Eager to Put My Best Foot Forward

I was born in York, Pennsylvania in the shadow of a three bedroom, two bath “shoe house”/wacky tourist attraction. Perhaps, as a result, shoes have always played a big role in my life and have always loomed large in my mind. From my first pair of jingle bell adorned Stride Rite walking shoes to my current favorites, a pair of Guess white leather 4” high cork wedge platform summer sandals, I have always been “heels over head” about shoes.

One of the best things about the current circumstances of my life is that I’m finally able to do something about those feelings. Because God has a sense of humor, I was born into a family where shoes were not seen as anything other than protection from glass and hot asphalt. Shoes, in our home, were necessities purchased a single pair at a time during Back to School sales. They were almost always several sizes too large, so we could “grow into them”. If my Mom couldn’t get two full fingers down in the toe area, the salesman was quickly sent back to the storeroom to retrieve another pair. Style didn’t matter either and color was chosen, not because of taste or seasonal trends, but because of its ability to conceal scuffs and because it met my Mom’s “matches anything” standard.

Having full blown shoe crushes in this environment was not easy. I wanted follow my passion and start my collection and I was expected to make do with whatever I was given. I felt the way I’m sure Elizabeth Taylor would’ve felt had she be born into a culture that required her to marry only one man - the toothless guy whose parents owned the most goats.

What I would’ve given back then for a pair of red Dr Scholl’s, a pair of white t-strap Bandolino’s, a pair of wedge sandals with wide criss cross tan leather straps or chunky heeled, wooden soled Candie’s a la Olivia Newton John’s Sandy in Grease in a variety of different shades? What I got instead was a pair of too long for me, knock off vinyl sandals from Zayres. (Thank you God that I least had decent legs in my teen years or this really could’ve been social suicide.)

It’s no wonder I started babysitting so young and signed on to work at Disney the minute that bus pulled up to my high school. Even screaming toddlers and vats of cole slaw can be tolerated when there is footwear hanging in the balance. I was in a shoe famine of biblical proportions during that period of my life and if I had to change diapers and wear hairnets to rectify the situation, then so be it.

Lack of funds was not the only obstacle keeping me from having happy feet. My parents were not the only ones who had a say in what type of shoes were in my closet during my youth. The Safety Director at Disney felt the need to weigh in as well. The good news is that, thanks to him, I was able to add another pair of shoes to my meager collection. The bad news? The new pair was of the durable, black, rubber soled variety.

Today my shoe choices have nothing to do with practicality or other people’s mandates. Today, they are determined by the yearnings of my heart and the contents of my wallet. My stint as a Cub Scout leader ended over a decade ago and I’m fairly sure I’ll never have to chase after my next meal with spear in hand, so I don’t have to select my shoes based on their ability to withstand the elements and protect my tender soles from rocks, burrs and spiny vines. I have the sense not to live in a climate where sub zero temperatures are the norm, so I don’t have to consider whether or not a pair of shoes I love is able to take the snow and salt. If I have a strong feeling that my life will not be complete until the brown leather clogs with the brass studs and wooden heels that are currently residing in the 9 West store at the Millennium Mall make their way into my closet, I don’t have to discuss that with a husband. (I would have to justify the purchase of these clogs to myself, which so far, I have been unable to do :(, but I wouldn’t have to justify it to anyone else.)

Another advantage of where I’m at in life right now is that I don’t have to share closet space with anyone. That means my shoes all get the attention they deserve. They’re not crammed in boxes or hidden under my bed. They’re showcased on stackable shelving and arranged by color and style on the back of one of the closet doors. It’s the most fabulous thing! (Wouldn’t Imelda be proud?) It’s not quite the closet from the Park Avenue apartment in Sex and the City, but it’s close. (Well, it has a little :) less square footage and it contains no Manolo Blahniks, but it is devoid of all things boy. There is not a golf club or firearm or guitar or tie or foul smelling sock anywhere in my living space right now and I couldn’t be happier about it.) *Side note: If the foul smelling sock came with a kind, principled, fun, funny, employed, attractive - Sorry, I’m still a little more shallow than I ought to be in this area of my life- ring bearing man with a good heart, good values and a good reason for being single, I’m pretty sure I could make room for it.

