Black & Tattoo

Black.

That would be my new hair color.

Not dark brown. Not brunette. Not mahogany. Black.

I feel like I need to start wearing leather. And get a nose piercing. Maybe even a tattoo! Oh! Oh! I like that idea!....

I'm totally going to find a magic marker and make myself a (semi-permanent) bad ass!

Okay okay... no tattoo.

Do you have a tat?

If getting a tattoo were painless... and having a tattoo removed were painless, scar-less and inexpensive would get one?

If so, what of?

If not, why not?

If you already do, what is it of?

And yes, I am hoping it will fade out some... or a lot.

A most-unladylike discussion!

****Warning: THE FOLLOWING POST DEALS WITH MATURE SUBJECT MATTER- lacking for any social etiquette and highly suggestive in sexual content and inappropriate for many readers- I highly suggest that my mother, specifically, not read it :) .... and anyone not willing to see the humor in this most unladylike discussion.... ******


A friend and I were having a conversation the other day in Chapters. Let me tell you- it was most certainly NOT a conversation one would usually partake in at a book store. Or any public place for that matter. The two of us were wandering around the store, pulling out some of our favorite books and discussing the merits of each... some of which were great literary masterpieces... and some of which were quite undeniably smut.... when one book in particular inspired a most-un-ladylike topic.....

It all started with a discussion about "the talk"...

You know "the talk"... that incredibly awkward and usually-by-that-time-irrelevant sex talk you have with your parents?

Yah... that one.

So there we were in the magazine section- my English-riding friend looking through Horse and Hound and I perusing Western Horseman- the both of us totally engrossed in the discussion of how we gained the majority of our pre-personal-experience Intel from late night slumber parties...

Ahhh! Slumber Parties! Remember them?

The dictionary should read:

Slumber Party: wherein a group of virginal, pure-of-mind, prepubescent girls gather around the prerequisite, know-all hussy (there is always one) to gather sorridly graphic, oh-so-steamy instruction on matters pertaining to the opposite sex... ie- how to french kiss a boy as well as what unexpected consequences might arise from such action....

It was during this discussion that the topic of how and when we discovered the logistics of giving blow jobs came about...

Excuse me? Yes, I did just say Blow Jobs. WOW!!! cant believe I just typed that!!!!

So... this is about where those of you who didn't take my warning might want to reconsider!

Because this is a topic that I simply must discuss... you'll find out why later...

So, I mentioned to my friend that at a teen I found the term "blow job" rather confusing- given some misinformation I had received that led me to read the term as...well....a literal translation of the act... Come on! You have to admit that the term is an oxymoron of sorts...highly confusing to such an innocent mind as mine was at the time.

Anyways... this prompted a further discussion on the topic....

I just have to pause here to note that there were actually one or two...or three men in our general vicinity during our conversation... men who seemed to gather suspiciously close as it progressed... men who eventually gave up even the pretext of flipping the pages of the magazines in their hands and took to staring blankly with one ear keenly trained in our direction. But I digress.

Eventually the topic turned to even classier subject matters....such as our general assumptions of the popularity of such acts amongst our fellow female friends (having agreed that most of the males we know are unanimous in their opinion of such) and more specifically how women feel about giving them... the poll read as follows....

Do most women:

a) hate it, wont do it
b) dont like it but will do it
c) dont mind
d) like it
e) love it

A dare, of sorts, was wagered. A poll was suggested. Yes, I said poll. Her suggestion... that I place a poll with the above options on my BLOG!!!

I believe my reply was a resounding, "Ah...yah.... I THINK NOT!!!"

A debate ensued. I defended my honor, my class, my dignity... my lady-ish-ness *blank stare* and in the end we settled on some terms...

The result of which is today's post.

A bet is a bet. This is me paying up....Discussing fellatio on my blog.

*hangs head in shame*

Here is my question to you.

What is your best guess at the result of the poll? (see above for options a,b,c,d,e,)

Who is willing to step up and admit they are just as sordidly curious as we were!?!?

The Mourning of Hair

The Mourning of Hair

That title sounds so... dramatic... like The Silence of the Lambs... only more like "The Morning of the Hare"... or Breaking Dawn of the Rabbit...

Sorry.

But seriously, I'm mourning my hair today. Why? Because for the past oh, say, seven years my hair has looked relatively the same. Untouched by dye and only cut to a modest variation, my hair has been long, straight, deep, dark and mahogany in color.

