Have a Hair Raising Evening!

In honor of the holiday, I thought I'd offer my take on a few of this year's hottest Halloween hairstyles.  I generally leave this type of thing to the professionals, but these looks are just begging for a comment. 

According to the package, this look is called "the sexy milkmaid".  I call it "If Princess Leia was Swedish and a flower child". 

If Victoria Beckman and Winter Park's Carrot Top had a love child...

 

Model to the Border Patrol Officer:  "What do you mean you think I'm smuggling something in?" 

What all the Moms with high order multiples and reality TV shows are wearing this Fall .... and what a whole lot of women in middle America are wearing this Halloween. 

I also thought I'd share my favorite personal Halloween hair moment from the last several years.  I'll let Homer explain just how fab the hair really is.  When he and Marge were on a show called, Mother Flippers, in the same vein as Wife Swap, he said the following to Marge's temporary husband, Charles:  "All right, pal. I've made a diagram of all the places on Marge you're not allowed to touch." (He then showed Charles the diagram and finished his admonition.) "Especially the hair!"

Happy Halloween! 

A sMALL Sacrifice for Great Hair!

Up until recently, if you had asked me if I had a BMF (a best mall forever), I wouldn’t have hesitated. Like most women, I have enjoyed a lot of malls in my life. One, however, had always been the apple of my eye.       

As I mentioned in the "about me" recap above, I wasn’t that thrilled about the shopping centers my parents tried to drag me to when I was in elementary school. I did love going to the mall as a toddler, though, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the countless hours I’ve spent at those high, holy places of merchandise procurement from my teen years forward.

When I was in pre-school, I used to go visit my Grandmother at her post in the Men’s Department of Richards in Miami Beach’s 163rd Street Mall. I just loved seeing her in her stylish dresses and tasteful pins or scarves with that tape measure draped carefully around her neck. I also remember riding the carousel just outside of that mall and sitting on my Grandpa’s lap while he, in red suit with white fur trim, shiny black boots and faux beard, fulfilled his store Santa duties.

At age 13, I got my ears pierced at Ivey’s in the old Winter Park Mall, now Winter Park Village. I also spent many an hour there reading funny cards at the Hallmark store and checking out all the latest fashions at Casual Corner, 5-7-9 and Foxmoor.

During most Augusts in the 1970s, I spent some amount of time at the Park City Center in Lancaster, PA marveling at the sheer abundance of boots, winter coats and sweaters that it had to offer. Often my favorite outfit of the new school year was purchased at that mall as an early birthday present from my Grandma.

During the 1980s, I organized Hello Kitty paraphernalia on the shelves of a Pompano Fashion Square card shop and I greeted customers and put clothes on mannequins at both the Orlando Fashion Square Mall and the Fayette Mall in Lexington, KY.

These were all mall crushes though. The mall that had my heart was always the Altamonte Mall. In fact, my relationship with it predates most of my friendships.

The Altamonte Mall doesn’t have an Anthropologie. It doesn’t have a Williams & Sonoma. It doesn’t have a Pottery Barn and it doesn’t have Saks. What it does have is a lot of history. Much of my life has unfolded in or around that Seminole County shopping mecca.

The center court of the Altamonte Mall circa 1974

I started frequenting the Altamonte Mall in 1974, the year it opened. My Dad used to come up from South Florida every other weekend to hang out with my sister, my brother and me. We usually ended up spending some part of each of those weekends at the Altamonte Mall. My favorite things to do there during that era were: 1) Get a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone at Baskin Robbins. 2) Stare at the pictures of the perfect girls on the Jordan Marsh teen board wall and wish I was one of them and 3) Try on cute outfits my mother would’ve never let me wear in a store that had actual car doors on hinges for fitting room doors.

I learned to drive in the Altamonte Mall parking lot. I hung out with friends at the Altamonte Mall Farrell’s as a teen. (See my October 14th post.) Long before the AMC 18 was ever built, I went on dates in the much smaller theater that used to be over near Sears. I worked at the Altamonte Mall in the late 80s/early 90s (as a “Personnel Manager” at what was then Maison Blanche). I ate Taco Bell at the Altamonte Mall Food Court the night before I delivered my son, in order to hasten his arrival. I shuttled a lot of kids to and from the mall over the years, specifically to and from the movie theater, and my child worked at the Altamonte Mall PAC SUN one summer when he was in high school.

