alive and kicking and flying to L.A. in the morning ....

I never, ever play hookey like this - really, truly - I was the girl who went to school every day even on picture day when I had somehow managed to slam my lower lip into a closing car door and had 6 stitches the size and color of a fuzzy caterpillar - the creepy, crawly, huge, black gypsy moth kind - across my face, got teased and ran into the girl's room in tears until my bestest friend painted a magic marker gypsy moth caterpillar on her own face to make me feel better.

I am flying to L.A. in the morning

(yes, I like the sound of that - it is so not me, to be flying to L.A. in the morning, maybe driving to Camden in the morning, that is more like me - but I admit I like the sound of it and I found many occasions to say it today, it is really quite amazing how often it came up

- at the post office - when the girl asked me if I was mailing anything hazardous, liquid or fragile

girl - "are you mailing anything hazardous, liquid or fragile?"
me - "no, but I am flying to L.A. in the morning."

- at the grocery store when the old lady accidentally banged into my ankle with her cart

old lady - "oops"
me - "I am flying to L.A. in the morning"

- to the pizza delivery boy while stopping Olive from knocking him off the front steps

pizza boy - " uh, does she bite?"
me - "no, but I am flying to L.A. in the morning"

it just sounds good, doesn't it and I think it only works with L.A. because next week I am going to Chicago and it doesn't have the same kind of bling about it, you know)

So tonight while I should be pouring shampoos and conditioners and liquid whatnots into little plastic bottles and then putting those little plastic bottles into a one quart clear bag which I am pretty certain I do not have anyway - I have spent the evening staring at my hairline and eating Bagel Bites, periodically opening the empty Bagel Bites carton to see if maybe more cheese stalactites were forming on the underside of the lid ... yum.

There is a little bit of a problem with my hairline - and by hairline I mean the "part" in my hair which I guess is not really my hairline, but it sounds less confusing than saying "part" somehow because I made the last minute decision to color my roots ... myself.

So, I bought one of those root touch up kits that actually GUARANTEES it will match your haircolor - how is this possible I wondered, but I knew they wouldn't say it if it weren't true, right - so I bought the medium blonde, brushed it onto my roots, waited 10 minutes, washed it out and I now have ... red roots, actually orange roots, I have orange roots, not medium blonde roots, orange roots ...

and I am flying to L.A. in the morning

Wish me luck folks - I will post pics from the California Gift Show - if you are in the neighborhood - I am in the Olive Bites booth, I will be the girl with the orange roots ....

xo all