Think of your worst nightmare. Is it that you have orange hair? No, no, no. I didn't say red, nor did I say auburn. I said orange. See the color of the blogger thingy? Yeah. Orange.
Well, that might not be your worst nightmare, but it is mine, and NOW, it is MY REALITY.
Yes. I am Ronald McDonald's sister. I am Carrot Top's cousin. Except they have the complexion to pull it off and I have three colors I can never wear. They are: orange, yellow and brown.
I can't wear my head.
What did I do?
Yes. Really. What did I do!
Well, it all started because blonde hair is so awesome. You know how I am obsessed with blonde hair. I love blonde hair. I used to have blonde hair! Well, that is, until it turned brown. I let it all grow out because I was soooooooooo freaked out about the chemicals. And then I had sad sad brown hair. That sad brown hair I would pay $250 to get back right now.
But for the last two years I decided I had to give up and forget about blonde hair. I let it all grow out to its natural state. It was a sad state of very medium brown-ness with some auburn highlights. But it was not good enough. Who wants brown hair when you can have BLONDE!
I changed my mind when I started reading about organic hair color. I was avoiding it all because of the ammonia, the dyes and the chemicals. But if there was really an organic color that worked, DUDE SIGN ME UP RIGHT NOW.
I looked for a salon that was around that carried it. I found one about 30 miles away. I got a babysitter. I researched it. I specifically asked the owner, "This works for brown hair to change it to blonde, right? No orange, right? I don't want orange. I don't want strawberry blonde. I don't want Ronald McDonald. I want ASH. Can it do this?"
"Yes." said the liar.
I made the appointment. I skipped out of the house just imagining how I would come back in, blonde flowing locks behind me, just ready for summer. What a great day this would be.
Well, except for the dog barfing a pile of grass on the carpet.
I told lots of friends, "Next week I will be blonde!"
I texted a picture of myself to the hubby saying something along the lines of sayonara, brown hair!!!!!!
I went in to the salon. The owner was going to personally do my hair. Should be great. Color blobbed on. Under the dryer 30 minutes.
Ding!
Wash. I say, "I'm really surprised. Usually my hair takes about 1 hour and 40 minutes and that's with bleach, so this stuff must be really amazing."
Rinse. Dry. Hair is half of a shade lighter than its current self. It is brown.
Um. ? Dude? Please make my hair blonde.
Applies another color layer. Sloshes it all over my head. Wait 30 minutes under the dryer. Ding!
Rinse. Dry. I HAVE ORANGE HAIR.
"Dude. I am panicking. Do SOMETHING. I said NO ORANGE."
The dude says, "Oooh! You want blonde!!!!!! Oh! You need bleach then!"
Me: "No. You said your product would work. I am Ronald McDonald right now. Fix it. I can't do this."
Dude puts bleach highlights on my orange hair.
Sooooo much better! I now have orange and yellow hair! WOW! SO GOOD. I HAVE STRIPES! Thank goodness. This is so much better. False.
Tomorrow I'm getting brown hair again.
Moral of the story: Live with your horrifyingly stupid brown hair. It may be totally ugly and boring, but at least you don't look like a GMO clown.
Peace, love and the helpful little told me to shave my head,
Ms. Daisy
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Amazing Errors
Having a slight obsession with grammar, I am always on the lookout for fun and entertaining spelling, punctuation, or grammatical errors. When I find such a thing, I document it (if possible).
Why, just last week I nearly drove off of the road for such a thing. It was garbage day in the neighborhood I was driving through. People had their garbage bins all lined up along the side of the road (a moderately busy road, mind you). In this area, you must distinguish your general run-of-the-mill garbage from your compost on the outside of your bin. This is usually done by painting the word "compost" or some such thing on the outside of the bin so the guys know which to bother with at the time.
But this day I was to see such a sight that has never been seen (by me, anyway). A sight that would forever be burned into the minds of those who had beheld it - a wonder of wonders. I saw a garbage bin with large yellow lettering that said,
"YARD WAIST".