But today that changed. Peroxide was involved... along with hours in a salon chair... the sharp reek of chemical... the crinkle of tin foil....

The result?

Streaks.

Sounds anti-climatic right? But wait!

They are blond streaks!

BRIGHT blond streaks!

Bright, bright blond streaks!

LOTS of Bright blond streaks!

So much Bright Blond Streaks that I'm having trouble deciding if I still qualify as a brunette.

So whats the big deal? It's just hair right?

Well, yes and no. My hair is one of the few parts of my appearance I've never felt insecure about. My hair never got fat. It never grew zits or made an embarrassing smell in public. It never had a "There's Something About Mary" moment nor did it ever all fall out at once... even after a particularly hideous perm.

I liked my hair as it was. It was dark and dramatic... it set off my eyes... I liked saying, when asked, "Yes, that is my natural color... I haven't dyed my hair in years." My hair was familiar... it was comfortable. The thought of changing it was a little disconcerting... because once done, there was no going back (you cant immediately go back to your natural hair after dying it). The thought was a little scary. Scary? Really? Yes! I find change a little... scary, most of the time.

Which is why I dyed my hair today. One small step for man, one giant leap for Chelsi-kind!

Because I need change. I want change. But I'm more than a little scared of it!

Which is why I figured... If I cant change something as simple as my hair, how in God's green earth was I going to change anything else in my life?

Change is good.

So they tell me.

But just between you and me...

I miss my old hair. I'm scared of the coming change. I want to snuggle up in my deep bed, pull my old comforter over my head, snuggle up to Hawkydogs warm speckled hide and stay that way- safe, warm, familiar... comfortable... forever.

Thank goodness life doesn't work that way. But sometimes, just for a single moment.... dont you wish it did?

As you can see, depending on the light it can look either really light or really dark with light steaks. I think in reality it is somewhere in between but I'm having trouble getting used to it when it keeps looking so different all the time. Btw, the below photo was taken just after I got home and looked in that familiar mirror for the first time. I freaked out and called my sister.... I wasn't "posing" for this shot (I was just trying to get a shot of the streaks to send to her) and accidentally caught this expression... which I think should be titled...

"Holy Shit"

Girl Friend Talk- Part 1

The topic of girl friends (friends who are girls) is as broad ranging of a subject as any known to man- the dymanic between a woman and her closest friend is often as, or more, complicated than your average marriage. I wouldnt dare try to speak generally about a topic as close to my heart or as deeply routed in our female psychee as this and so I'll be breaking this up into a series of posts I'll call "Girl Friend Talk".


I was inspired to write this series of posts because I have a very, very dear friend Barb, who I usually talk to every day, sometimes more.... She is the kind of friend who knows me better than I know myself, the kind that offers unquestionable support and a swift kick in the ass when needed....the one I know I can trust with every secret, insecurity and heartache. She is my go-to-gal and confidant- the Thelma to my Louise.

The past few weeks we havent been able to chat as much as usual as we've both been unusually busy. That little missing piece of my day is an unwelcome hole, an absense that makes me realize just how much joy our daily chatter brought to my life. I am sure that things will go back to normal soon but I couldn't help but worry this evening, as another day passed without our usual chat, that there may come a time where we will naturally drift apart- A change of schedule, a big move or perhaps a new friend to takes over that role of prominence in her life. Sometimes one friend drifts away before the other is willing to let go and jealousy, hurt feelings and bitterness can result. I've had that happen a time or two. I think I've always been more insecure in my friendships than I have have been with men and relationships. I've lost a few girl friends over the years, which is never easy for anyone but particularly difficult when, by nature, one is as fiercely loyal as I am. I trust in the strength of Barb and I's friendship, that I will always be blessed enough to count her as one of my closest friends and ally. I write this by way of example, to show that even a friendship as time, tested and true as ours is not immune to the oversensitive, insecure, dynamic and diverse layers that make up a friendship between two women.

And I know she'll kill me for posting this...but I will anyways! I can just hear her voice callin' me up to say, "Are you crazy! I call you all the damn time but you're never home!" and then I'll say, "I called you twice yesterday!" and then she'll counter with "Whatever! I called you three times the day before!" and it will go on from there...

Anyways...

Lets start by gaining a consensus-

Do you have a girl friend whom you consider your "best friend"?

Do you have one girl friend who you see or talk too most often? If so, how often do you speak to her or see her?

I've always disliked the term "best friend" because it is so exclusive... it is the kind of word that as an insecure girl I learned to dread as the cliquey, catty, groups in school perpetually dumping one and other (or me) for their next "best friend"...

