Z Gallerie Would Never Betray Me Like This

If you are a fellow HomeGoods lover, you’ll understand the trauma my tender soul has faced.

The other night, I ran there after Gus went to sleep. HomeGoods is a type of personal sanctuary that I hold in high regards, paralleled only by select Marshall’s.

I only had about 30 minutes, but I knew the trip was going to be worth it when I stepped out of the car and voice whispered, “Welcome to the cave of woooonders!” and the store became a giant, freaky Tiger head filled with jewels and gold, magical lamps and 8×10 carpets. Then, I ran through the entrance doors and twirled in the aisles with my arms out, chanting, “$7.99! $12.99!”

Just kidding, that’s Aladdin, minus the pirouettes.

I strolled through the store until the 15-minute to close warning was announced. I was speed walking the rest of the store, when a girl with an armful of clothes almost ran into the pre-school age girl across from me. Clothes-girl was apparently super irritated that the little girl was in her way, because she started throwing hangers back on the rack like a piñata. I was getting uneasy about this crazy lady tainting the aura of peaceful unity all Home Good-ers feel during their treasure hunts, until I noticed she was an employee.

So I resumed my explorations.

I passed on this.
I passed on this.
I bet I would like the future owner of elephant piggyback totem.
I bet I would like the future owner of elephant piggyback totem.

There were lots of little remarks coming from the angry worker, but nothing completely audible over my head chanting and squealing after finding Gus’s favorite pajamas he had outgrown…in a size bigger! Yesss.

I couldn’t wait to show Brian, when the “5 minutes to store closing” announcement came on the speaker. Immediately after, I heard, “OR WE COULD START FLASHING THE LIGHTS FOR THE DEAF CUSTOMERS.” I turned around and saw a little ponytail in the rack behind me with a level 7, natural blonde’s eyes darting around behind glasses. Suspicious. Then I noticed she was the angry piñata Home Goods worker! No way! How could one of their own be attacking me?!

I looked around at the other people nearby and said, “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I knew she couldn’t be talking to me, because I have pink hair…and pink haired girls GENERALLY aren’t people to mess with because they have friends at Hot Topic.

She turned bright red and said no.

My happy place bubble was crushed, so I left my finds and walked out…but not before tattling on her on my way out with another customer that was offended.

Let’s turn this into one of those choose your own ending stories:

1. And that, THAT is how my refuge from the world was violated.
2. And that, THAT is how I embarrassed myself after telling on an employee to a justice-seeking manager, and I can never show my face at that particular Home Goods location again. I’ll reconsider when I change my hair color.
3. And that, THAT is why I’m only shopping at Restoration Hardware online, Brian.

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Death By Pink, and Other Bad Decisions

First and foremost, my soul’s deepest suppressed dream is now a reality…for at least another week.
I’ve debated about pastel hair for over a year, which is pathetic considering I do hair. I know I can change the color the next day, but as a blonde who once turned a room into a snow globe after a blow dry, you understand my concern about keeping hair attached to my head.

Anyway, I love it.

(This is when the saying, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” comes to mind.)

Brian/the voice of reason left Saturday night with his friends. I had some friends come over to bring a special delivery of pink dye…for animals. The girls helped dye my parents’ dog while they were out of town. My mom has never been all that encouraging of my cotton candy hair, and for some reason, that instilled in me a deep desire to boost her pink appreciation by dipping her dog in some doggy dye.

Did you know dying a dog’s fur in a bathtub is a mess? Yes, you did, because you have common sense.

The bathtub imprisoned dog failed to understand beauty takes time, and kept shaking her fur while she was processing. The tile, the shower curtain, the tub, the toilet, the walls, the poor girl rinsing the dog…PINK. photo-37

That concludes Bad Decision 1: Not clean up the bathroom right away. I’m going to be repainting my walls soon, because I can’t get Barbie pink splatters off the paint. Whoops. Maybe Brian won’t notice.

I know I didn’t notice the walls at the time, because I was busy coloring my friend Aly’s hair pastel blue.
Let me introduce Bad Decision 2: Coloring hair in a bathroom at 11PM, with limited necessities. We didn’t have gloves, but Ziploc bags seemed similar enough.

Sure, we were a little reckless with color, because it’s our own hair instead of a client AND we were being F-U-N. A lack of ventilation in a small bathroom may have contributed, but I like to think it’s because we are so, so wild. I bet Aly even California-rolled through a couple stop signs on the way over.

We were a little over eager to get her hair done right then and there, so we skipped a major process that we both acknowledged, but ehhh. Maybe that’s why her color didn’t turn out blue. Does this color even have a name?

Are you crying laughing? I am. Every single time I see this picture, I am.
Are you crying laughing? I am. Every single time I see this picture, I am.

Because we were dying cracking up, we didn’t rinse out my hair that I was “freshening up.” (Do you feel another bad decision coming on?) After the girls left and the pink dog was dry, I washed mine to find it a neon maroon color instead of the light pastel pink it had previously been. I looked like Avril Lavigne’s gothic sister.

Unfortunately, this color wasn’t documented because I was busy washing my hair 5x with dish soap from 12:30-1AM. Oh, if you get dish soap in your eyes multiple times, your eyes will turn pink, too.