Are there ever TRULY any words to express what goes through one's mind when such a thing is witnessed? My 8 year-old asked me, "What does that even mean?" Usually for me it is something along the lines of, "Oh wonder of wonders, they did NOT just do that. That is AMAZING! Children, LOOK! Look at the horror!! We're drivivng too fast to take a picture! Shall we turn around?" And then I feel the pressing urge to knock on their door just to get a glance at what kind of special person they are so that my mind can conceive the depths of how this would be possible. I want to ask if they are one of the people who were educated in the illustrious Detroit public schools (and therefore have a 50% chance of being illiterate).
Well. It's not just on garbage cans, love. Yesterday there was a storm and the sirens were going off so I flicked on the tube to see if we were having a run of the mill storm or a tornado. After they reported that we were just indeed having a severe storm, they had a piece about how Magic Johnson was criticizing Donald Sterling (you know, the guy who they are going to force to sell his NBA team for making private comments to his girlfriend in his own home?) for his opinion on HIV/AIDS (now I like Magic - he went to the best college in the nation and everything, but the fact is that he got HIV from sleeping around with so many women while playing in the NBA: not a very upstanding background). The caption read,
"Magic Johnson cricizes Sterling".
He whats?
I couldn't decide - do I take a picture of it? If I run to the other room to get a camera, will the caption be gone? Should I just keep reading it aloud and staring at the wonder? I was frozen as if in front of an accident. The caption cleared off of the screen and I ran to do what I usually do in such a situation. Write an email.
Dear _______ (news people),
Perhaps you are unaware, but during your piece about Magic, the caption contained a misspelling of the word "criticize".
Not to criticize... ;)
Ms. Daisy
Response:
Of course there are many hard-working writers and producers scrambling to write an incredible amount of news each day. Having produces newscasts for nearly 25 years, I know each strives to be letter perfect.
Believe me, no one is more aghast at any misspellings than the one who made the typo.
Sincerely,
Mr. Producer*
Me: Did he just write "having produces"? Should I correct that? Putting bets on Mr. Producer* as the editor of captions... I never knew news could be so entertaining!
(* Names have been changed to protect the reputation of Detroit public schools.)
Keep your eyes open and your brain clear of pesticides!
Peace, love and entertainment,
Ms. Daisy
Why, just last week I nearly drove off of the road for such a thing. It was garbage day in the neighborhood I was driving through. People had their garbage bins all lined up along the side of the road (a moderately busy road, mind you). In this area, you must distinguish your general run-of-the-mill garbage from your compost on the outside of your bin. This is usually done by painting the word "compost" or some such thing on the outside of the bin so the guys know which to bother with at the time.
But this day I was to see such a sight that has never been seen (by me, anyway). A sight that would forever be burned into the minds of those who had beheld it - a wonder of wonders. I saw a garbage bin with large yellow lettering that said,
"YARD WAIST".
Are there ever TRULY any words to express what goes through one's mind when such a thing is witnessed? My 8 year-old asked me, "What does that even mean?" Usually for me it is something along the lines of, "Oh wonder of wonders, they did NOT just do that. That is AMAZING! Children, LOOK! Look at the horror!! We're drivivng too fast to take a picture! Shall we turn around?" And then I feel the pressing urge to knock on their door just to get a glance at what kind of special person they are so that my mind can conceive the depths of how this would be possible. I want to ask if they are one of the people who were educated in the illustrious Detroit public schools (and therefore have a 50% chance of being illiterate).
Well. It's not just on garbage cans, love. Yesterday there was a storm and the sirens were going off so I flicked on the tube to see if we were having a run of the mill storm or a tornado. After they reported that we were just indeed having a severe storm, they had a piece about how Magic Johnson was criticizing Donald Sterling (you know, the guy who they are going to force to sell his NBA team for making private comments to his girlfriend in his own home?) for his opinion on HIV/AIDS (now I like Magic - he went to the best college in the nation and everything, but the fact is that he got HIV from sleeping around with so many women while playing in the NBA: not a very upstanding background). The caption read,
"Magic Johnson cricizes Sterling".
