so we could be heroes

just for one day.  or not.

I actually really hate that I have a sorta kinda like um you know . .  . "hero."  I hate that I revere another HUMAN who isn't in a career that is life endangering like a fireman, policeman, soldier or  school teacher (yes male or female in all categories) but well confession time. . . .

You have to have heard me gush about Tony.  Yes.  that tony.  Tony.  Anthony Bourdain of the No Reservations goodness.  where I met him first (met as in on TV not like I'm some crazy stalker - really, I'm not! - I swear that wasn't me!)   Instant attraction.   I read his books.  My copy of his Kitchen Confidential is dog eared and loved - very much akin to my Julie Powell's Cleaving.  Julie and Julia was only the start of her story.  It is not a book for the faint of heart.   Gritty - tough parts and tender parts and all things intestinal and hard to swallow.  A cook's journey.

Cooks, we are a funny lot.  we take feeding seriously.  and work with knives.  very very sharp knives. we have blood on our hands most days and flesh under our nails often.  we get excited about exotic ingredients we have never worked with before JUST as much as familiar but forgotten things from our past.

What we do is something so very vital to existence but also just as basic.  it could be simply filling and then forgotten because it served a need and the fuel moved the subject on to the the next activity  - as no car remembers it's last fuel station.  OR it's remembered - put down - etched into their very being = something akin to writing a sonnet because the meal was so amazing.  earthshaking.  breathtaking.  like my first bowl of pho.  I will never  EVER forget it.  and I only was brave enough to try it because of him.  Tony.  he made me try it.  dared me even.  and I'm a better NAY, more adventurous eater because of it.

BUT

you had to know there was a but coming right?  kinda riffed on the heroes thing and you knew I hadda knock this asshole off the pedestal he never would have wanted me to put him on in the first place.

I watched him in this kind of crazy Pulp Fiction version of his life on tape.  I saw No Reservations.  Read his book (and please for the love of GOD don't waste your time with his fiction.  He thought he was a cooking Micky Spillane and he should stick to what he knows and rocks - no fiction love okay?)  But the BOOK was the start of it all.  And thanks to HULU plus I'm now watching Cooks Tour which is his small screen start.  what a f'n whining bitch who doesn't want to eat anything!!!!  Dear Lord!  The very people he makes fun of in NR are exactly who he was in Cooks!  and to complicate matters he ended NR by starting mid stream with a show I CRAVE - FREAKING CRAVE called the Layover.  THAT show has me salivating just thinking about it.  So, short of his bad fiction he's a cooking god, tv maverick (hates Rachel Ray - what's not to love?) and made peace with Emeril.  He and Mario are sorta friends and he loves all the offal I do.

wait for it . . . wait for it . . . bam

no it's not another shot at Emeril.  it's that other shoe.  the one that had to fall.

it sorta started with the Chase Sapphire plugs IN THE SHOW.    I know I saw it coming.  I just didn't want to.  He was so punk.  I was so right there with the Dead Kennedy's and Iggy and the Ramones.  He did a show with Queens of the Stone AGE.  He can't sell out.  or can he?

enter. The Taste.

I can't even say it.  Or frankly watch it.  again.

saw 15 minutes.  shut off the tv.  and wanted to eat a quart of hagen daz rum raisin.   Iron Chef is at least cool.  And Alton keeps it snarky.

The Taste isn't bad.  it's just boring.  And that's worse.  I hope that this isn't the end.  I get he's older, married and a daddy.  but.  really?

angels in the architecture

So, I as a human,  tend toward the "looker for answers" in the day to day.   That may come from my Christian upbringing and life in the Church.   I believe that there is meaning in the chaos and that we are not here by some freak random chance.  If you do, well then,  universe, bless your precious little heart.

 I try to see meaning in the things that happen but I don't always see it.  today.  it's rather in the later that it tends to make perfect sense.  I meet people and don't know why until they teach me something about myself.  good bad ugly or just plain eye opening that stops me.  and then I know why.  I needed to learn that.  Yet I know that it's not purely selfish.  I know that I serve a purpose too.  I really try to be salt and light to a world that needs flavor and illumination.  and not mess it up. Yet I do mess it up, sometimes.