Bad Decision 3: Just. I know.

Needless to say, the early beginning of our Easter morning was spent running into our salon with bleach so we wouldn’t look like Easter colored crack heads at church.

Update: Aly is a beautiful purple…head? Purple-ette? Purple?

The goth rocker has been taken out of my pink, so it’s back to it’s unicorn, My Little Pony glory.



Zoe has never felt more beautiful.welcomezoephoto-38

Maybe I’ll regret this color in a couple years, but I’m going to take a million selfies while it lasts so in 2025, Gus can remember when Mom (thought she) was cool.

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Let’s Get Yogurt = Let’s Pay $8 For a Bowl of Candy

I have a thing for ice cream. And doughnuts, and brownies, but today, we will just focus on the ice cream. As a defender of sugar, cream, and hefty caloric goodness, I believe frozen yogurt is a perversion of dessert and a mockery of icy treats. For this reason, I have never in my life, EVER, suggested getting yogurt, although I am a social yogurt-er when girls’ nights arise.

Things changed this weekend. I had a dream about Pinkberry, which skewed my sensibility and everything I stand for. I shocked Brian by insisting on a trip to a yogurt place down the street, which is not, I repeat, NOT Pinkberry.

After we weighed in and paid a thousand dollars for it (I’m sorry, are the bowls weighted?), we sat down and ate before Gus got bored gnawing on straws and plastic spoons. Brian asked what I got. Kit Kats, Reese’s, chocolate sprinkles, Oreos, chocolate fudge, some cherries…I was still rattling off the contents of my bowl when he specified what YOGURT I got. I realized I only plopped a little on the bottom of the cup as a base for the sour gummy worms.

Eyeballing my bowl.
Eyeballing my bowl.
Gus with a quick hand for candy.
Gus with a quick hand for candy.

Time to pull out the Team Ice Cream shirt.

In other weekly news, I hosted a “Vegas, baby!” baby shower at my house. My only regret was not inviting Elvis, but as it turns out, a month’s advance notice is required for the popular Elvi (plural) from here. What a let down.

Being a desert boy, Gus is going to be a devout pool baby. Our families ‘ pools, neighborhood pools, hotel pools…he needed a quick introduction. He had his first “swimming” experience this week with our friends Sarah and Trey. Gus was a little unsure about the water, but maybe it’s because he was distracted trying to eat Trey’s hat and my hair, alternately. gus swimming

Mom needs a tan, so hopefully this pool thing grows on him. He will be sold once I coach him in skinny dipping.

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Barbie’s Role in the Great Divide of American Women

American women can be divided into two groups: women who grew up playing with Barbies or dolls, and women who did not.

Women who did NOT play with any kind of Barbies or dolls as children grew up to be lunch ladies named Olga and female guards at the state penitentiary.

Women who DID play with dolls or Barbies can be further divided: girls who played with dolls/Barbies and had brothers, and girls who played with dolls/Barbies and did not have brothers.

For your comprehension convenience, a flow chart:Barbie flow chart

Here’s a printable version for your fridge.

As a Barbie aficionado with two younger brothers, I can assure you one thing. Girls who had brothers in the next room over, blueprinting backyard excavation plans for a roller coaster, were taught a broad spectrum of valuable life lessons via dolls. These lessons included:

Medical: Heads reattached to the body cannot be expected to work properly.
Romance: Sometimes, a short G.I. Joe, stubby Lego man, or a block can substitute for Ken.
Beauty: Hair is flammable…and if you melt it all off, no one will want to play with you.
Consequences: Bad things happen to those who catapult themselves off the railings.
Fragility of Life: See above.
Psychiatry: See above.
Survival: Appendages are preferable, but not necessary.

Upper right: Ken's little brother Chad with interchangeable bodies, depending on if he was in touch with his feminine side.
Upper right: Ken’s little brother Chad with interchangeable bodies, depending on if he was in touch with his feminine side.

And that, friends, is a one reason I was crossing my glitter gel fingers for a boy first; the odds are good that any future daughters of mine will be taught flexibility and some of these same life skills at an early age.

(No sons? No problem. Fathers generally sub in for lethal Barbie playing fairly easy.)

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It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Alopecia

I understand, as a mom and as a hair stylist, that post baby hair shedding can be expected. I now am  past the point of losing a little hair and have a full blown, dime sized bald spot front and center on my part. It’s cute. Beyond my vain reasoning, I can’t be a balding hair stylist for other reasons:
1. For the sake of my clients’ vision, I can’t have a patch on my head reflecting all the bright salon lights through the mirrors and into their eyes. Remember the neighborhood boys trying to ignite ants with the sun and a magnifying glass? I could start a fire. Safety, safety, safety.
2. Would you go to a dentist with no teeth?

I was worried about looking like Giggy on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills until I thumbed through my phone. I have been enlightened by a possible self diagnosis.

gus mom hairgus dad hair

Letting myself go, Phase 1.
Letting myself go, Phase 1.

The hair is going up for a while before I run crying to my dermatologist.

Did anyone else experience extreme hair loss?

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