There is a measure of power and magic in every pair of well designed shoes and the only women who don’t know this are the ones who have spent their entire lives in ratty old slippers, ripped, dirty sneakers, steel toed industrial shoes and/or gray “pleather” flats. Shoes are able to make a woman look and feel taller. They always fit, even when nothing else in her closet does. They are conversation starters and confidence boosters and outfit completers. They can make men sigh and women covet and bugs run for the hills. They are art and sole for the heart and soul Guiseppe Zanotti Open Toed Pumps, which can be yours for a mere $595. (NO, I don't own a pair! I would like to own an original Van Gogh too, but that doesn't mean I do. :)

Shoes are, by a sizeable margin, my very favorite accessory.

If only I could draw, I’d create a comic strip superheroine, Shoe-per Woman, whose trademark move is that she ventures into shoe stores, not phone booths, whenever it’s time to suit up and battle the bad guys. Can you imagine a villain foolish enough to mess with a woman in a pair of sheer Barely Black silk stockings and black Christian Louboutin stilettos? He’d be rendered powerless before he could say, “I surrender” and don’t we all know it!

One of my major pet peeves with all those other superheros is their inability to change things up. Really, Batman? … Are you really planning to wear that red cape AGAIN? Shoe-per Woman would know better. If she found herself at cross purposes with the evil Mr. Freeze, she’d just put on a pair of strappy, leather gladiator sandals on her freshly pedicured feet and in no time, Mr. Freeze would be hot, bothered and under her spell. In fact, within minutes of glimpsing Shoe-per Woman’s toned, tanned calves and her smartly polished tootsies, he’d be nothing but a puddle on the floor. Ever see Robin or the Hulk make something like that happen? No you have not.

One of my favorite lines in Legally Blonde, one of my favorite feel good movies :), is the snarky, “Don’t you stomp your little last season Prada shoes at me, Honey”, which Enrique hisses ever so condescendingly at Elle outside the courtroom. To Enrique, a shoe snob, the fact that Elle’s shoes don’t meet his exacting standards, gives him free reign to treat her with contempt. Other characters, those in academia and in the legal community, are quick to dismiss her as well, but for the opposite reason. To them, the idea that Elle cares about something so frivolous as the design and craftsmanship of her footwear and the materials that were used to create it, is proof positive that she doesn’t have two working brain cells to rub together.

When I first got out of college, it was all about the navy wool blend suit - which had to be paired with navy understated pumps with an up to two inch heel. If a woman wanted to be taken seriously in corporate America, this was her uniform. Basically, we were all told to dress alike, to dress like men and to flip the off switch on several of our most powerful assets - our uniqueness, our creativity and our femininity.

Elle’s shoes were key to Elle’s image and that image was what helped her get the information she needed to solve a crime and win a case – a case her smug, seasoned, superior would’ve almost certainly lost without her help. She saw as much value in the right side of her brain as she did in the left. She nurtured the creative part of herself and the fun and flirtatious part of herself every bit as much as she stretched herself intellectually. Those who underestimated her because of this found out the hard the way that if you choose to go up against a woman with brains, humor, humility, integrity and an impressive shoe collection, you should do so at your own risk.

Bette Middler once said, “Give a girl the correct footwear and she can conquer the world.” An exaggeration? I think not. While stylish shoes can’t ensure world peace, they can enable perky beauty contestants to reach their mikes and make impassioned pleas for it. Why our national security advisors don’t capitalize on this is a mystery to me. We’ve tried just about everything else, why not put together a platoon of comely, well-shod ambassadors, dispatch them around the globe and see where it gets us. Couldn’t hurt, could it? I mean, nothing against Hillary and her sensible low heeled pumps, but we’ve got that that former Miss Teen South Carolina contestant at our disposal. I say put that put that girl in a pair of these

Shoes by Jimmy Choo (No these aren't mine either... sigh! :( )

at the onset of the next international incident, hand her a map and a few airline tickets and watch our enemies’ frowns turn upside down. Anyway, time to stop. I’m beginning to feel like a food critic on a 1500 calorie per/day diet. If I give this topic anymore thought, I may find myself walking the 3.36 miles to the nearest DSW and camping out until the door is unlocked so I can do a little sole searching. Parting thought: “Remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels.” ~ Faith Whittlesey Only one more week to Wine, Women and Shoes. See post below. :) Happy Saturday!