I don't do what is needed or right or even called for - a lot.  I can be horribly selfish.  I deserve to be happy. . . .   um says who?  not if it's the wrong thing to do.  and therein lies the rub.  the catch.  the humanity.  

but happily they really are there.

they are if you look.

I'm not talking worship.  not remotely.  just recognition.

there are angels

all around us.

pay attention.

they do have a job to do you know.  They are like bees.

they make something good but will hurt if they have to.

and there are bad ones  - but their names are different.  demonic and sad and very angry.

look around and see them.  see the angels in the architecture.  all around us.  there is good.

Okay really?

So - upon driving my children to school - in this month of reprieve and reinvention - I have listened to a lot of radio.   MOST of which there are not enough forks in the world to JAM into my eyeballs to make enjoyable.  I DO thank the sun moon stars and any fake god that made Iheartradio on my Apple thingies possible.   BUT I do hear the gossip and "whats happening in the media universe" for that 4 trip process.  (two kids at 6:45 - one lone child at 7:30)

Okay.  There is rape. genocide. our borders are past being invaded .  our stupid demonazi president wants to take our rights away. . . (oh did I say that out loud?) sorry.

The biggest topic is . . . .  a freaking Volkswagon commercial that has NOT even yet aired during the Super Stupid.  I mean Bowl.  Bowl.. Right.  Super Bowl.

Apparently.  Affecting a Jamaican accent when you are White.  makes you racist.

Hello?

So.  there are NO white Jamaicans?

I saw the commercial and it's funny.  AND = bit of news here . . . IT's a f'n commercial.

It is supposed to be a wee bit off.  and make you WANT whatever the hell they are spending 60 trillion dollars a millisecond to air.

I don't really like football.  NOW the Puppy Bowl?  yeah.  I like puppy's alright but I'm not stupid.  I squeeeee every time I see one.  Hmmmm - let me pull out my genius IQ to think about this . . . . Puppy Bowl - designed for the chicks who are not so down with football?  Um - geez? ya think?

I am not from Jamaica.  Though I freaking rock the accent.  AND know that for the most part if we are to do the generalization that EVERY place that sells what they want you to LOVE about A (AKA Jamaica - or so I've heard since I personally have NEVER been hint freaking hint hint) PLACE. . . . They prolly won't mind if you make the "GENERALIZATION" positive.  like this place is amazing.  paradise.  right?  Unless of course you are . . . SOME White chick from a lame marketing company in "who the hell cares NY" borough.  Upper East Side I'm betting. SHE is super pissed off about the whole thing.  right.  I have bigger problems lady.  really.

I'm just saying.  Yeah.  Gun Laws?  Gun Laws only affect the good people.  They really really really really really really really DON'T fix a GOD DAMN thing!  No law abiding citizen who would actually abide by said law would DO what these nut bags do and have done.  I say - really.  Make it all fair game for like um - a year.  Darwin law I guess.  I'm kidding a bit.  I can shoot so - well.? . .  bring it dick.

If you really foolishly think gun laws will make our country safer . . .  really?  you are a special kind of stupid and delusional.  History has proven over and over and well, over.  If it gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that YOUR bodyguard has a gun to watch over you but NO BODY else has one . . . then you would be Rosie O'Donnell or our President.  Either way arrogant and misguided.

I know I'm at this moment making HUGE enemies of people who probably ALREADY hate me  - and I say,  well.  So?

I'm not Jamaican.  wish I was really.  I could be the cool redheaded chick with the super TAN.   and that amazing accent.

Really? folks.  I wish America could get their head out of their ass (yeah just one) and get what it means to be American.  I get multicultural.  OMG I live in Hispanic/Burka wearing/Korean town!   I am the token white chick.  I was interviewed.

But America is not about tying hands its about freedom.  Last I checked.  You can burn my flag. And all I can do is cry.  You can trash my God and all I can do is pray for you.  You come to take my freedom?  You better back up because I am not from Jamaica.  I'm an American.

