CALL THE SHRINK

I was so hoping to win the NC $240 million Power Ball Lottery a couple of weeks ago. Damn. I didn't. Damn. Instead, this really old guy from Missouri did. He and his equally old wife. And, in a round about way, so did his three sons, two of whom just lost their jobs. I saw this family on TV earlier today. Boy, did THEY look happy! And, I was kinda glad for everyone. In an extremely jealous sort of way.

I was also kinda thinking that I hope they STAY happy. I keep hearing again and again about folks who win fabulous amounts of money in the lottery, only to eventually declare bankruptcy. WHAT?? HOW CAN THAT BE??? I'll tell you how: they're nuts!! Talk about letting something go to your head. To your outta control, crazy-ass head, if you ask me.

Apparently there are a lot of people who win major big money. And, a lot them go out, buying everything they possibly can; and I do mean EVERYthing. People who one day can hardly maintain their old beat-up looking Ford Escort are, the very next day, hiring private jets to fly them all over the world. Or, after happily living in the same 1000 square foot home for 20 years, the winners decide that all of a sudden the family homestead now needs to be more along the lines of a three story 30,000 square foot estate with naturally, a working elevator. Of course, inVESTing the money in some really safe, well diversified financial portfolio is never up for consideration. Ergo: good-bye incredibly lucky new found wealth. NEWS ALERT TO WINNING FAMILIES: Have you any idea how much it takes to mainTAIN such a life style?? Oops. Oh yeah... we forgot about that part.

Which is why, when I saw this lucky son of a gun lottery winning guy on TV today, surrounded by his wife and family, MY first thought was: Quick! Get an appointment with the best shrink you can find IMMEDIATELY and ask him/her to assess your mental health, in hopes you can FORGET ABOUT BLOWING ALL THE DIZZYING DOUGH IN A MATTER OF MERE STUPID MONTHS. To me, THAT would be a smart financial move. Factoring in of course, a call to a fabulous accountant. Actually, according my own Linda's School of Modern Psychiatry, I'd quickly suggest that this guy change his phone number so every relative, friend, bookie, and collections dept. will never again be able to find him.

But, definitely first on the list, would be contacting the shrink. I mean, really. Can you iMAGine how far off the chart people need to be, to foolishly squander away MILLIONS of dollars??? In no time flat?? Now THAT is what I'd call an ingrate. Me, on the other hand?? I would be SO DAMN GRATEFUL that I'd make my appointment right after I BUY the darn ticket! Geez... if only I could be so lucky.

BLOWING

Okay. Good. I've got your attention. Sorry to disappoint but the blowing I'm referring to is: blowing my hair out. Pretty soon I'm going to be blowing my brains out. It takes way longer than the normal 6 minutes I usually want to spend primping and fussing. Add another 6 minutes for finding something to wear, putting it on, adding the right accessories and bingo. I'm done with my prep work in what? A short 12 minutes.

But NOW, jeez... I've got all kinds of crapola I'm supposed to be doing for my locks. First, work in the volumizing cream. Second, gather the huge round brush and blow dryer. Third, spend 10 minutes blowing it out. Fourth, comb it out. Fifth, tease a bit and fluff it out. Sixth set the style and finally, Seventh, add a bit of finishing spray. THIS IS CRAZY! You have any idea how long this TAKES?? Wayyyyyy longer than my preferable routine of parting hair, comb it out, pull it back, add a scrunchie. I am so telling you... I'm thinking of firing my housekeeper and instead, hiring an on site beautician.

Which is why today, I tried an experiment. I got out of the shower, added the volumizing cream and then... DID NOTHING ELSE. Not even comb it! Rather, I fingered... ahem, pardon the french... my hair into place and merely let it air dry. YIPPEE! SO MUCH FASTER. Not necessarily as sleek looking of course, but so be it. Years ago I paid big bucks for curly hair, given I love curls so much, therefore this "loose" natural look just may be the ticket. And... it keeps right in step with my 6 minute rule!