A year ago, Hot Heads moved from the Altamonte Mall to the Seminole Towne Center. You would think, given the depth of the mall-patron bond I outlined above, that my allegiance would be to the mall not to the salon. You would think I’d simply start getting my hair done at that well known chain salon that’s not too far from those center court kiosks. You would be wrong. I love the Altamonte Mall, but sometimes love just isn’t enough. After all, this is my hair we’re talking about!

I’ve told the Altamonte Mall that we’ll remain friends. I even have plans to see it on Friday, as my friend, Carissa, and I will be meeting at the Barnes & Noble that afternoon. It won’t be the same though. I know it and the Altamonte Mall knows it. Sure, I’ll still carry those memories in my heart and sure I’ll always care, but if I’m able to scrounge up any money for Christmas gifts, chances are I’ll spend that money at the Seminole Towne Center after a visit to Hot Heads. If there is a birthday card to be purchased, the odds are good that it will be purchased at JerieAnne’s Hallmark near the Seminole Towne Center Dillard’s while I’m walking the mall showing off a new do.

Though this isn’t an easy break up, it is certainly amicable. After taking a gander at my newly coiffed hair this past weekend, the Altamonte Mall, took the high road and told me it understood and wanted me to be happy.

I had acquaintances in college who drove across state lines for White Castle burgers. I had an old boyfriend who drove eight hours once to see a B52s in concert in Atlanta and family lore has it that my uncle once drove from California to New Jersey for a piece of my Grandmother’s chocolate cake. (Well, there was a little more to that story, but you get the point.) If you find something you are crazy about, you do what you have to do to keep it in your life.

The Seminole Towne Center is twelve miles east of the Altamonte Mall. TWELVE MILES! I have friends who run that far before they go to work in the morning. A twelve mile drive is an infinitesimally small sacrifice to make for hair that falls the right way and for good highlights.

Below, please find a little song I penned to commemorate the important role the Altamonte Mall played in my life for so many years. (It might be more accurate to say that I just tweaked the lyrics of an existing song, Bruce Springsteen’s Fire.) It's my humble way of saying goodbye and thankyou to a mall that will always retain a place in my heart.  Anyway, without further ado… I give you:

If You Say I Won't Miss That Mall, My Friend, You're A Liar

I learned to drive my car in the mall parking lot .
I ate some ice cream there … and lots of clothes I bought.
I interviewed teens …and told ‘em they were hired
And if things went south, ooooohhh…. said they were FIRED!

It had a hold on me, right from the start
A grip so tight I couldn’t tear it apart.
Watched movies there and window shopped like a fool.
When the temp was hot …the Altamonte Mall was cool

Bakers and Anne Taylor Loft, Ulta and Bebe 
I really love those stores… love ‘em more than I can say!
Shoes, bags, jeans and makeup… so many things to desire.
This mall I’ll miss… this is making me a CRIER!

When pregnant and past due, I was real worrywart
To speed things along, I hit the food court
I ordered burritos so hot …. they made me perspire
And tacos with a sauce called… ooohh… FIRE

I found a salon I loved… a place that stole my heart
They didn’t just style hair, they were purveyors of art
They put my hair in foils and sat me under the dryer
When they took them out… ooohh, my hair looked hot as FIRE

Now I’m driving in my car, I turn on the radio
East on I-4 is the direction I go
Gotta get to Hot Heads. This root situation is dire
For a great cut and color, ooohhh… I’d walk through FIRE!

The Biggest Winner

I absolutely adore Abby from The Biggest Loser. I have been so touched by her story. What a brave and beautiful person she is! I don’t usually get so emotionally involved in shows like this, but I am rooting for this girl! She deserves all the happiness in the world and I hope she finds it!

The Hair Chair Book Club, Meeting One: Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen

While the banter at Hot Heads is always plentiful, thought provoking and amusing, there are stretches of time when it’s a little harder to hear and participate in than usual, as a result of having a head covered in foils and of having to spend a bit of time under a high tech hair processor waiting for tastefully applied highlights to make themselves evident. When I’m faced with moments like this, I return to a pastime I have enjoyed since childhood. When I’m faced with moments like this, I reach for a book. Since I am surely not the only Hot Heads client who enjoys a good romp in the sheets (of paper) while things are heating up under the processor, I thought I might share a few of my favorite “hair chair” reads.