He whats?
I couldn't decide - do I take a picture of it? If I run to the other room to get a camera, will the caption be gone? Should I just keep reading it aloud and staring at the wonder? I was frozen as if in front of an accident. The caption cleared off of the screen and I ran to do what I usually do in such a situation. Write an email.
Dear _______ (news people),
Perhaps you are unaware, but during your piece about Magic, the caption contained a misspelling of the word "criticize".
Not to criticize... ;)
Ms. Daisy
Response:
Of course there are many hard-working writers and producers scrambling to write an incredible amount of news each day. Having produces newscasts for nearly 25 years, I know each strives to be letter perfect.
Believe me, no one is more aghast at any misspellings than the one who made the typo.
Sincerely,
Mr. Producer*
Me: Did he just write "having produces"? Should I correct that? Putting bets on Mr. Producer* as the editor of captions... I never knew news could be so entertaining!
(* Names have been changed to protect the reputation of Detroit public schools.)
Keep your eyes open and your brain clear of pesticides!
Peace, love and entertainment,
Ms. Daisy
Monday, May 12, 2014
PR-ing your run: 5k strategy
Hey peeps! How goeth it?
What a weekend. I had a 5K run on Saturday and then we had the non-holiday here called "Mother's Day" (LOL) in the U.S. of A., where you get to still correct your children all day long, do the dishes, make the meals and pretty much do everything you have to do every single other day of the year. It's great. Mostly it serves to make mothers irritated because they wish that they could have a day off (and they secretly hope that Mother's Day would be it), however, year after year, it is still just another epic fail.
So, happy freakin' Mother's Day out there to all of you mothers, but a toast of pink moscato with frozen organic berries in slushie form to all of you who had to do the stinkin dishes anyway.
Moving on.
Back to the race. I was sort of training for the 5K, but not as much as I usually do for such things. I enjoy making a thing of it and forcing myself to run about 4-5 times a week but this time I kinda failed at that and prior to the run on Saturday, I had run once about 8 days before. Someone at the pool suggested that I was tapering.
Yes. Tapering.
More like my cousin's secret trick for triathlons - he calls his training "non-training".
It works for him.
I was running about once or twice a week from January on - the weather was not really cooperative this year and I don't have clothing that works for -30F temps. I mean, I could go running in my snow pants, but it's kind of bulky and the whole running with snow boots on is a workout I don't really enjoy. Because of this, I did not feel very exceptionally prepared, but somehow, glory to God, it worked out anyway.
My usual practice runs for distances of around 3-5 miles have an average pace of about 7:45 min/mile. I can run much quicker on adrenaline, however. My first mile of the half marathon I did clocked in at 7:00 even and I figured I should chill it out a bit since I had only 12.1 miles left to go. (At mile 12 I wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap.) My usual 5k time lands usually somewhere in the 23 minute range.
Before I did the race on Saturday, I read an article on Friday about an experiment that was done with some college women runners. They got a baseline pace and then started their first mile at 6% faster, 3% faster, and 0% faster to compare their results. They found that half of the runners did better at a 6% increase and the other half did better at a 3% increase - some of them even PR'ed with this method (average around mid twenty minute results).
If you're a runner, you always ALWAYS hear about negative splitting your miles. I read the research and decided to try the positive split method. Basically, you pull a crazy first mile and then hang on to your pace for the last two. You know with a 5K being such a short race that your torture will be over shortly - and on the flip side, if you think about it, you really can't make up a minute or whatever somewhere else in the race.
I put myself up near the front (it wasn't an enormous race - no Kenyans) of about 500 racers and psyched myself up. The ipod was pumping, the intimidation vibes were being sent out to any females nearby with my stretching and jumping around maneuvers (yeah, well, not really, but whatever, it helps me somewhow to think so). The countdown began - 5, runners, 4, 3, on your marks, 2, 1 go! I blasted off, adrenaline extending to my fingernails, heart pumping out of my ribcage, mouth drier than dirt (I actually was moving my tongue all over to try to see if it was going to dry up and fall out - this was a good distraction for a moment). I kept my eyes up and tailed those seven guys in front of me (well, except for #1 who was 25 years old, about 7 feet tall and weighed something like 124 pounds and had those special arm sleeves and leg thingies - he was out of sight of everyone in about 4 minutes).