Wine, Women & Shoes

Vino, gal pals, fabulous footwear, help for a reputable, established and - given the times - stretched to capacity charity... Does it get any better than this? I think not! :) Hot heads is contributing to the The Wine, Women & Shoes silent auction. In addition, it is spearheading its own food drive to benefit the Second Harvest Food Bank. Reason #642 why I love this salon. Consider attending the event. Drop some canned goods by the salon and call and make a hair appt 407-671-0480! It's a win-win-win-win-win! :)

In Loving Memory...

Straw Purse, age 8 or 9, of Altamonte Springs, passed away on Thursday, April 7, 2011 as a result of complications resulting from a run in with a badly behaved canine. The details of Straw Purse’s early days are unknown, but it is widely believed that he came to the US by way of the Caribbean, most likely in the clutches of an intoxicated American tourist in a tropical print sundress. Straw Purse took up residence in the Hot Head Groupie’s home in or around 2007, shortly after she saw him at a – gasp – garage sale. The two soon became inseparable. Straw Purse vacationed with the Hot Heads Groupie. He joined her for breakfast at the beach. He cruised Park Avenue with her. He went with her to summer cookouts and he accompanied her to outdoor concerts.

A small, natural colored purse with brown leather straps and a palm tree and foliage adorned exterior, Straw Purse would’ve been considered attractive even without his playful primate pal. With it, however, he could really turn some heads. The mischievous, leaping monkey reaching for coconuts and clutching a couple of fronds, was the topic of so many conversations over the course of Straw Purse’s life. Everyone from leather - skinned fisherman, to children in wet bathing suits and floaties to the “ladies who lunch” noticed the monkey, commented about him and smiled. Now that his days as a handbag have come to an end, Straw Purse will likely be reworked into a scrapbook album cover in the Hot Head Groupie’s home. Straw Purse did not leave specific written instructions regarding his wishes for his post accessory life, but the Hot Heads Groupie believes he would’ve been pleased by the prospect of spending all eternity in such close proximity to photos of her lounging poolside and listening to steel drums. Straw Purse is survived by a closet full of hats, sunglasses, shoes, belts and bangles of all colors and sizes. Though everyone will miss him, the Hot Head Groupie’s extensive flip flop collection will likely feel his loss most acutely. In lieu of flowers, mourners are encouraged to purchase an umbrella drink in Straw Purse’s memory. May he rest in peace.

Straw Purse, April 2011, on his final outing. Note the fatal wound on his top right side. It would be too goulish to post a pic of what he looks like from the back. :( It's a good thing for the offending dog that she's adorable.

I Spritzed a Curl and I Liked It … Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone and Into the Limelight

Me in front of Nichol's Surf Shop (See Feb 27th post :) this past Sunday morning

When I first walked into my old apartment, I was so instantly smitten with one of its rooms – a sunroom that overlooked a lush green anomaly of trees and bushes and tropical flowers in the midst of a multi-family housing complex - that I had to snatch it up. (That this room existed on the one street where I could afford a place in the “the right school district” delighted me to my core. One of the other rooms in this apartment, however, - the room that would become my son’s bathroom – and as scary as this concept is – the guest bathroom as well, was much less to my liking.

If you’ve ever rented before, you know that one of the most frustrating things about it is your inability to change features you don’t like. In this case, what I had to learn to live with was dated looking wall paper that put me in mind of a seismograph printout – heavy textured paper with wavy lines of varying heights in browns, creams and grays, rough unfinished shelving, beige-y linoleum floors, inexpensive cream colored, apartment - grade cabinets with a one inch faux wood strip at the top and dull fixtures.

I realized immediately that my existing second bathroom shower curtain and accessories would never work in this room. The colors clashed. The scale was wrong and everything just seemed woefully out of place.

For a brief time, I mourned the idea of the guest bathroom I had envisioned. Then I did, what experience has taught me to do in a situation such as this and what almost every creative person I know preaches. I embraced what I had to work with. I let it speak to me and I ended up with something far superior to my original vision. As hard as it is to believe, my guest bathroom actually became one of my very favorite rooms in that apartment.

