June 9
Business Stuff:
First off, I always forget to mention this! People who send me email from "whoever@whatever.rr.com" (wherin "whoever@whatever is YOUR email address, whatever that might be, for those who need things spelled out a little more clearly) and don't get a reply, ever--it's not because I am ignoring you, but there's some weird email problem I have with people at rr.com. I reply, it bounces. I've no idea whether it's my email thing or your email thing. It's irrelevant. I try and answer, and my attempts are thwarted, so it's nothing personal. I've got mail right now from somoene about my last entry, and I'd like to answer, but know it's only going to bring me sadness when I see the reply, bounced, in my inbox. Really. This is all true. I am not saying this to get out of answering mail. I like answering my mail, although, to be completely honest, I often wait a few days before doing it. That's just part of what makes me me, and that's all there is to it.
Hah, I'm Writing About Sniffing Again...
Since it seems I've run out of new things to write about (point in case: the driving list, though I've thought of, and have been reminded of a few other things which I might add to this entry if I've got a need for filler. Filler! In my entry! Like cherries! Funny!), I have a need to mention again that I'm obsessed with hair products. One would think, by my obsession, that I had lovely, sassy hair. I do not. This doesn't prevent me from buying tons of shampoo and conditioner and whatnot. Unlike most people, I don't ever buy it with the hopes that it's going to make my hair do something it doesn't want to do (let's give "not look like shit all the time" as a good for example). More often than not--and this is the honest truth--I buy shampoo based on how it smells, not even giving the remotest thought to what it's supposed to do.
You might find yourself at the market, or wherever it is you happen to purchase your hair supply needs, because you need shampoo. You would saunter over to the hair sundries aisle, examine the first thing that catches your eye, maybe give it a sniff, and off you'd go. That's perfectly normal. Not for me. A few weeks ago, I was buying shampoo (and conditioner--that should go without saying, shouldn't it? I mean, do people actually buy one without the other? If you have hair, you should be buying both. Well, unless your hair is prone to being oily, I guess. Or, if you're STRANGE. Conditioner is swell), and I found one I liked a lot. The perfect smell! From a company I like! Yeah! But, sorrow. Heartbreak. Where is the conditioner to match?? Where is the patchouli balancing pure conditioner to add combability (combability? Sure.) to my sorry head? Where?? WHERE??
The answer, my friends, was tragic. There was none. That's right. There was no complementarily scented conditioner. Sure, there was some nasty old mint/basil stuff, but really. I am not making a salad, and why would I want to cover up the dirtyhippy goodness of patchouli shampoo with someone other than another dirty hippy scent? Disgusted, I stepped away from this shampoo that had teased me and broken my heart. I settled for something else. The important thing to know is that from the time I approached the shampoo isle and the time I walked away with the Herbal Essence (which I think--if you were wanting my opinion--is a shitty shampoo, even the fancy Intensives kind, and I'll tell you that for free) 30 minutes had passed. Thirty Whole Minutes.
30 minutes. I wish I was kidding. I wish I could tell you all that that was an aberration, that I wanted my hair to smell especially nice for some kind of occasion (heh, the kind of occasion where people go around sniffing one another's hair is not one I've had the pleasure of attending, but it's fun to imagine, isn't is? "Gee! YOUR hair smells TERRIFIC!" "Thanks! So does YOURS!!"). The truth is much more frightning: I'm out of my damn mind. I'm incapable of walking up to a row of shampoo, picking one and leaving. I just can't. Seeing all of the bottles lined up there, each promising me something different ("Beach Blonde!" Me, to self: "Will this make me look like a hot blonde at the beach? Oh, wait, it smells weird. Fuck that.") speaks to some part of my brain that isn't often spoken to.
It speaks to the part of my brain that, upon entering my friendly (joke! they're not even remotely friendly. I am not entirely convinced that they're even human, but you keep that to yourselves, okay?) local Sephora says to me: "Bitch, go stand there and smell every perfume! Pick your favorite three, put them in the basket, we'll rendevous by the NARS display!!" It's some scent seizure I have when faced with a seemingly endless array of decisions about how I want to smell.
This is what it is to be an American, though, isn't it? Isn't it about freedom of choice? My freedom of choice to stand at my local Stop and Shop and open bottles of conditioner and smell until I am satisfied? ISN'T IT?? It is! And lest you think I'm going to leave you hanging, I've been thinking of that patchouli shampoo since that dark day, and finally during a trip to the mall this afternoon, I found it and a suitable matching conditioner. Go look. I got the chamomile aloe moisturizing balm, and if you'd like to come to my place and sniff me tomorrow, you're more than welcome. I need some affirmation.
And now, I'm going to stop talking about the whole thing, because I feel like a giant freak, moreso than usual, even.
This is what you get when I write entries on Sunday night, the week I go on vacation. Shampoo Talk. What could be more fascinating? Next time, I'll tell about how I also comparison sniff deodorant before I buy it. Or, better still, I'll use filler.
the other day - home - email - tomorrow