...and I think anyone I love has an inherent value that is both without measure or class.


Next post in this series will be about friendships that have gone awry- titled, "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do".

Women Against Psychic Bladders Unite!

I think my bladder is psychic! Or at the very least totally masochistic. If I am twenty minutes from home and I have to go pee, I can hold it with no problem....right up until the driveway. As I approach the house the urge gets stronger....by the front door I'm starting to get worried... and as I walk in the house take my jacket off and start down the hall I'm starting to panic... things turn urgent... and then... then I get to washroom!... but not in the washroom! Oh no! I'm poised just outside the door...standing there... doing the pee pee dance! ....as I stare longingly at the toilet. Finally I make the final dash but wait! There is one last step. The pants! The pants must come down! Another pee pee dance ensues. And then... well then, relief alas. Why? Why couldnt that sneaky little voice trick my bladder into thinking that we were still miles away from a washroom? Why must it always let the secret fly just a few feet short of home? I wanna know, dammit! Why?! Btw, this is nothing new. I remember when I used to walk home from school it was the same story, every day. I'd get to within five houses of home and BAM! It'd hit. I gotta go! Now! What is really embarrassing is that I lived in a cul-de-sac and so it's not like I was able to just stop in front of my neighbors house and do a little pee pee dance for a minute. Oh no! I'd have to come up with some inconspicuous task to use as an excuse to stop... you know, check my back back, tie my shoe (or untie and re-tie I should say) or stop and admire my neighbor's garden. The sweet lady next door must of thought I was obsessed with her pansies! But eventually I'd make it through the front door and then it was game on! My bladder and I'd have a throw-down, show-down. The nearest bathroom? Upstairs... seven small steps... seven agonizing steps to freedom.

Why not just go before leaving school you ask? Because I didnt have to go then. Oh no! And these days my bladder doesn't give up that pertinent little bit of news before I leave the grocery store or restaurant either. No! No! It is sadistic freak of nature that knows just which bathroom is mine! So it lays in wait, holding tight until it senses the moment to strike! Just a few feet short of the blessed, blasted toilet, it springs to life! But I shall play slave to no man... or organ! (that doesnt sound right, does it?)... I am a strong, confident, woman in firm control of her bladder! And so I fight! I fight! And I'll win, dammit!

I'm going to start a club, "Women Against Psychic Bladders Unite!" WAPBU for short.

Are you in!?!

Oh! And I discovered something else! All of these pin up girls we thought were trying to be sexy?! Well they're not! Oh no, they're doing the pee pee dance!!! Check it out!

"The best things in life are free..."

But you can give them to the birds and bee's cause I want money! That's what I want!

So I had a bit of a reality check last night. And it wasn't a pleasant one either.

I have been trying to choose a career. Just like you shop for a blouse, or select the perfect apple at the grocery store I've been doing my research, looking at courses and trying to project an analysis of what would constitute my best foreseeable future career choice.

And guess what I came up with?

Nothing. SFA. <-- do you know what that means? Nadda. Squat. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

Did you know that hear in Canada we pronounce the letter "Z" "Zed" not "Zee"? True story.

It seems that most of the people I know found their career path by some form of natural progression.... They started as a clerk and worked their way up, upgrading their education as they went....

Or more commonly...

They do what their parents did, their grandparent, or their cousin Fred from Boise who knew a guy, who's girlfriend's sisters kid has an opening.

Or better yet, when you are fresh out of high school with a pure idyllic mind untainted by the stains of society, of the harsh truths of life, money, morals, and business. And you pick something like being a veterinarian with some grand illusion of "helping animals" with no reality check to sway you away from working endless hours, being on-call, dealing with people who wont do right by their animals, having to run a small (or not so small) business, the cost of education, the years spent in school, etc. etc. etc..

But as a 26 year old woman, with a pretty solid grasp of my abilities, aptitude, expectations, and weaknesses, I am finding it near impossible to even decide which direction to look towards.

I have some potential in art, writing, and horses...none of which offer any financial or job security... both of which are REALLY high on my list of NEEDS.

I am pretty much at a loss. I am making an appointment on Monday to meet with a career counselor but I have to say I don't have much hope in their helping me. I also don't have much faith that focusing entirely on education is the right route as these days a degree does hold the same weight as it once did.

I know I should get out there and just do something because that will lead to other areas....

But I feel at a loss.

Any suggestions?