Once I stopped trying to shove a square peg into a round hole and recognized the room for what it was, I really came to love it. I stopped seeing the wallpaper as a giant coffee - stained computer printout and I started looking at it as if it was packed sand on the shore at dusk complete with layers of curvy- sometimes foamy - lines where the ebb and flow of a day’s worth of waves had left their mark. I hung a textured off white shower curtain using simple pewter rings to match the weathered looking fixtures. I put assorted shells and starfish, framed vintage photos of my family on South Florida beaches back in the 50s and 60s and carved wooden birds on the shelves. Underneath them, I placed a couple of large conchs and a wicker basket full of rolled up off white towels. I put a natural sea sponge, a bar of ivory soap and a little wicker toothbrush holder on the counter and I finished the whole thing off with a towel monogrammed using a simple and rather masculine looking serif font (to add a little contrast to the curves of the wall paper). The monogram, in a shade of sienna that could be found both in the wall paper and in a wooden bowl full of sea treasures that sat next to my son’s homemade Cub Scout lantern on the back of the toilet tank, really pulled the whole thing together. The room had a rustic feel to it, like it belonged in a Summer cabin up in Maine. It was kind of perfect. It wasn’t too "foo foo" to serve as a boy’s bathroom and it worked as a guest bathroom as well.

The poorly constructed shelves, which had once caused me such angst, were the perfect backdrop for the photos and the shells, and the wallpaper in the room, which I had despised during my first walk through, served as both my inspiration for the room and its most impactful element.

This has happened to me so many times before in my life and yet every time it surprises me. Sometimes something that I have an initial less than positive reaction to...and something that I needlessly and foolishly resist... becomes something I just adore. Often “new, improved and unexpected” surpasses what I had pictured or what I thought I wanted. Sometimes I just have to trust… in creativity … in inspiration… in timing… in my ability or in the ability of others to take something, see it for what it is, work with it - and not against it - and find a way to make it even better. Sometimes I just need to embrace change and wait and see what cool and exciting thing comes into my life.

I tell you this story and I’m sharing this little insight, because of my experience at Hot Heads this past weekend. On Saturday, two talented professionals I respect and admire asked me up front if it was OK with me for them to change things up a little. I was scared, but I said yes. After all, Barry and Diane have been doing my hair for a while now. They know the texture of my hair. They know the percentage of my hair that is now naturally gray. They know my lifestyle and they know how likely it is that I will stand in front of the mirror every morning for three hours with a flat iron and an arsenal of beauty products.

They asked me to trust them and I did. I jumped…and then I curled up into a fetal position. My face went white. My hands got clammy. My stomach felt sick and I grabbed every tree branch I could reach on the way down.

Here’s how the afternoon unfolded: I sat down in Diane’s chair and she went to whip up a couple of her magic potions. Then she went to work. Barry showed me a picture of a model sporting a fresh, fun summer look, then he took over where Diane left off. I closed my eyes and focused on the desired outcome. I saw a svelte me in a sassy new style and sun kissed locks cavorting with a dashing gentleman at a lovely beachside restaurant. I could hear the surf. I could taste the wine. I could imagine our romantic after dinner walk. Then I opened my eyes.

When I did, I saw two things and everything else faded to the static-y snow of an old black and white tv. I saw darker hair and I saw a diffuser at the end of the blow dryer in Barry’s hand. I’m going to be honest here… I kind of freaked out.

Well, I didn’t really freak out, but I did have flashbacks of frizzed out, over processed brown hair and shoulder pads and I was almost certain I heard Olivia Newton John’s Let’s Get Physical coming out of the salon’s sound system. I looked like I had just taken a big swig of expired milk and I got really quiet. Soon after, I left.

On the way home, I stopped at the Winter Park Village and a handsome British gentleman around my age started a conversation with me about the Super Moon - taking care to work into the conversation that the person he had just said, “I love you” to on the phone was his daughter. That evening my son, who normally pays no attention to anything but food, phone, guitar and attractive 20 – 25 year old women, told me he liked my hair. Sun morning, while at the beach, I got a few second glances from some surfer types. Three single men at streetside table at the Winter Park Art Festival struck up a conversation with me and my friend later that afternoon. One the way home, a male friend extended our conversation a little longer than was necessary. My ex, who has this crazy radar and always seems to know when I'm sending out "vibes", called me in the wee hours of the following morning - of course I didn't answer. The girls at work just raved about my new do and a twenty something sales associate asked me about my hair at lunch.

