For realsies

Clearly, I Have Been Wearing my Aprons All Wrong August 14, 2013

I am a fan of vintage ads, and of antiquated, chauvinistic sacred writing of yesteryear.  Isn’t everyone?


Therefore, I highly recommend that you check out the vintage illustration-packed article, “Ridiculously Bad Advice From the Nineteen Fifties,” from Glo, an online publication that is kind of stylish, and which has notified the free world that big hair is, once again, in.  Great news!

For the record, I do not wear aprons.


When Showering is not Optional January 26, 2013

Filed under: Hair,humor,life,Style — peachyteachy @ 8:40 am
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It’s flipping Saturday and there’s an early kid thing I have to do and I had every intention of pulling the hair back, minimally decorating the face, and skipping the shower til later.  It would look like I came from the gym, I reasoned.

Then I saw myself in the mirror.

What the hell happened?  There is no WAY I can get away with not showering this morning. Granted, I watched a weepy show before I went to sleep, and I had a weird dream, but nothing that should render me frightening and bloodshot and puffy and ready for my close-up at my zombie movie audition.

Perhaps, after I have attempted to rehabilitate my face, I shall plan my next installment: When Showering is Not an Option.  It will be my breakthrough piece into the world of fashion publishing.  Dry shampoo, floral body spray, jaunty hat and bright scarf for a pop of color.  Boom.



Gratitude In Your Face–You Are Not In Any of These Photos (hopefully) September 21, 2012

Filed under: Hair,humor,Style — peachyteachy @ 5:55 pm
Tags: , , ,


I’m sorry.  No, really, I am sorry, but I could not escape the compelling magnetic field surrounding these photos. I shall try not to insult photographers by not categorizing this as “photography.”  Please click below to see the Gallery o’ Glamour.



Mick Jagger, Skating on a Frozen Pond–and Hair Suggestions August 18, 2012

I painted my front steps today.  Mick did not show up to help, even though he has a standing invitation to pitch in and act like a knight for once.  Now I am probably going to have to find a way to take care of the glass of wine that I poured for him, being the mostest hostess that I am.

The image I truly wished to share with you is that of the lovely paint sample chip, eloquently named “Frozen Pond.”  However,  my own computer is not working, and I am borrowing the black sheep of the computer family, the HP, or, as I prefer to call it, The Half-Ass Prince.  So, no actual photo of the paint chip or the completed steps.

I looked for an arresting image of the exact color online, but their Frozen Pond looked very different from the “brooding blue green” that I wished to convey.  What I did discover, though, was a shot of a dude who looked alarmingly similar to our Sir Mick.  And so  you see how we ended up with our random classic rock edition today.  I believe that my last foray into this genre involved Jethro Tull and the classic “Aqualung” in the brooding, blue green post about the critical importance of the large, ugly coat in a post-9/11 world.  Oh, yeah, and my previous post that stole a Who song title.  I may just switch on over to an all-classic rock format one of these days, seeing as how other folks have done all the work already. . .

I could serve up a tasty Stones tune right about now– “Paint it Black,” perhaps, or the later era “She’s So Cold”– but instead, may I suggest that we reflect on one of Mick’s strong points: his hair (that, and rocking the skinny jean before skinny legs were cool).  It turns out that my TwinBloggerSister,, is in the market for a new haircut/style/do.  I am going to suggest that we look to some classic rock providers as even greater inspiration than Jack Black.

Let’s consider a non-example: “Under My Thumb,” one of my secret favorites, despite its position in the annals of misogyny.  This, sadly, is not one of Mick’s glory haircuts. Perhaps Brian Jones?


Dawn: More Than a Premium Dishwashing Liquid August 7, 2012


I never really understood why, as a young girl, I never had a Barbie doll.  Shocking, I know. Instead, I had the Dawn doll (it’s a thing).  Now I get it. If you follow the link on the image, you will find yourself in a retro blog that sports more vintage Dawn propaganda. It’s cool.

Dawn dolls not only were, as you can see for yourself, the MOST beautiful freaking dolls in the world—they were also approximately half the size of the better-known Barbie.  This insured that the little girl caste system would remain intact and there would be no mixing of the two worlds without implied inferiority, silky hair or not.  If Dawn or any of her posse tried to rock that pink Malibu car, they would have slid off the seats and been ticketed by the California Highway Patrol for some sort of minimum driving height violation. No amount of low budget fringe or elephant bell bottom pants would have made a difference.

See the dress Dawn is wearing, with the snappy little belt? I had that dress on a doll.  I can feel the raspy golden belt all these years later.  It is not a fond memory.  You try tying that metallic cord in a bow for a smaller-than-Barbie fashion doll with swivel hips.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not resentful about my Barbie-less childhood.  Did it contribute to my later, non-conformist years? I like to think so.  As a woman on the petite side, I thank Dawn for the enduring sense that I am taller than I appear in photographs.  And I totally understand my mom’s financial dilemma.  Even though the benevolent God saw to it that I was to be a mother of sons, one of them racks up some pricey totals on the Legos on his Amazon Wish List, and I have, on occasion, fallen for the temptation of the bigger, knock-off “Bill-duh-Bricks” set.  Let’s just say he won’t be passing those on to my grandchildren.

From my minutes-long research on the fate of the Dawn line of fashion dolls, I learned that the company folded shortly after their reign, despite their alleged popularity, which accounts for the fact that I have never met one human being who shows the slightest glimmer of recognition upon hearing the phrase, “Dawn doll.”  If I still had mine, I would likely have to insure them in the sixty-seven cent-per-doll range, in preparation for my opulent retirement.  Guess I should continue teaching the cat synchronized swimming.  I know that she is getting good at it, because my inflatable floaty is punctured from all the practice.


Hairstyles That I Shall Not Rock July 28, 2012

I could spend a full forty hour workweek laboring to coax my hair to do any of what is going on in this shot.  And on Friday, it would revert back to its natural state (complete with price tag, as below):

This level of devotion to hair is actually quite commonplace among my students, strangely enough.  It is considered a medical necessity to take entire school days off in order to attend to one’s weave.   I am not even opposed to the concept of the “mental health day,” and perhaps I should chalk it up to that.  However, since the vast majority of my students are academically well below their actual grade level, it is a bit tougher to deal with a missed instructional day in the name of hair illness.  Especially since I end up sweeping up long clumps of fake hair from the classroom floor as the day approaches when my scholar shows up sporting her original, non-Diana Ross length hair.  I’m used to critters, though! See La Cucaracha en La Clase.

Which reminds me of Pinterest.  One of the recent strokes of genius disseminated to the masses involves a miraculous, DIY formula which promises to smooth the tresses of any doll whose hair has been compromised through excessive washing, playing,  or pet chewing.  So, theoretically, we could go from Messy Bun chick to Straight Red Hair model girl with minimal (and affordable) intervention.  Or, by the time the doll would finally resemble my childhood hairdo and make me feel at one with a popular toy, it would all end in sleek, flowing locks being restored by yet another miracle concoction that contains Dawn dishwashing liquid. The enemy of grease, and now, crazy hair. Oh, the cruel irony that it only works on fake hair!

Truthfully, I made peace with the curvy stuff that is my hair long before the flat iron came on the scene.  It is what it is.  Every several years, the unconstructed  messy hair thing becomes trendy for twelve minutes.  It’s exhausting, the paparazzi and all.


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