Though Friday’s topics du jour at the salon were spirited - We figured out how to improve the state of public education, what we might wear for Halloween and how to handle the Balloon Boy saga - I still managed to get about 40 pages read.

I finished the book I was reading at the salon, Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen, this weekend. It occurred to me that it might be a fitting first mention for a style conscious blog’s book club, because of its nod to that wardrobe staple, the Little Black Dress, or as the fashion elite reverently and affectionately refer to it, the LBD.

One of the larger Mennonite communities in the country is in Central Pennsylvania, where my Mother grew up and where a number of my family members still live. A long time household employee in my Grandparents’ home was of Mennonite descent. I remember her as a hard working woman with a kind heart who made delicious (though unusual to my taste buds) food. I also had the opportunity to observe women of the denomination at the market in their simple, no nonsense dresses, their practical shoes and their modest head coverings when we visited the area during our childhood vacations.

One thing I never saw any of the Mennonite women wearing was a little black dress. Vogue once called Coco Chanel’s version of the LBD “Chanel’s Ford” because “like the Model T… it was simple and accessible for women of all social classes”. While that statement is largely true, the little black dress was not something that would’ve been easily accessible for a young Mennonite.

The title of this book caught my attention immediately. I simply had to hear more.

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress is a memoir and for the same reasons I enjoy hanging out at a hair salon, I love a good memoir. I just love hearing people’s stories. This one is compelling.

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the 2006 blockbuster, Eat, Pray, Love, another of my favorites, said about Mennonite in a Little Black Dress: “This book is not just beautiful and intelligent, but also painfully – even wincingly – funny. It is rare that I literally laugh out loud while I’m reading, but Rhoda Janzen’s voice – singular, deadpan, sharp-witted, and honest – slayed me, with audible results.” She went on to declare the book, “the most delightful memoir” she’s “read in ages”. Another reviewer described it as, “A hilarious and moving memoir—in the spirit of Anne Lamott and Nora Ephron—about a woman who returns home to her close-knit Mennonite family after a personal crisis.” A true story written by a woman described as a cross between Anne Lamott and Nora Ephron and enthusiastically endorsed by Elizabeth Gilbert? I could hardly turn the pages fast enough!

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress is about a woman whose religious training subconsciously plays a role in her decision to stay in an unhealthy marriage for far longer than she should have. One can also make the case that she should’ve never entered into said marriage in the first place. It is the story of a bright woman whose life came crumbling down around her in her mid-forties after her on again off again marriage to a troubled, self absorbed, charming (when he wanted to be) terribly good looking man of Italian heritage came to a tabloid worthy end. It is a story about all of the other rotten things that happened to her at around the same time her marriage ended. Mennonite in a Little Black Dress is about Janzen’s having to depend on family and friends in a way that was both comforting and humbling during a decade when a woman is supposed to have all the answers and to be comfortably coasting into the next phase of her life. It is a tale about self discovery, healing, love, family, humor and charting a new course. It is a story I know, which is why I believe it resonated with me so profoundly.

My father was never the head of the North American Mennonite Conference for Canada and the United States, like Janzen’s was, a post she referred to as “the Mennonite equivalent of the Pope”. I never had to spend six months of my life attached to something Janzen refers to as a “pee bag” after a fluky medical mishap, which occurred mid-hysterectomy. I never had a drunk driver slam head - on into my VW Bug on a windy, snowy road leaving me with “assorted broken bones and Franken-bruises the size of my head” and my husband didn’t leave me for a man named Bob who he met on Gay.com. With those exceptions, however, I understood exactly where Janzen was coming from and I couldn’t help but want to call her up and ask her to join me for a cup of coffee.

In the first chapter, shortly after dropping the bombshell about her ex and his new love interest, Janzen made an observation about the timing of so many badly behaved men’s most egregious acts. She wondered why “husbands never seem to ditch their wives until the wives develop a varicose vein the size of a Roman aqueduct”. She asked, “if husbands must leave us for guys named Bob, why can’t they do it pre-vein, while we are young and gorgeous?” Why indeed?!!