There was no denying it. My new hairstyle was definitely getting the desired results! I would love to live at the beach if I could and Barry and Diane both know this. I would not love to live in front of my bathroom mirror - and I am missing that primping gene. They know that too. In addition, they are both keenly aware that while I would like to have naturally thick, straight, silky, swingy hair with no gray and beautiful shimmering highlights, I don't. Most importantly, they both sensed that with the right cut and color, proper products, good instructions and minimal time, I would be able to rock this look.

Today, four days after my appointment, I don’t just like my new style, I LOVE it! The color appears to be more natural, which makes me look younger, and it’s still got dimension and shine. The cut works. I really am able to do this on my own and I am so excited about the way my hair looks and moves. It makes me feel – dare I say it? Young and sexy and carefree. It is a great beach look and I’m so excited about learning all the fun new things I can do with it.

Anyway, if you are up for the challenge, give Hot Heads a call and give the stylists and colorists free rein with your hair as well. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed. If you’re not quite that adventurous, take in a picture.

In any event, call the salon 407-671-0480, make and appointment and do something. Spring is here and Summer is right around the corner. I’m sure you don’t want me to be the only one at New Symrna with head turning tresses this season. Take a chance. Spritz a curl. I bet you're going to like it! Happy Spring! :)

Green Is The New Black

My last post was about colors that make me – and a few creative types at my favorite magazine – happy. Since it’s cold and gray and gloomy outside today and since I can think of no better way to combat cold and gray and gloomy than to splash a little more color on my world, I’m going to start today’s post in much the same manner. Today, I am just plain ticked pink about… green! Now I know it’s a little passé to get all excited about green these days given that everyone seems to be doing it, but before you roll your eyes... my new found affection for the color has nothing to do with the environment. I’m loving green because a gal with skin just that shade reminded me last night about the importance of being true to yourself and about the unexpected joys that can come your way when you do.

As they say in Boston, have a Wicked weekend!

Defying Gravity by Stephen Schwartz

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game

Too late for second-guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try

Defying gravity

I think I'll try

Defying gravity

And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits'

'cause someone says they're so

Some things I cannot change

But till I try, I'll never know!

Too long I've been afraid

ofLosing love I guess I've lost

Well, if that's love

It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy

Defying gravity

Kiss me goodbye

I'm defying gravity

And you can't pull me down:

So if you care to find me

Look to the western sky!

As someone told me lately:

"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"

And if I'm flying solo

At least I'm flying free

To those who'd ground me

Take a message back from me

Tell them how I am

Defying gravity

I'm flying high

Defying gravity

And soon I'll match them in renown

And nobody in all of Oz

No Wizard that there is or was

I s ever gonna bring me down!

OK... now that we're all inspired and ready to leap... let's do it in style. Embrace your inner Glinda too. Hot Heads 407-671-1601.

Color Me Happy

Since my blog’s primary focus is a local salon and all things hair and beauty related, you might make the assumption that the magazine which is most plentiful in my home is a fashion magazine. If that is your assumption, you would be mistaken. The magazine that is most plentiful in my home is Coastal Living. I LUUUV Coastal Living – just absolutely love it! I want to live in the pages of Coastal Living. This month I want to inhabit pages 86 – 93. The bedroom in the ad on page 25 isn’t so bad either. I can picture myself in that bed on a lazy Sunday morning, with my cup of coffee on that white nightstand next to the fresh cut flowers, sharing the paper with my handsome new husband.

To accomplish my goal of living in Coastal Leaving, I’m busily trying to create a home for myself that could be featured on its pages – IF Coastal Living did things like feature a sub $45K previously foreclosed condo in the center of the state on its pages – which AS OF RIGHT NOW :) - it has not done. I’m following the advice of my favorite Thoreau quote. “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”

My beach house is my Field of Dreams… I know if I create it, it will come. What is “it”? It is the life I want… a life where I’ll wake up to the sound of the surf and make my living writing and share my life with someone who believes in the power and the majesty of the one who first imagined the waves and the seagulls and the sand and all of the other things that have been making my heart leap with joy since my first encounter with them as a toddler….a man who I know will be able to make me laugh and who will make my heart race and who will walk the beach holding my hand and body surf with me down near The Jetties.