Mile one came. Check the watch. 6:30. Woah. Yeah, I guess that's faster than normal. Is it too fast? I'll find out.
Here came the out and back turnaround - I looked at my watch at that point and then the adrenaline in my brain made me promptly forget all about it (very useful). Starting to get tired. Dizzy.
Mile 2. Really? Oh man. Okay, come on. I can hear the people on the opposite side cheering for me...sort of...the music in the ipod was loud. I was focusing on not passing out - stuff was getting fuzzy in the vision.
Am I at mile 3 yet? Breathe. Don't pass out. It would be embarassing.
Distraction #2: Is that pee going down my leg? Please tell me I'm not starting my period right now. Oooh, that would also be embarassing. Then I pictured myself running and thinking of that thought - then what other people would be thinking. Should I nonchalantly grab a leaf from the ground and find a way to keep running and use it if necessary? It would be organic...
Yes, the thoughts of runners are a bit bewildering. I'm just keepin' it real.
Then I saw it. On the ground - a bouncy, flippy ponytail shadow coming my way. NO!!! Distraction #3 was on the way. Mile 3 - high school cross country runner is trying to pass me. No, no, no, no, no. I am in 1st place for women...no, no, no, no... Don't want to give it up.
Aaaaaaaaaand Miss 85 pound teenager bounds past, ponytail cheerfully bouncing. I stare at her hamstrings. Holy cow, her leg is the size of my arm. She is a running skeleton. Holy cow. Look at that thing. It's sticking OUT of the back of her leg every time she lands. Mesmerizing. Now hypnotized by the hamstring.
Around the curve - the finish line is in sight.
I remind myself to push to finish. Um, I can't. I am. Ugh! GO!
I cross the line - chip calls me 21:59, gun calls me 22:01. 2nd place women's overall, 10th to finish overall. I figure it is a good time to lay on the soft cement now.
Yay. It's over. Poo, she beat me. Yay, I cleared my best time ever.
The positive split worked.
Next time, I'll start out fast again. And maybe I'll practice running in Depends.
Peace, love and yes, I do know 2nd place is the first loser, but it got me a medal anyway,
(and seriously - I wish I could show you the freakish vision of hamstrings burned on my mind - it was ALIEN, I tell you, alien!)
Ms. Daisy
What a weekend. I had a 5K run on Saturday and then we had the non-holiday here called "Mother's Day" (LOL) in the U.S. of A., where you get to still correct your children all day long, do the dishes, make the meals and pretty much do everything you have to do every single other day of the year. It's great. Mostly it serves to make mothers irritated because they wish that they could have a day off (and they secretly hope that Mother's Day would be it), however, year after year, it is still just another epic fail.
So, happy freakin' Mother's Day out there to all of you mothers, but a toast of pink moscato with frozen organic berries in slushie form to all of you who had to do the stinkin dishes anyway.
Moving on.
Back to the race. I was sort of training for the 5K, but not as much as I usually do for such things. I enjoy making a thing of it and forcing myself to run about 4-5 times a week but this time I kinda failed at that and prior to the run on Saturday, I had run once about 8 days before. Someone at the pool suggested that I was tapering.
Yes. Tapering.
More like my cousin's secret trick for triathlons - he calls his training "non-training".
It works for him.
I was running about once or twice a week from January on - the weather was not really cooperative this year and I don't have clothing that works for -30F temps. I mean, I could go running in my snow pants, but it's kind of bulky and the whole running with snow boots on is a workout I don't really enjoy. Because of this, I did not feel very exceptionally prepared, but somehow, glory to God, it worked out anyway.