At the book’s conclusion, there is a seventeen page Mennonite History primer. It is an interesting, well researched and, in places, rather amusing, portrait of a faith I had previously, simplistically categorized as “Amish Lite”. My point of reference was, again, my childhood Pennsylvania vacations. I knew that if there was a horse and buggy in front of us on old Route 30, we were behind an Amish family. If, on the other hand, the family in front was in a late model, no frills car and if the women in said car had what appeared to be small white mesh baskets on the back of their heads, the family was Mennonite.  There were other distinctions too. I was told, for example, that the Amish still lit their homes with candles and used wood burning stoves. While the Mennonites did have electricity, they apparently didn’t use it for frivolous things like powering stereo equipment and televisions. (Well, some Mennonite families had TVs, in fact, Janzen’s did, but it’s a good bet they weren’t watching All in The Family or any of the other things my friends and I watched during that era.)

Another thing neither denomination put much stock in – and this will be of particular interest to readers of this blog - was mirrors. That alone would’ve done me in, as one of my favorite childhood pastimes was folding, twisting and tying my nightgowns in such a way that they resembled evening gowns.  I then posed for the camera i.e. the bathroom mirror, fielded interview questions and blew kisses to my adoring fans.  Apparently Janzen, known in her family as the vainglorious one - Don't you love that word, vainglorious?  It's BIG in Mennonite circles! -felt the same way.  

One of my favorite expressions is: “Don’t throw out the baby with the bath water".  That appears to be exactly what Rhoda Janzen did, for much of her adult life. She was so eager to get away from the stifling customs, rigid expectations and embarrassing foods (her description, not mine), that she couldn’t open a beer or get into a short skirt fast enough when she went away to college. There is a lot of good that comes from being raised by stable, decent, predictable, hard working folk. She didn’t really appreciate that though, at least not at the time. Going home, in her recent time of crisis, allowed her to view her upbringing with fresh eyes, to reconsider her assumptions and to see value in what she had once disdained.

As one might expect, there is much discussion throughout the book about what Janzen thinks of God now that she’s an adult. To be honest, that part made me a little sad. I could elaborate here, but I won’t. As a Psych major and a first born child, I have a tendency to want to put up my Lucy Van Pelt (of Peanuts fame) Psychiatry booth, ask for my 5 cents and explain why I think people act the way they do. Since this doesn’t seem like the right forum for that type of in-depth discussion, I’ll refrain.

Of course theological discussions are not all there is to the book. While most of us like to stretch intellectually now and again, we generally don’t read serious works about philosophy and about how or why the universe was created when sitting in a chair at a salon outside of a department store. When sitting in a chair at the salon, we want a handsome man or two and a little relationship drama. Janzen gave it to us.

Every reader – lucky in love or not, young, old, married, single or somewhere in between – wanted one obvious question answered. Everyone wanted to know why a bright (the woman has a PhD), beautiful (check out her bio picture) woman chose to play with fire by getting involved with a bisexual atheist who, when he wasn’t rocking her world, treated her very badly. Janzen knew this and she did her best to oblige. The reason this question is of such interest is because we’ve all watched similar stories play out in our own personal lives. I know I have.

I have smart, beautiful, talented friends (and relatives) who are competent in every other area of their lives, but, who, for whatever reasons, seem incapable of making good choices when it comes to the men in their lives. I have been accused of being challenged in this area myself. (Guilty as charged.) It’s a well known phenomenon that has always puzzled those with the savvy not to marry human time bombs. People are always interested to know the reasons why women, who are not trolls and who appear to have an adequate number of working brain cells, choose such clearly unsuitable men.

Reading this book offers some more insight into that that age old question. For young girls trying to decide between that shy, honest, chess club member who will end up making six figures and who will never cheat ...and the troubled, but exciting guy, who won’t be able to keep a job, who will prove to be moody, unfaithful and unpredictable and who will rack up DUIs like they’re Publix deli numbers on the afternoon before school starts, it may prove to be a cautionary tale. For those who made the right choices, it will be a validation. For those who are in the same boat as Janzen, there will be comfort in the knowledge that they’re not alone.

I, personally, am at a place where I need to get the map back out before continuing on in my journey. I appreciated the fact that, thanks to this book, I was able to hang out with Janzen at the rest stop.