As I type this, I’m sitting in one of my favorite places in all the world – Chuckeyta’s Surfin' Sea Monkey Café, formerly The Flagler Ave Coffee House, in New Smyrna Beach enjoying a nice cup of coffee.

I attended online church here a short time ago and when I’m done writing and catching up on e-mails, I will be handing a $5 bill to a guy who works next door at Nichol’s Surf Shop – a young man who reminds me a lot of my 21 year old son – a Florida born and bred kid who likes to surf and skateboard and crank up tunes to a decibel that I fear may cause him harm in his old age. (Of course, neither of these guys can envision themselves at a point in life where the effects of decades of loud music will even matter, so it’s pointless to warn them. My son, whose first outing, at the tender age of four weeks, was to this very town, for a beach party cookout at a condo down the street, feels he’s invincible and I’m sure this young man with the sun bleached locks and the black concert t-shirt does as well.)

In exchange for my $5, I will have access to cutest little aqua colored beach bike for the next hour. $5 to fill my mental tank for the next week? Money well spent in my book.

I’m beginning to think of this bike as mine as I’ve rented it before. I’m beginning to think that my $5 is not a rental fee, but a storage fee. I’m beginning to think of The Nichol’s Surf Shop as the garage that, though it is a little far from my domicile, houses MY adorable vintage - looking Saratoga two wheeler - a magic carpet of sorts - which always manages to put such a big smile on my face.

This bike is actually the inspiration for today’s post. On page six of this month’s Coastal Living is a one page homage to the colors that most inspire the magazine’s editors. I read what inspired them and I thought of "my" bike. I love all colors coastal, but lately aqua is really making my heart sing. Here are some of the shades that have that same effect on them:

“Slate Gray: It’s the color of the waves on a rainy day in Prouts Neck, Maine, where artist Winslow Horner had a seaside studio and painted famous stormy scenes.” - Maria Ricapito, Executive Editor

“The fresh dark green of the pine trees along the coast of Lake Superior, where I spent summer weekends growing up.” – Kendall Cronstrom, Editor

“I love the pink-gray shade found on the inside of seashells – so much that I painted my entire den in Farrow & Ball’s Calamine.” – Steele Thomas Marcoux, Design Editor (Side Note: Isn’t Steele Thomas Marcoux the coolest name??)

“A pop of red with crisp blue like a beach umbrella against the sky and water, or those Bomb Pops we all loved as kids.” – Amy Mitchell, Managing Editor

“I saw my first brilliant orange Southern California sunset last April; it looked like mango sorbet – stunning!” – Sarah Latta, Assistant Features Editor

“The blazing hot pink you can only get away with on Lilly Pulitzer dresses, lawn flamingos and fruity cocktails.” – Katie Finley, Copy Chief

What’s another color that I love? The shade of blond, ever so carefully woven into my brownish tresses – a shade that Diane probably knows by formula and which is probably recorded on a card with my name on it in the back room at Hot Heads, but which is known to me as fountain of youth in a bowl – a shade that makes me feel young and alive and sun kissed and ready to frolic in the surf and ride off into the sunset with some fellow mid-40s/early 50s kindred spirit.

Hope you have a bright and vibrant, restful and amazing day! I know I’m going to. Off to ride! :) The HHG Hot Heads 407-671-0480.

A Dress: Memory Lane

Woke up the other morning to the sight of Princess Diana’s glorious hand sewn ivory silk taffeta and lace extravaganza of a wedding gown complete with tiara and 25 ft train. I saw it on The Today Show - one stop of a pre-William and Kate nuptials North American publicity tour. Can’t help but remember the first time I awoke to the sight of that dress. It was July 29, 1981 and I was a wide eyed college co-ed who still believed in fairy tale dreams and happily ever after. Because of that, the idea of pomp and pageantry and promise and romance did something the most fabulous breakfast would never have been able to do, it roused a late teens me before dawn on a Summer morning.


Like so many other girls my age, I mentally walked down the aisle with Diana. I was in the early stages of what ended up being a three and a half year on again/off again college romance. The man I was dating wasn’t the one I ended up marrying. If it can believed, this one was even worse. Not then though. At that stage of our relationship, he was singing me love songs. (He did have a fabulous voice.) He was writing me sweet notes and quoting song lyrics to me in cards and taking me on plane rides . He was buying me roses and cute little trinkets. He was taking me to his family events and his fraternity formals. We were betting on horses with clever names and sharing bottles of wine at intimate restaurants on the Kentucky River and walking hand in hand on the beach. I was young and innocent and hopeful and I thought, in love.

