What?

It’s my last day of being 29 and everybody has to call me ma’am this morning?

I know my morning look is a little bit hobo-chic, and I very much look like I slept in a box and let a dog pee all over me, but you know what, that should make me your morning charity case.  You should be calling me Miss, not because I’m still totally young enough to be Miss (which I am.), but because I look like I need it.

That Miss may just be what’s keeping me from driving off a bridge or eating my weight in cream filled cupcakes in my garage listening to the Eagles.

In fact, I’d almost prefer you call me Sir, because I’d rather look like I’m maybe a dude, than old.

There was an old man who opened the door for people at my bank, and he called everybody Sir.  He’s dead now, but he was the coolest guy I’ve ever met.

I call almost everyone hun or babe.  Because I care about other humans and their need to feel pretty and not like the crypt keeper.

You know who calls people ma’am?  OJ Simpson.  And probably Hitler.  And then they killed people.

I’ve made my point.

So anyways, yesterday I gave away a pair of pajama jeans.  Quite possibly the awesomest invention ever, and honestly, I’m pissed I didn’t think of it first, but I’ve been to busy throwing all my savings into the tuxedo bath robe I’ve been developing.

Bested again.

Moving on, I wanted to address my hair, because it’s something I get emails about.

No seriously, this is very important, stop rolling your eyes…Andy.

I have what’s known as unmanageable hair.

It’s thick, coarse and wavy, and by the end of the day, the bottom layer is riddled with dread locks.

Ok, do I try and comb through this, or do I toss in some puka shells and yarn, and Adam Duritz this bitch out?

Every night it’s a judgment call, but it always comes down to my fear of small animals laying eggs.

Because I have always been curvy, I have spent most of my life overcompensating with the features that aren’t effected by my love of sausage and imported beers.

It’s a shame…she always had such a pretty face will be chiseled on my tombstone.

Under Words Fastest Fruit Roll Up Eater.  Obviously.

When I started having kids, cutting my hair was always my greatest fear.  It’s one of the things tying me to my youth.

One foot in the grave, one foot in the salon getting a mom haircut.

But then, I see older women with long hair and think…I’m not them, they look ridiculous, with their home perms and fifteen children and bloomer style underwear.

Christ, I need to get out of this town.

So, for now, my hair will remain long, and I will count all the work I have to put into it, as worth it.  Mostly.

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Because I have wave in my hair, increasingly so after each pregnancy, I rarely wear my hair straight.

Over time, I have developed tricks to help it become more manageable and less likely for me to shave it all off in the middle of the night.

1.  Find a good conditioner and detangler, put it on in the shower and let it sit on while you shave your legs and your bikini line.  Before rinsing it out, comb through your hair with a pick or wide tooth comb.  Combing my hair in the shower, as opposed to when I get out, keeps my curls as natural looking as when I don’t comb through it, but still cuts down on the tangles.

2.  It takes 12 hours for my hair to hair dry, so after I put in a good anti-friss mousse, and my hair drys enough, touching up with a medium sized barrel iron is key to a messy, beachy look.  But do not clamp your hair in that curling iron, so help me god. Instead, get the iron really hot and wrap your hair around the outside of the barrel, hold for 40 seconds, repeat, alternating the direction you wrap the hair.

3.  Moroccan Oil.  This.  Even when I get my hair looking the way I want, in no way is it touchable. It often has the consistency of a horses tail.  Not to mention, summer and humidity are not my friends, and my hair often morphs into a hybrid of Roseanne Roseannadanna and that one weird afro wig Phil Spector wore for his murder trial.  No more.  My friend Meredith introduced me to this stuff.  I use about a quarter amount of Moroccan Oil, rub it in my palms to heat it up, then comb it through my damp hair with my fingers and let air dry as normal.  My hair is softer.  Glossy.  Unfrizzy.  Totally worth the money.  Gets me laid.  Repeatedly.

So, because I absolutely adore this stuff, it qualifies as one of my favorite things that I with to share with you, on this last day of my twenties.

Like yesterday, you can enter by leaving me comments below, but because I’m feeling extra giving, and honestly, I may be drunk from the entire bottle of wine I downed after the whole ma’am incident in the McDonald’s drive-through this morning, I’ve decided to up your odds of winning by giving away a second bottle of Moroccan Oil on Meredith’s blog, also.  Since she was kind enough to introduce it to me, and I believe in karma.

This giveaway runs today only, ending tonight at 12am EST. One (1) winner will be randomly selected, and the prize delivered to them upon confirmation of winning within 24 hours. You may leave as many comments as you want with a valid email address.

Want to up your odds?  Click here to enter for an extra bottle over at Life’s Crazy Joke.


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