I am hereby recommending this book to anyone who:

• has ever gone out with a dirtbag
• has ever taken a road trip with relatives
• has ever been forced to wear a homemade piece of clothing, a hand me down or a clearance rounder find to a public junior high school
• has ever been embarrassed by a family member’s actions
• has ever loved the wrong guy
• has ever been asked inappropriate questions by a busybody at a dinner party.
• is currently upside down in a real estate deal
• is so obsessed with shopping that she’d consider putting her “pee bag” in an aqua patent tote and heading out to the mall (if she ever found herself in the unenviable position of being tethered to a “pee bag”)
• Has a best friend who loves her enough to encourage her to go to the mall attached to a carefully concealed“pee bag”
• has a little sister who has bailed her out of a mess
• has crazy in laws
• has a Mom, Grandmother, friend, neighbor or co-worker who wants to set her up with “a perfect guy”
• likes to contemplate life’s big questions
• appreciates simplicity in home décor
• hates raisins, and/or
• wants to spend a little time with a smart, funny, attractive, accomplished, well traveled, insightful English professor who has had a few rough breaks recently.

I’m giving this book my first ever “Hot Heads Hot Read” designation. Happy Reading! The HHG

Want A Ride In a Time Machine? Forget The DeLorean! Go Get In A Colorist's Chair!

"There's a reason why forty, fifty, and sixty don't look the way they used to, and it's not because of feminism, or better living through exercise. It's because of hair dye. In the 1950's only 7 percent of American women dyed their hair; today there are parts of Manhattan and Los Angeles where there are no gray-haired women at all."

— Nora Ephron

I don’t think there are any in Central Florida either. Well, there was one who was walking around with brassy looking hair and salt & pepper roots not too long ago, but, thankfully, she’s back in the saddle (aka The Hot Heads Salon chair) again these days.

 

 

 

Question:  What do the women above and the Hot Heads Groupie have in common?  If your answer is that they're all in their forties, you may get an icy stare in response (although you would be correct).  If your answer is that they don't have one strand of gray hair between them ... that all five have incredibly talented stylists they adore and that from the back, they all still look 25, I'm going to give you a stuffed panda, a goldfish in a plastic baggie or some other suitable county fair quality little trinket.  *I probably need to clarify one of those statements.  The Hot Heads Groupie only looks 25 when viewed from a fast moving car as she walks down the sidewalk wearing long sleeves and jeans.  Those other women (darn them!)  are still ready for their close-ups from any angles and when wearing anything.  

The Hot Heads Groupie in her best light.  Note her artfully concealed upper arms, the jeans she likes to wear when she does not have a Segway at her disposal, her "Yes, I know I look 25 from the back when viewed from a fast moving car and in pictures where anything that makes me uncomfortable is minimized or cropped out" posture and attitude and her cute hair.  Pay particular attention to her hair!  Is that hair not the shade of a 25 year old's hair? 

Back To The ....  Quote:  It would be easy to discount Ms Ephron's statement.  It sounds like such an exaggeration.  Surely the reason today's 40+ women look younger than their Grandmothers did at the same age is because they are healthy and fit.  Surely it is because they have toned bodies and great fashion sense.  Surely it is because they are oozing confidence.  Surely it is not! 

It is, as Nora suggested, all about the hair.  You could take a woman of a certain age who is in impeccable shape....who has gorgeous skin....who has a beautiful smile with sparkly white teeth and who is wearing an outfit straight out of the pages of Vogue and by simply changing her hair from silky smooth honey - colored with perfect highlights to windblown gray, add twenty years to her appearance.  .

 Think I'm kidding?  I give you Exhibit A:

Much to the delight of many of the women I know, one of the big catchphrases this year is "40 is the new 20".  49 year old Valerie Bertinelli was on the cover of People looking smoking hot.  48 year old Julia Louis Dreyfus was on the cover of Shape looking quite fetching in board shorts, a bikini top and a little Summer sweater.  Courtney Cox is headlining a popular new primetime show called Cougar Town and many suburban Moms I know have been both flattered and disturbed to discover that their sons' friends have secretly dubbed them MILFs.  (This is a PG rated site.  :)  If you don't know the meaning of the term MILF, I will certainly not be enlightening you here.)  The bottom line is this:

Wanna join the ranks of the hot with hot flashes?  Trust me on this one!  The key is in the locks.