I’ve learned so many things since that time. I could – and may – someday write a book about all of them.

There were no carriages or throngs of adoring fans when I got married, but I did have my version of the big white wedding - complete with a flowy size four gown, a drop dead gorgeous groom, beautiful bridesmaids in pink taffeta, white twinkle lights, a multi-tiered cake topped with real pink roses and a lighted fountain.

(Cut me some slack, it was the 80s. :) Like Diana, I ignored the red flags, relished the moment, embraced the dream and paid the price. The number one lesson learned the VERY, VERY hard way and the piece of advice I’d give to any twenty something gal who asked for my thoughts on men and marriage: Don’t let childhood fairy tales, great chemistry or the pages of Destination Weddings cause you to shut down portions of your brain when choosing a mate.

What else have I learned since 1981? There’s not room in this post. Guess I’ll just share a few random things readers of this blog and/or the young and engaged might find to be of interest:

13) If you force women you love and cherish to wear a color most often identified with nurseries, bubble gum and upset stomachs, they will find ways to punish you. If you make them wear pastel pink at your wedding, you may find yourself walking down the aisle in hoop skirts or ruffled blouses or on the arm of a 5’2” male cousin at theirs.

12) Opting out of pre-marital counseling because the cost would impact honeymoon spending is not a good idea.

11) Evening weddings in Florida are a recipe for lobster - faced and in some cases, intoxicated, northern wedding guests.

10) While it is acceptable to invite single friends and relatives without giving them the option of a "plus one", it probably shouldn’t be done. Better to nix the blue cheese stuffed olives on the buffet and budget for another couple of guests than to offend one of your Aunts.

9) There is no bigger waste of cash on this planet than the money spent on dyed to match shoes.

8) Gardenias, though gorgeous and fragrant, are not suitable for bridal bouquets. (I actually learned this one from my florist before my wedding.)

7) Hard core tow truck drivers will charge just as much to retrieve a car with “Just Married” written in shoe polish on the back window as they will to retrieve any other car on their lots… and to add insult to injury, they’ll laugh when they take your money.

6) Sometimes the guy who catches the garter is more interested in someone who wears one on HIS arm than in someone who wears one on HER leg.

5) Creating a workable seating chart when both sets of parents have been divorced and when certain factions of the family aren’t speaking is every bit as challenging as a 12 grid game of Sudoku.

4) While there is much to be said for being frugal, there are certain areas where a bride should not skimp on her wedding day. What, for example, is the point of buying a great dress with a sweetheart neckline if you aren’t going to invest in a nude colored push up bra to properly show off your assets?

3) The money you save by getting nail tips applied at the local beauty school just may end up being spent on the nail polish remover you will have to soak your hands in for days on end to remove the thick, pale pink archery arrow tips cemented onto the ends of your fingers.

2) It’s important to ask your husband if he has enough gas in the car to get you from the church to the reception without a stop at the neighborhood Mobil station, and

1) Having your hair professionally styled the day of your wedding is non-negotiable. Allowing your sister to get hers styled as well is an even better idea . Two young women, one of whom is chronically tardy and one of whom is a little high strung, trying to share a set of hot rollers and a bathroom mirror in a non-air conditioned house in the middle of a toasty Florida Summer does not make for a Martha Stewart Weddings moment. I don’t like my hair in my wedding pictures and my beautiful sister, does not like hers either. Not only that, my Mother’s vacuum cleaner, which inexplicably became airborne during the heat of this stress - inducing, power primping period of time, never fully recovered.

If I ever marry again, it will likely be in a laid back ceremony on the beach. My aspiring rock star wanna be son will start the festivities by blowing into a conch shell horn before walking me down the aisle. My groom and I will probably be barefoot. There will be white folding chairs and drinks with paper umbrellas and tropical flowers and seafood and paper lanterns or tiki torches. It will be a fun day with very little pretense.

Most importantly, if I ever do take that big step again, I want to do so with two essential things that were missing the first time around: 1) a quality man who properly values me and who is in it for the long haul and 2) great wedding day hair.

Not sure where the guy is, but I do know where to go for the hair: Hot Heads 407-671-0480