Now... if only I could forgo the make-up bit. I am so jealous of friends who opt for the unmade, au naturale look. Yet, a tape keeps playing in my head whereby my Mother used to say: Uh... if movie stars need make-up, what makes you think YOU don't?? Therefore, from as far back as 16 years old, I apply make-up daily, before venturing out. As for needing the help of cosmetics, let me just say this: IT WORKS. Without it, I look crappy as hell. Some days, even bordering on scary. Besides, up until the age of 81, my mother always looked beautifully refined, impeccable and made up. Thus at my age, I guess I can, too. AND she blew out her hair every morning. So in the end... Mother Knows Best. Yet still I say, the bottom line: hair drying blows!

THE BALL COCK

Some title, huh?? In the meantime, don't get all huffy-puffy on me. I'm not trying to push any envelope here. Instead, I'm referring to the fill valve of a toilet. MY toilet, to be exact. I must tell you though, my girlfriend, Sue, DID tell me this particular plumbing item is definitely my kind of terminology. I mean really... the plumbers of old couldn't come up with any OTHER name for these mechanisms?? Geesh. I'd have loved to have been at THAT vocabulary meeting, alright. OKAY BOYS: HERE'S AN IDEA FOR YOU. FORGET ABOUT FILL VALVE.... WE'RE NAMING IT A BALL COCK, INSTEAD.

In the meantime, Sue is my go-to friend for the post-flushing water problem in my guest bathroom toilet. Way before Sue began working at Home Depot, she began perfecting the home improvement bit, and I've been impressed, indeed. Me? I simply hire someone. Sue? She checks a book out from the library and actually LEARNS. Soooo not my style.

Anyway, this toilet has been acting up for a couple of months now, and it would seem sensible that I'd get right on it (so to speak) regarding it's repair. However, it's not the toilet I normally use, so hey. Why worry? Yet... I DO know right from wrong. Thus, it's becoming apparent that the time is right for me to... ahem... attend to the ball cock. It was Sue who told me that's where the trouble lay; before she diagnosed and named the problem I had NO clue of such goings on. That there even WAS an alternate meaning to these terms, was indeed news to me.

Such news, that Sue's first direction was for me to remove the tank top (a t-shirt is down there?) check out the parts, see what type they were, come to the store and give a full report on the inner workings. WHOA... WAS SHE CRAZY??? I'M GOING TO INVESTIGATE THE TOILET TANK?? ANTE UP A REPORT ON IT, NO LESS?? What the hell must Sue be THINKING??? Oh my God. This was so not the way it was going to be.

Suffice it to say, I told Sue she had it WAY all backwards. I made it clear SHE's doing the checking/reporting/touching/etc. I'm merely doing the listening/purchasing. Which I'll do on Tuesday when we have tentative plans for her to show up here. So.... for all my bathroom using friends, all I can say is: HELP IS ON THE WAY. In no time flat, the ball cock will be in perfect working order. And afterall, perfect IS the way we like ball cocks best. Oh... and the fill valve, too.

CALL ME IN JUNE

I began work this week and all I can say is: life as I knew it, is basically over. I'M WHIPPED by the time I get home. You'd almost think I was running the Pentagon or something. I can't believe it. Getting back into this world of working non stop almost 6 hours a day is CRAZY. But... I get paid, so I can't really complain. Wait... maybe I can.

Take today for instance. It was nuts. During the 5 and 3/4 hours I'm on the job each day, I need to test the reading skills for over 50 students. EEEKS. Talk about a rush job. I need to administer 3 quickie tests and at almost all times I've got a back log of maybe 3 students. It gets intense, trust me.

Which is why I head home right smack after school, decline all sorts of social festivities on school nights and begin my yoga session as soon as possible. I turn on no radio, no TV and answer no phone. In fact, I can see already, that I'll need to add at least 10 minutes of meditation to my yoga workout, just to help make sure I come back to earth each day. Living the Wired Life is not, and never has been, my kind of living.

Therefore, as best I can tell, it could easily be next June before I return to my normal mode of operation. Wanna make plans for next summer?? Great! I'll begin blocking out the calendar right away.

CRAZY COLD

Now that I'm so damn hot, I am suddenly moved to address the cold. Temps, that is. My former husband used to tell me I should contemplate marrying a meteorologist, given I am a such devotee of local weather reports. I wasn't always committed to forecasts; it began only once my now 24 year old son began pre-school. Which now that I think of it, was pretty idiotic, considering I lived in South Florida. How the hell much different could the weather possibly be from day to day?? UH, FOLKS... TODAY IS GOING TO BE HOT. TOMORROW WILL BE EVEN HOTTER. AND THE REST OF THE WEEK... WELL, THEN IT ALL CHANGES OVER TO... what else? OPPRESSIVE! Boom. The forecast is complete.