Want to look 25 from behind too?  It's simple.  Pick up your phone, dial the following digits 407-671-0480 and get yourself into a professional colorist's chair at Hot Heads PDQ.  (That one I'll decipher.  It stands for pretty darn quick.)

I made my appointment last week and I got back in the time machine yesterday.  Diane (and Barry) worked their magic on my hair again and I suddenly find myself wanting to grab my BFF, run to a club and make for the closest mosh pit.  (I kind of like looking 25 again ....from the back while wearing lots of clothing and when viewed through a severe rectangular portal Photoshopped to show exactly what I want it to show.  This time around I'll know to avoid the party boys close to the stage.) 

Rock on, Girls!  I'll check back with you shortly! 

Gym (Not So) Dandy

I don’t have to tell anyone who is reading this about the lengths women will go to in order to look fabulous. We allow specialty store employees in lab coats armed with menacing looking piercing guns to shoot metal studs into our earlobes. We endure that part of a pedicure where some petite soft spoken young girl, who looks like she’d cup a fly in her hands and take it outside and release it rather than swat and kill it, takes a pumice stone to the ticklish, tender bottom part of our feet and tortures us for a prolonged period of time. We walk around in heels so high they’re likely to result in a sprained ankle or a trip to the podiatrist’s office. We cram ourselves into undergarments whose names rhyme with tanks, so as to create a smoother line under our skirts and slacks and we let strangers slather us in hot wax, so as to better adhere the cloth strips they plan to violently rip off of us the moment the wax cools.

This is all amateur stuff, however, compared to the”be all end all” of pain inducing regimens we subject ourselves to in our never ending quest to look more attractive. Of course I’m referring to the “E” word, the bane of our collective existence…. exercise. I have heard rumors of women who actually like contorting their bodies into shapes God never intended them to be in. I have heard of gals who enjoy running and who smile gleefully while employing some Draconian looking work out apparatus likely purchased during a 2:00 am infomercial.

I am not one of them!

I ran track in high school, but only because of peer pressure. Thanks a lot, Laura and Bonny! In those days, I could (and often did) consume so impressive a quantity of calories in a single day, it would’ve sustained an entire village for a fortnight.

The Altamonte Mall once contained a restaurant called Farrell’s. Farrell’s was Friendly's on Ritalin – a loud, amusing, turn of the century - inspired ice cream parlor extraordinaire and a regular hangout for me and my high school pals. One of the things we liked to eat there was called The Zoo. I can’t remember exactly what was in The Zoo, but I know it was delivered with great fanfare – in what I believe was a large galvanized metal tub. In addition to mounds of ice cream, whipped cream, cherries and every topping imaginable, The Zoo contained little plastic animal figurines. It was a site to behold! If memory serves, I once ate the better part of a Zoo by myself and was, applauded by the wait staff. Remarkably, I never gained weight… that is until recently.

I am convinced that I suffer from a still undiscovered medical condition known as DCAS (delayed calorie absorption syndrome). I ate ridiculous quantities of cheeseburgers, McDonald’s fries, apple pies, pizza, nachos, Oreo ice cream and donuts in my teen years and my metabolism reacts as if I ate them yesterday.

Attempting to stay in single digit sizes now requires the efforts of a veritable army of individuals:

1) Friends who invite me to walk, play tennis, line dance, bike and fold and twist myself into shapes I haven’t paid much attention to since high school geometry… (Thank you, Cindy, Pam, Janet, Terri, Cathy, Lisa and Nancy!)

2) Weight Watchers leaders & one time fellow group members… (Thank you, Susan, Ericka, Betsy, Carissa and Alexis! Actually, those girls are my friends too! )

3) Yoga instructors… (Thank you Shannon & Ariel! Their Buddha Boot camp, a FREE class they team teach at their wonderful Lake Mary gym, Fusion Fitness http://www.fusionfitnessusa.com/, every Wednesday night, is keeping me from looking like you know who.

Side note : A friend, who shall remain nameless, claims to have spent close to $100 between masseuse and chiropractor trying to recover from this free yoga class. Side note to side note: The class is actually amazing. I think this friend may just hate exercising even more than I do.

