Pseudotherapy

Apparently FaceYour Manga is so five minutes ago, and now it’s all about Yearbook Yourself. I tried the yearbook thing, and my pics were just dreadful. And not in a funny way. In a horrific way. However, I am here to tell you I’ve WORN some of those hairstyles, and they weren’t that bad. Well, with a couple of exceptions. As proof, I present to you now … 40 Years of SJ’s Hair! Shudder at hideous abuse wreaked upon innocent hair follicles! See her eyebrows shrink before your very eyes! Watch in morbid amazement as her face expands beyond belief! Thank all that’s holy that you never had hair shaped like a disco ball! Oh, go ahead and laugh. I am.

(click image to view larger)

1967: Total helmet hair, going to my first formal dance in 10th grade.
1970: All natural hippie girl.
1972: A shag cut, trying to look like a grown-up.
1976: Flippy bangs and over-plucked brows.
1978: It took 3 hours at the salon to achieve that ball of permed curls.
1980: One of my all-time favorites, a bi-level angled over my ears. I was pregnant with Juli here, and the prenatal vitamins gave me killer hair and nails.
1986: Newly divorced, newly redhead.
1988: Strawberry blonde after two years of double-processing. And I do mean straw.
1993: Back to my natural color, layered and lightly permed.
3/2002: I let my hair get long and gray, but usually wore it ponytailed atop my head. This was a portrait I had done for Juli’s birthday. She didn’t like it.
8/2002: Big change in 5 months! Reunited with my first love and recapturing my youth.
2007: Accidentally red and super-short.

What hairstyle nightmares are hidden in your past?

Last night I dreamed I got engaged. Not to Bret (or even Karl), to some blonde guy that I didn’t recognize. In my dream I was young and gorgeous (of course — who dreams about being old and ugly?), and madly in love with this guy. When he gave me my engagement ring it was a stunning smoky topaz, and he made this lovely speech about choosing it because the stone matched my beautiful brown eyes. Si-i-i-gh.

I’m not a huge fan of diamonds. It’s not that I don’t like diamonds; I do indeed. But I usually prefer colored stones. I don’t give a snap about what’s valuable. When it comes to bling, all I care about is what’s pretty. And to me a pink tourmaline is much prettier than your average diamond. So many diamonds only truly sparkle when the light hits them just right (which is why I prefer good quality CZ). But you just can’t quench the fire in a decent ruby.

My favorite gemstone is actually not pink tourmaline (surprise!), but a relatively new stone called Mozambique tourmaline. Depending on the levels of copper in it, it can be found in a wide range of blue-greens, but my preference is for the deep aqua-blue that reminds me of my beloved ocean. And since I’m a December child, this stone would be appropriate for my birthstone since it’s in the turquoise color range. It’s sooo much more beautiful than plain blue topaz or zircon, which is the usual faceted-gemstone choice for December.

I like the romance of colored gemstones, too. You know, meanings given to certain jewels hundreds of years ago. An emerald symbolizes faithfulness. Amethysts are the stone of wisdom. Rubies stand for passion, sapphires for honesty. Diamonds, before DeBeers came up with their slogan, were symbols of innocence rather than eternity. Back in the olden days giving a smoky topaz was probably the equivalent of serenading your lady with “Brown-Eyed Girl,” don’t you think?

So I’m curious, what do you prefer? Whether you would be the giver or the recipient, what’s your idea of the perfect engagement ring, the central player in your proposal fantasy? And if you’ve already got one, is it exactly what you’d dreamed of?

I have no shape.

According to the fashion world, anyway. That would be because I’m round. Clothing designers and fashion advisers seem determined to deny the existence of all us apple-shaped people. You’ve got your pears, your rectangles, your inverted triangles, but no circles.

My theory is that, other than pumpkin costumes and Santa suits, it’s pretty much impossible to design clothing that flatters us Apples. So rather than attempt it, the fashion world simply pretends we don’t exist. Well, I happen to know that I am not the only person on earth whose largest measurement is my waist. [God Almighty, did I really just throw that out for public knowledge?!?!] I’ve been in massive crowd-gatherings twice lately and have seen plenty of my spherical compatriots. So where are our cute clothes? Our flattering styles? Our chapters in the fashion-advice books?

You guys may not be aware of this, but there’s an entire category of books advising women on how to dress. We’re given guidance on what styles to look for, what colors to choose, even what fabrics maximize our minimals and minimize our maximums. The basic goal seems to be to make us all look like we’re shaped exactly the same. Pffft to that idea! Still, I would appreciate suggestions on how to downplay my biggest dimension, which is why I buy the advice books. Only I can never find even a mention of Apples or circles or any such shape. No advice that works for me at all.

“Use belts to give your waist definition.” OK, well, first you have to have a waist. An indented one, I mean. Do you know what happens when an Apple wears a belt? It exaggerates our middle. If it will even stay on our middle! Even my car’s seatbelt slides up around my neck within five minutes.

“Empire waistlines are the chubby girl’s best friend.” And here’s what happens when an Apple wears an Empire: “When is your baby due?”

“Avoid too-short tops, which can cut you off right at your widest point.” Well, duh. Unfortunately for us Apples, tops that aren’t supposed to be too short often are. All that extra acreage needs extra yardage for proper coverage. Yeah, like a maternity top, but, ahem, see above.

“Dresses from Omar the Tentmaker never flatter anyone.” I absolutely agree. Offer me an alternative that both fits and flatters, and I’ll be all over it like creamcheese on a bagel.

You know what? *I’m* going to write the book. The Apple’s Guide To A-Peeling Attire. Why not? I’ve been struggling with this issue most of my life. I believe I’ve learned a thing or two worth sharing. Hell, it can’t be any less useless than How To Not Look Fat, for which I recently paid ten bucks and which seldom acknowledges that there are women larger than a size 16. 16?!?! Give me an effing break. That’s not fat, that’s voluptuous. How not to look fat at size 16: Wear clothes that fit properly. Period.

I’m writing that damn book. Sign up now for advance copies.

Totally Related Aside: It’s not entirely my fault. My father was an Apple. Alas, the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. [idea blatantly stolen from kapgar]

P.S. Dave2, do you love me more now that you know I’m an *Apple*?