My usual practice runs for distances of around 3-5 miles have an average pace of about 7:45 min/mile. I can run much quicker on adrenaline, however. My first mile of the half marathon I did clocked in at 7:00 even and I figured I should chill it out a bit since I had only 12.1 miles left to go. (At mile 12 I wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap.) My usual 5k time lands usually somewhere in the 23 minute range.
Before I did the race on Saturday, I read an article on Friday about an experiment that was done with some college women runners. They got a baseline pace and then started their first mile at 6% faster, 3% faster, and 0% faster to compare their results. They found that half of the runners did better at a 6% increase and the other half did better at a 3% increase - some of them even PR'ed with this method (average around mid twenty minute results).
If you're a runner, you always ALWAYS hear about negative splitting your miles. I read the research and decided to try the positive split method. Basically, you pull a crazy first mile and then hang on to your pace for the last two. You know with a 5K being such a short race that your torture will be over shortly - and on the flip side, if you think about it, you really can't make up a minute or whatever somewhere else in the race.
I put myself up near the front (it wasn't an enormous race - no Kenyans) of about 500 racers and psyched myself up. The ipod was pumping, the intimidation vibes were being sent out to any females nearby with my stretching and jumping around maneuvers (yeah, well, not really, but whatever, it helps me somewhow to think so). The countdown began - 5, runners, 4, 3, on your marks, 2, 1 go! I blasted off, adrenaline extending to my fingernails, heart pumping out of my ribcage, mouth drier than dirt (I actually was moving my tongue all over to try to see if it was going to dry up and fall out - this was a good distraction for a moment). I kept my eyes up and tailed those seven guys in front of me (well, except for #1 who was 25 years old, about 7 feet tall and weighed something like 124 pounds and had those special arm sleeves and leg thingies - he was out of sight of everyone in about 4 minutes).
Mile one came. Check the watch. 6:30. Woah. Yeah, I guess that's faster than normal. Is it too fast? I'll find out.
Here came the out and back turnaround - I looked at my watch at that point and then the adrenaline in my brain made me promptly forget all about it (very useful). Starting to get tired. Dizzy.
Mile 2. Really? Oh man. Okay, come on. I can hear the people on the opposite side cheering for me...sort of...the music in the ipod was loud. I was focusing on not passing out - stuff was getting fuzzy in the vision.
Am I at mile 3 yet? Breathe. Don't pass out. It would be embarassing.
Distraction #2: Is that pee going down my leg? Please tell me I'm not starting my period right now. Oooh, that would also be embarassing. Then I pictured myself running and thinking of that thought - then what other people would be thinking. Should I nonchalantly grab a leaf from the ground and find a way to keep running and use it if necessary? It would be organic...
Yes, the thoughts of runners are a bit bewildering. I'm just keepin' it real.
Then I saw it. On the ground - a bouncy, flippy ponytail shadow coming my way. NO!!! Distraction #3 was on the way. Mile 3 - high school cross country runner is trying to pass me. No, no, no, no, no. I am in 1st place for women...no, no, no, no... Don't want to give it up.
Aaaaaaaaaand Miss 85 pound teenager bounds past, ponytail cheerfully bouncing. I stare at her hamstrings. Holy cow, her leg is the size of my arm. She is a running skeleton. Holy cow. Look at that thing. It's sticking OUT of the back of her leg every time she lands. Mesmerizing. Now hypnotized by the hamstring.
Around the curve - the finish line is in sight.
I remind myself to push to finish. Um, I can't. I am. Ugh! GO!
I cross the line - chip calls me 21:59, gun calls me 22:01. 2nd place women's overall, 10th to finish overall. I figure it is a good time to lay on the soft cement now.
Yay. It's over. Poo, she beat me. Yay, I cleared my best time ever.
The positive split worked.
Next time, I'll start out fast again. And maybe I'll practice running in Depends.
Peace, love and yes, I do know 2nd place is the first loser, but it got me a medal anyway,
(and seriously - I wish I could show you the freakish vision of hamstrings burned on my mind - it was ALIEN, I tell you, alien!)
Ms. Daisy
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