Obvious Question:  Perhaps you are wondering why I am I not the Fusion Fitness Groupie in addition to being the Hot Heads Groupie, since I’m a such a big fan of Shannon, Ariel and the gym. (Well, I’m not really a big Fusion Fitness fan. At least I like to think I'm not.  I’m more of a normal sized fan trying to keep from becoming a big fan.) The answer: At Hot Heads, they offer me a chair when I drop by. At Fusion Fitness, they encourage me to sit on the floor, grab my toes and touch my nose to my knees.

I do like this gym though, and since I tend to be rather vocal about the things I appreciate, I’ll take a quick minute and tell you some of the reasons why: In addition to offering the free class, an attempt to do their part during this bad economy, they schedule blood drives, they host nutritional talks and they occasionally partner with other businesses for their mutual good.

Ariel and Shannon are knowledgeable. They’re caring. They’re highly motivational and they’ve gotten me into positions that could result in my being salted and thrown onto the metal arm of a display case at Auntie Anne's.  

4) Track Shack and Fleet Feet (Altamonte Springs)....  Thanks to those who are responsible for organizing the road races my friends force me to participate in about once per/month. 

Ironically, one of the Track Shack owners, Betsy Hughes, was on my high school track team.  Well, it was probably more accurate to say that I was on hers.  As I mentioned, I was on the team for purely social reasons.  I never came in first in a race (or second or third...), but I also never came in last.  I would always jog at a slow, but not completely embarrassing, pace for 90 percent of my heat, then pour it on at the very end, so as to beat at least one person, who was in the back of the pack with me, in the final seconds before crossing that finish line.  Betsy, on the other hand, appeared to care about the outcomes of her races and has apparently embraced fitness throughout her life.  Seriously though, I read the Track Shack blog, including her Betsy's Corner postings, from time to time now, http://www.trackshack.com/blog/ and I appreciate the effort she and her husband have put into running a quality, family owned business that encourages fitness and gives back to the community.  If you run (or attempt to) in Central Florida, you have almost certainly participated in Track Shack/EMMI events.  They are plentiful.  They are fun.  They are well run and they attract enormous crowds.

I've also grown to think a lot of Fleet Feet.  They aren't as well known, but they have made a real effort to rally the community with their innovative events i.e Diva Night and their free or almost free monthly "fun runs" which, on occasion, result in homemade pancakes or ice cream for the finishers.  (I mean, how could you not like a company, http://www.fleetfeetorlando.com/ that sponsors an event like this October 31st's, Trick or Treat Zombie Walk in Sanford.)

Thanks to the staff at Dunkin Donuts, too, for hosting the “after party” we all attend at the conclusion of every 5K. Though it may seem counter -productive, I don’t think I’d be able to drag myself out of bed at "O dark thirty" (as my friend, Cindy, likes to call the insanely early time we assemble) one Saturday per/month without the promise of a small dose of sugar and caffeine.

What do I hate about exercising? Gosh, where do I start?

I am kind of known for having an internal clock that’s on a different time zone than everyone else’s, but even my clock keeps better time than Ariel Hernandez’s. When Ariel directs us into “powerful chair” pose and asks us to hold it for a count of ten, I cringe. “1 – 2 – 3 – 4 …. Did I tell you guys what were going to do next week? It’s going to be so awesome! You’re going to love it! (At this point, Ariel may stop counting to display next week’s awesome pose)…. 5 – 6 …. Hold it. Hold it. You can do it! Yes, you can! Hold it! Did I tell you all the bloodmobile will be here next Sat? 7 – 8 …. Great Job, Guys! You’re doing it! Hold it……. only two more! ..............……………………………………………………………………… 9 and 10!” Hate that!

I hate that I usually ended up doing an unchoreographed dance solo in the line dancing class my friend Cindy tricked me into taking. When Brad Paisley sang:

“I’d like to see you out in the moonlight
I'd like to kiss you, baby, way back in the sticks
I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers
I'd love to check you for ticks." 


I was always in the sticks when the rest of the class was in the wildflowers!

I hate when I’m playing tennis with my friend, Nancy, aka Maria Sharapova, and she tells me that we can’t stop playing until we’ve volleyed back and forth ten consecutive times … when she KNOWS perfectly well that I’m incapable of returning the ball ten consecutive times. I also hate that the squirrels who live in the trees that border the court had the nerve to go out and buy themselves little helmets to wear during our matches.

