Tag Archives: pictures

Big Hairy Deal

If I had to classify my relationship with my hair, I would say “it’s complicated.”

I’ve gone from disinterested (childhood) to horribly dysfunctional (middle school) to high-maintenance (college) back to ambivalent tinged with annoyance and a strong desire to try and bring back the stylish babushka of my grandma’s youth (now and forever going forward.)

But it turns out I have a long history of hair animosity.

I’m told I didn’t have hair until I was about three years old and was often affectionately referred to as a cue ball with kielbasa legs. While all the other babies were wearing little butterfly clips in their hair, I had a bandana stylishly tied around my noggin.


One vote for the babushka.

When I did finally get hair, I still wasn’t that fond of it. One afternoon when my grandpa was “watching” me, I took the scissors and cut off my ponytail, along with several patches of fur from our dog Grover. Ever the organizer, I carefully placed the hair into envelopes and then proceeded to deliver them to my mom upon her return.

As you can imagine, she was thrilled.


I resorted to more headwear.

My Barbie dolls and any other toy unfortunate enough to have anything resembling hair suffered a similar fate, albeit without the advantage of being able to grow their hair back. This left several scalped carcasses to be used as the perfect plastic projectile for when I was feeling ignored.

But there was a brief period of time in my early 20s  in which my hair was my “thing.”

I went to an overpriced salon and spent $120 every six weeks to get tinfoil wrapped around my head and eavesdrop on the conversations of rich people while I sipped my glass of sparkling water with cucumber.

I’ve done everything from platinum blonde to a dark purple shade called “Orchid.” Now when asked what my natural hair color is, I swear the “Jeopardy” theme song plays in the background.

I stopped going to that salon almost seven years ago when things like mortgages took priority over foils and fancy trims. My natural brown hair is simply there, annoyingly so, mocking me with it’s thinness and a wonky cowlick that prevents me from that trendy side-swipe bang look that would cover my large forehead.

But as long as I don’t look in the mirror, my hair and I get along fine now.

You learn to pick your battles and I waved the white flag years ago—and now might just use it as a babushka.


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Not Much Has Changed

I forced my mom to look through her old cedar chest the other day for something for a future post, and along with aggressive letters to the Tooth Fairy and Santa, she came upon my baby book.


I’ll decode it for you below, but I wanted to show it as evidence.

While I didn’t stick around for the whole trip down memory lane, a couple pictures fell out when she opened to this page and it pretty much cemented the fact that not much has changed since I was just a wee little Abby with mini-issues.

Eat, Play, Love



While I doubt that whatever I’m shoving in mouth was organic or vegetarian as it is today, I developed a love for food at an early age. Here I’m so totally engrossed in it that I don’t even ham it up for the camera, which is a rarity. 

I can also guarantee that if you got too close, I would stab you with my fork.

You’re A Star, Baby


Well, that humility didn’t last long.

With no food in the picture, I started channeling my inner Marilyn Monroe shortly after. This is surely photographic evidence that I was destined for a life on stage. But as we know, Broadway was not meant to be.

The Anti-Mommy


Even at a young age, it was evident that I was not mommy material. Yes, I’m attempting to feed that homely doll I named Gert after my grandma’s best friend, but I clearly resent the tedious nature of her neediness.

But the comments under “Response to Necessary Punishment” in my baby book pretty much seals the deal:

“Hates to be told no. Gets frustrated. Tell her ‘no’ or ‘uh-uh’ and she smiles and squeals to try and warm up to you. Knows not to touch things when told though. Slap her hand and she refuses to let you know it bothers her. Never cries yet (11 months) and teases you. Goes ‘awww’ and gives hugs and kisses when she’s going to do something naughty. Sneaky.”

In other words, some things never change.

This post was in response to me accidentally coming across that page, but it also fit nicely into the Studio 30 Plus prompt this week:


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The Wizard of Words

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”


I love “The Wizard of Oz,” and that’s a classic scene when Toto opens a curtain, revealing the Wizard to be an ordinary man operating a bunch of wheels and levers while speaking into a microphone.

The Wizard wanted to seem more powerful than he was. When exposed, he took to explaining to Dorothy and the crew that they already possessed what they had been seeking all along.

Earlier a bunch of midgets came out singing, a “good” witch wearing a dress that would get her roasted on “Fashion Police” appeared in a floating bubble and there were armies of flying monkeys.

Now that I think about it, what the hell is going on in this movie?

Anyway, that particular phrase—“pay no attention to the man behind the curtain”—is one that I sometimes draw a parallel to with blogging. Why? There are a lot of bloggers I respect and see as “powerful,” but I have no clue what they look like. They don’t post pictures, and unless I’m friends with them on Facebook, I only know them through their words.

I also listen to a lot of sports talk radio, and it can be weird to see what the hosts look life in real life. And when I do—regardless of what they look like—it pulls back the curtain on the image I have somehow created of them already stuck in my head.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s great to put a face with a name and the talent—but I have to admit that I think it does initially change my perception of them and the things that say or they write.

I personally don’t post pictures because I really don’t have any—by choice.

You won’t find me snapping shots of myself in the bathroom mirror or in the driver’s seat of my car. There are a few pictures on Facebook, but they’re usually a couple of years old. I’m much more confident in my words than my looks.

As a blogger, part of me doesn’t want to ruin any image you might have of me in your head, even if that image’s skewed. Yes, that’s me in the blog header and I’ll occasionally put up a picture now and then, but I suppose I prefer you to “pay no attention to the woman behind the blog,” so to speak.

Because as odd as it is, I guess I do kind of skew my perception of certain people when I see what they look like.

This isn’t a bad thing, and as soon as the initial, “Hey! That’s XX!” passes, I’m right back to where I was in the beginning. I like being able to see people outside of the radio or the blog or whatever context their voice has attracted me to, but I don’t have to in order to enjoy them.

I also think it’s a great testament to what attracts us to certain people and mediums —blogs, radio, etc.—in that we’re hooked by the attractive words and not necessary just an attractive image.  

When the curtain’s pulled back—when the veil of transparency is lifted up—it doesn’t change what I’ve already come to admire and enjoy.

But just in case you do want to create some image of me based loosely on the pictures I’ve shared in the past, please feel free to give this image of me ample boobs and a smaller nose.

The Wizard really dropped the ball on that one.

Actually, I was on TV Saturday morning. Although I hesitate to share what I look and sound like for all the reason above, here’s the link.

I talk with my hands. Don’t judge.

Does knowing what someone looks like change your perception of them?