twins.  Fun times those were. At least now, twenty-eight years later, we can laugh about it. I think it only took about ten.  

After that unfortunate fashion catastrophe faux-pas we always called each other to make sure we were NOT wearing the same thing. Yet many times over the years since high school, we've showed up places in dangerously similar attire which is what happened with the matching vests (and husbands) Saturday night. 

The thing is, I came this close to not buying that vest but the darn thing beckoned me. I was in Target at the beginning of last week when I saw three on the rack (only one was my size). I took it off, put it back, took it off, put it back, took it off, and finally, put it back for good before walking way. Then I put my reunion outfit together at home the next day and thought this could really, really use that black faux fur vest. What a shame I didn't buy it. I know it's sold by now.

This haunted me for three days before I rode back up there to find that thing still hanging on the rack where I'd left it. I thought it was fashion fate at the time but now I know it was just part best-friend-fashion-synchronicity and part God's sense of humor at work in my life again. Only this time? I could fully appreciate the joke. 


Michelle was holding her twin vest (she said she got hot.)


Sadly (or maybe not so sadly) there is no known photo of the matching peach rompers but I do have this little gem of our senior year photography class, in all our big-haired glory...






Class of 1989



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Tuesday, November 18, 2014

It Ain't What It Used To Be

I just learned that you can still buy Rave hairspray but (and this is probably a good thing) it just ain't what it used to be. All my 80s hair sisters remember this stuff, right? After you'd curled your already-permed-hair with the curling iron and then teased it half to death with that ginormous plastic hair pick, you'd break out that big ole can of Rave (extra-extra-firm-mega-hold formula) and spray that hair like there was no tomorrow. Or ozone in need of protection.

Sometimes, depending on the occasion and magnitude of big hair volume you were setting out to achieve, the hair dryer was added to this equation. There was no quicker way to the big hair of your dreams than through the working of a hair dryer, a plastic pick and a can of Rave Hairspray all at once. It was an art form, people. And once you had every single permed-up-curled-and-teased strand of hair on your head completely coated in that stuff, not even a category five hurricane was gonna be getting through it. You knew you had achieved success when you shook your head around real good and not a single hair moved. 

I swear it's a wonder any of us have any hair left on our heads from all the abuse we put in through back then.

Now you're probably wondering why in the world I'm on this subject. Well...My 25 year high school reunion is this Saturday and a few of us met last night in a reserved room at a local pizza establishment (that we all frequented after every Friday night football game of our high school career) where we attempted to recreate the big hair of our youth. Our ring leader purchased the Rave, that I had no idea still existed in the world today. The can has changed quite a bit and sadly, to our disappointment, the formula has too. After about ten good licks with the can, we were all coughing from the inhaling of fumes like the old days, but I could tell something was way off with the scent. 

And the hair? Well, it was still blowing in the wind. Literally.

We were attempting to make a little video (on the fly) and ended up getting kicked out by the young guys who were trying to close up so they could get the heck outta there, and as far away from the likes of us crazies as humanly possible. So there the six of us were, on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant that was our old teenage stomping ground, after 10pm on a Monday night in the thirty degree weather, with our heads teased up and freezing our butts off, making attempt after attempt to record our video. Let me just say that there is a good reason why none of us set our sights on a career in the entertainment industry.

But it was fun. And silly. And nostalgic. 

And it's always good when those three things come together.

Kinda like the Rave, blow dryer and plastic pick back in 1989. 



Be still my big ole hair.



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Friday, November 14, 2014

Set It Free

Well my car came home yesterday and they never once heard the whine. I feared it would be loud and clear this morning since the temps were way down low, but to my surprise it.is.gone. I know it existed because Charlie heard it too. He was actually the first one to hear it. The only explanation I have is that it was warm when they first listened (it mainly only did it when it was cold) and something they did in whatever it is they did in that 32,000 mile work up must have fixed it, whatever it was. 

At least that is my very unprofessional opinion about the matter. I'm just glad it's gone because, no lie, I had three different teachers (who were walking into the building), on three different mornings, turn and look to see what the whut that noise was coming up the hill when I pulled in the high school parking lot to drop Devin off. He has to get there ridiculously early since Dracen's tardy bell rings at the elementary school at just past the butt crack of dawn and two morning trips is out of the question (one is questionable most mornings). 

Speaking of Dracen and school, they had their first awards ceremony of the year this morning and his homeroom/math teacher (the one who told him on the second day of school that he'd talked more in two days than his brother did the whole year she had him) came up to me just to let me know how much of a delight he is to have in class. That is always a relief because, sweet mercy, I love that boy to pieces but he works our patience half to death much of the time at home.

Life is always an "adventure", what with him, his brother and those three rottenest-of-all-the-rotten tail waggers we've got living with us. Lucky and Brisco pulled another one of their get-out-the-door-and-run-like-there's-a-five-headed-poisonous-snake-chasing-you stunts again yesterday evening.  Charlie had just pulled into the garage with my car and I walked out there to check it out (because we also had a luggage rack installed) and as usual, all three of them followed me.

The door was down but the walk-thru door has gotten to where it sometimes doesn't stay shut tightly unless you lock it and before I knew what was happening, those two had pried it open and were halfway up the driveway before I could get my wits about me. And of course I was in baggy sweatpants that were hanging off me, short sleeves (it was cold) and sock feet. So Charlie got stuck chasing after them in his work boots. He came back shortly with Big Boy aka Brisco Darling, who I honestly didn't think still had it in him, but no Lucky. 

We figured he'd come back when he got tired in an hour or so but Dracen insisted on going out looking for him. It was getting dark and there are no street lights in our neighborhood so my worry wart self took off in the Saturn after fifteen minutes. I spotted him up the street talking to a neighbor who had gotten in her car to ride around and look for him too. After two different trips out riding and with no sunlight left to speak of, we came back to the house and waited.

Just as I expected, about an hour later, I stuck my head out the front door and there the little scallywag was on the front porch. I fussed at him a bit before letting him in the house, where he walked straight to the water bowl, drained it, took about three steps and crashed out cold on the living room floor. Juan Too Many (Charlie's nickname for him) was Flat Tuckered Out. 

Before he returned, we recalled that little quote about setting something you love free and if it comes back it's yours forever, if not, it was never meant to be.  Remember that? It was really popular in the 80s. Seems I recall, being the sentimental sap that I've always been, having it on a poster of a pony running in an open field when I was a kid. Anyway, I just did a search of that on Pinterest and discovered these spoofs instead...






And now I want chocolate.

Happy Friday,

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