No mention is even NECessary regarding 3 p.m. thunderstorms. You're going to carpool? Bingo. Bring along storm gear. End of story. Except of course for when the BIG weather event enters the picture. As in: Hurricanes. You can only iMAGine my attentiveness to THOSE forecasts. Jesus. I began popping valium way before the eye even formed! A system left the African coast on Sunday?? Oh... okay. Meds begin on Monday.

In the meantime, I NOW live in a city that actually has four stunning seasons. Oh, how I love it. The summers get hot, but not to worry. After 11 short weeks, autumn (my all time favorite season) kicks in. AND it snows here!! Xmas is no longer a scam. All in all, as you can see, my eye is on weather reports almost non stop. BUT, TONIGHT? Whoa... my eye is REALLY on the lookout.

GET THIS... figuring in the wind chill factor, SINGLE DIGITS!! Are you kidding me?? I live in Vermont?? Geez... it's 8 o'clock right now and already I'm reading 30 degrees. And... winds will be gusting up to 20 mph. Holy Ba Holy. Therefore, evening activities: 1.) Run hot bubble bath 2.) Get out hot chocolate/marshmellows 3.) Light fire 4.) Pray heating system doesn't go on the fritz. Last but not least: GREETINGS FROM THE NORTH POLE.

IT WORKS!

So, it's been exactly a week now, since I've become a blond and I'm so telling you... IT'S TRUE. Blonds DO have more fun. I've had an incredible week, to say the least. Some of which I can discuss; some of which I can't. But suffice it to say... it's been a fabulous 7 days.

Case in point: I GOT A JOB!! Finally!! I've been sending out applications, applying for positions, reading the classifieds, waiting for decisions, whatever, for over a year now. I become a blond and boom! Right out of the blue, I get a call asking me to work at a school 4 mins. from my house, 4 days a week, 5 hours a day. GOD SUDDENLY DECIDED TO SMILE DOWN UPON ME?? Apparently so!

Another case in point: I was called for Jury Duty this week. OH GOD, PLEASE DON'T LET ME BE SELECTED! Such was the prayer I was reciting as I literally walked into the Courthouse. I had important alternate plans that I REALLY wanted to opt for and Jury Duty simply wasn't in the game plan. ONCE AGAIN... God decided to smile down upon me. HOW LUCKY CAN I GET?? A sheer miracle.

Yet another case in point: Uh... Sorry. No can do.

Last case in point: This afternoon I was waiting for Claudia outside a store, and while she was shopping, I comfortably parked myself on a comfy outdoor bench. The day was beautiful and the weather was stunning. Thus, it didn't take but minutes for this perfectly attractive gentleman to come sit down beside me. He's over sixty; perfect. He's also got a terrific smile and football physique; again, perfect. We started chit chatting and had a great time shooting the breeze. After about 5 minutes, a very pretty woman comes up to me and says: SEE? I LEAVE HIM ALONE FOR A SECOND AND ALREADY HE'S SITTING NEXT TO A BEAUTIFUL BLOND! To which I of course, replied: Well to tell you the truth... this has been blond but for only a week and indeed... I'm having more fun! The lady laughed and queried about my many OTHER pick ups, so I felt mildy obligated to let her know the only one that stands out as a possibility was the waiter who told me how much he liked my perfume. He liked it even better after I leaned in, giving him a closer treat, but so be it.

Anyway... it seems as if being blond is turning out to be a good thing. In fact, my luck is going so beautifully as a blond, that I actually went out to buy a lottery ticket yesterday. Hey... I'm on a roll, aren't I? I haven't checked my winnings yet, but you can be sure... should I win, YOU'LL KNOW ALL ABOUT IT.

Geez... I can hardly wait for Week Two of Living Blond. For all we know, maybe I'll be married!