I hate that my friend, Cathy, has to shift to a lower gear so she’s able to go slow enough to keep pace with me when we bike up to Panera Bread off the Wekiva Trail. I hate when I’m “running” a 5K and I see a gentleman who was born during Calvin Coolidge’s presidency up ahead of me.

Truth be told, I hate almost every moment of energy I expend trying to regain my girlish figure. I do love the end result though!

I love that when we’re done with yoga, I feel so long and lean and flexible. (Note: I said that I feel long and lean, not that I look long and lean. Unfortunately, there is a difference.)

I love the way I feel when I cross the finish line in a 5K. I love when my cheeks are flushed and my heart is racing. There are women in my age bracket who can run a 10K in less time than it takes me to run a 5K. (I’m sure they’re taking steroids!). When I beat my own time, though, it’s really quite a rush.

I love that I allowed myself to wear shorts out in public this year for the first time in about a decade. I wanted to borrow one of those Segways, when I was in those shorts, so I didn’t have to walk or run in them or do anything else that might cause my thighs to move in any way, but still… this was progress.

I love that I am able to get into my favorite jeans again. (Getting into them requires a little shimmying. It also recently resulted in a flashback to an incident that took place during my college days… an incident involving Jordache jeans, too much pizza, one of my closest college friends, a stubborn zipper and the floor of a Lexington, KY pizza parlor bathroom.)

I love the shot of serotonin I get when I break a sweat. I love how working out always seems to lift my spirits.

Heck, I love that I’m probably adding a few years to my life. I’m starting to really enjoy this life again, so I might as well try and lengthen the ride.

During the Oprah show episode about her weight gain at the beginning of the year, Oprah lamented that, whether she likes it or not, exercising is something she has to do at this point in her life. I’m with her. I entered this crazy world of fitness kicking and screaming (wonder how many calories that activity burned???), but I’m here now and I intend to stay. I mean, I intend to move! Tennis anyone?

Tracey? REALLY??!!!

Is anyone besides me watching The Biggest Loser?  (Does this make me The Biggest Loser for admitting that I'm watching it??)  If you are watching it, what in the world is going on with Tracey?  I like almost everybody, but I'm sorry... I just don't like that girl!  How does she keep getting that lucky??

Recapturing Our Glory Days

This past summer, my friend Cathy’s husband, Mark, wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, a bandana and a Fender Telecaster, provided the entertainment at another friend’s birthday party. One of the songs he sang was a parody of Bruce Springsteen’s Glory Days. (If you knew Pam, the birthday girl, you’d know it had to have been a parody, because, clearly, she’s still in the midst of hers.)

Me… not so much. In fact, I’m afraid I have a little more in common with “the girl who lives up the block”… the one who feels like boo hooing because her glory days have long since passed her by.

I sure wish I had the girl up the block’s number right now, because I’d definitely give her a call. I heard something this weekend that I think she’d like to hear. I heard that our glory days might be returning. According to Georgette, who as I have mentioned before, knows these things… the 80s are back! Well… kind of!

The 80s were pretty great years for me. I graduated from high school and from college. I made wonderful new friends from all over the country and, in one case, outside of it!  I went to some amazing concerts.  (Bruce's Born in the USA tour comes to mind.)  I traveled to the other side of the world.  I wore lots of cotton candy pink satin bridesmaids dresses.  I married a guy I was crazy about. (My closest friends would say I should divide that sentence into two i.e. “I married a guy. I was crazy!” ...or... "I married that guy.  I was crazy!" ... or... "I married that guy.  He was crazy!"  Anyway, I digress!) I moved back to Florida and I gave birth to a gorgeous baby boy.

I like simple silhouettes as much as the next gal, but if you tell me that wearing shoulder pads again will bring back all the cute, available men, plentiful jobs and hope, then bring ‘em on! What else is new (again) this season?

Per Georgette:

• Black, black and more black!    .

• Fitted tailored suits. (Pin stripes are back too!)

• Scarves and hats

• The poetic look

• Lace

• Pale colors
 
• Printed hosiery &

• Big jewelry

She had me at printed hosiery!  Anyway, can't wait to hear more.  I’ll talk with Georgette about this again and I'll get back with you soon with additional details. I, for one, want more information about “the poetic look”. (All I can think of is that Elizabeth Barrett Browning look from a couple of posts ago.) In the meantime,

and they’re back! Yay!