A GREAT MIRACLE HAPPENED THERE

During Chanukah, children play with their toy Dreidels, whose letters mean:A Great Miracle Happened There. Well, guess what? TWO miracles happened right here this morning, both of which took me by astounding surprise. The first one... and the most important, happened while I was standing in my computer room, on the phone with Claudia, catching a glance of myself in the full length mirror. Shocked, and completely disregarding whatever Claudia was saying, I turned to Pat, who was in the midst of cleaning my bookshelf and said in a voice of utter amazement...

OH MY GOD. LOOK, PAT! I ALMOST LOOK NORMAL SIZE!

I couldn't believe it. In the mirror, was the reflection of... I swear to God... a person who actually looked like a normal misses' sized woman! WHAT A F-ing miracle!! ME?? SHOP IN THE MISSY DEPTARTMENT?? Just can't BE! Jesus... if only I weren't expecting someone to stop by in a little while, I'd run right outta here and buy a multi million dollar wardrobe, all in a size 12. Well, okay... 14. Still... either my mirror is totally playing a mean joke on me or I'VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN.

As if that's not enough, get this... ANOTHER miracle also happened today. It began the other night when I had lit a candle on the mantle above the fireplace. The candle is held in a holder about a 30 inches tall. Thus, a LOT of care needs to be taken when raising/lowering melting candles. Uh... unfortunately I didn't take ENOUGH care. Next thing I know ALL THE HOT WAX CAME STREAMING DOWN THE ENTIRE FRONT OF MY FAVORITE BLACK KNIT SHIRT. I held my panic mode to a minimum, but still, I could tell this wasn't a good thing. The heat was no problem, but the hardened yellow wax covering my shirt was FAR from an added touch to the preceding stylin' look. Enter: dilemma. What to do next?? I could go on and on about the details of my deciding what I should do to save this adored garment, but suffice it to say, the shirt wound up in my freezer. I did in fact make some mild progress in peeling away the frozen wax, but in no time, I could see I was getting no where fast. IDEA FLASH: I went to the internet; Googled REMOVE WAX FROM CLOTHING.

Boom. In a mere instant, I had my solution! HINTS FROM LINDA: Get a hot iron. Place a paper towel atop the waxed area. Iron. BINGO. WAX IS LIFTED FROM CLOTHING. It was a sheer miracle, definitely bordering on astounding! See?? Being hot and heated is not JUST about looking foxy... apparently it's also about being miraculous!

AM I HAVING MORE FUN??

Well, as the last American woman to do it, I finally caved in and had my hair highlighted. Four years ago, I was still a dark brunette. Three years ago, I was a much lighter brunette. Next thing I knew, about a year ago, I became a beige/brown/reddish sorta dark dirty blonde. But... no more my friend. As of this afternoon, I am SO blonde that Barbara didn't even recognize me as I came up the walk. Claudia has taken to calling me Marilyn and/or Anna Nicole. And... none of my hair scrunchies are even CLOSE to my new color.

Both Claudia and Barbara told me to go to Angie to have her give me highlights. Being an obedient sister, I did. Angie was terrific; she listened to all my hair issues and was pretty much on the same page as I. She agreed that highlights were the way to go... not low lights as Claudia wanted. I explained how I never wear my hair down... I much prefer it off my face. She agreed and told me that the way I wear it, pulled back (much to the chagrin of almost every female friend I know) was a nice, polished look for me.

Uh... until Angie blew it out, that is.

After the blowout, I showed her how it looks when worn down. In 2 seconds flat, she told me I'm not ever again allowed to wear it pulled back at the nape of the neck. IT WAS AN ORDER. She loved the "younger" looking me. Angie ALSO ordered me to wait 3 weeks before I did my roots again. So, naturally... the first thing I did when I got home was: DO MY ROOTS. I had to! I couldn't help it. Seems as if the all the hanging strands of hair were indeed highlighted and stunning to look at BUT... the roots weren't covered! And, since my whole reason for the highlighting was to cover/help my roots, I figured, tough. I'm on my own time now.I'M making the laws!

So... all I can say, after today's makeover is: 1.) this new blond look is VERY successful (although I have neither the figure of Marilyn nor the chest of Anna Nicole) 2.) everyone who's seen my new do is wild about it (Deanna will love seeing it down) 3.) I'm placing bets on whether or not I'll have more fun (Doug said he'd be happy to bed me) and 4.) only my hair dresser knows for sure!