Busted

Okay.  I admit.  I like quality.  I do.  Finely made shoes.  right.  If you have had a pair of well made shoes you know that there is. YES there is a difference than what you could get at Walmart.  There just is.  It's in the craftsmanship and about a grand.  or more.

I don't have that.  Nor could this little Lutheran girl from Wisconsin who still thinks Starbucks over charges for freaking bean water that you could make very nicely yourownself. . . . do that either.    BUT  I get and understand a quality product.   Handmade is my favorite type of product since I am a dyed in the wool crafter - knitter, seamstress, beader and all around crazy person with pointy sticks and hooks.  I have worked with fabric that cost over $100 a yard.  could I tell?  not always.  Sometimes it was a ton per yard because some body's name was on the label.  Sometimes it melted like butter under my fingers and I wanted to do really really naughty things with it.  (I did not - for the record have sex with that . . .  um just sayin)

But sometimes it's quality and sometimes it's just a name.   That "Just A Name" gets me every time.

I like German cars.  I do.  I'm German (mostly).  Their engineers do some amazing things to automobiles that go really far fairly fast and do it so so nice and tight.  (I like my cars nice and tight - like Rick likes his eggs.)

I completely understand that sense of quality and pride in a well made product.  I stood behind my cushions (or for that matter sat ON my cushions) 100%.  My stuff - for the most part was as near perfect as humanly possible.  I wanted to be known for  excellence!  But my products were one of a kind.  ONE of a kind.  You couldn't go to Walmart and get what I made.  You couldn't even go to the Coach outlet and get what I made.  Coach cranks out their stuff one after another and you could be standing next to her at Starbucks.  Same purse.  AWKWARD!  does that mean I didn't squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee when i found a Coach purse just sitting there all happy to see ME for 10 bucks at Goodwill.  HELL NO.  I NEVER said they were poorly made.  I just won't pay 200 bucks for a purse that most likely will never have more than 7 tubes of lipgloss, 17 bottles of nail polish, a file,  horribly scratched up sunglasses from the dollar store (the poor ray bans are beyond hope) and about 56 dollars in nickels and penny's in it.

This blog is actually not about purses.  shocking I know right?  I am not the purse girl.  Boots?  hell yeah - but also not it.  I am a total boots whore.  Have more than 20 pair.  yeah.  guilty.  THIS is about yarn.  and I'm sure that I may have to continue this to a different day since now all of you have drifted off into a drooling coma of "yarn?" who cares?

I am all over the Internet these days.  I want to make this certain sweater.  It will become my uniform of the day.  like an everyday are you kidding me? take it off? NO way! sort of garment.  but it's designed to be made of that most amazing of fibers - one that starts harsh and almost crispy and then ages FOREVER into this gorgeous and lovely hand (that's fiber talk -  for it starts out stupid hard and gets like butter the more you wear it and wash it)  That fiber is of course  - linen.  I need 4/5 skeins.  they go for 25 bucks a pop.  Did I mention I'm doing all the heavy lifting here?  I'm making this thing out of sticks and string.  I will go from TOTALLY naked to clothed and ready for public viewing with just these few slight of hand tricks (and some blocking and sewing and other REALLY boring knitting finishing things we all hate but are totally important).   SO - again.  It's a quality thing.

Point of reference.  I am 43 years old and know what I like and what I do not thank you :D  I love yarn and am a horrible horrible snob.  BUT I will certainly NOT wear the fantastic alpaca/wool sweater I knit several years ago - AGAINST MY BARE SKIN.  why? you dear reader would ask?  You made it - for your body.  right.  short answer - because it itches like a MOFO.  BUT let me wear it with a turtleneck under - give me the matching hat,scarf and gloves I made and I'll KILL YOU at king of the hill.

Point is - different fabrics - different properties.  Different levels of awesome!

My daughter asked me to make her a sweater.  She designed it after a sweatshirt that she loves.  It's a bit of the batwing construction.  MOM, please take off the hood - make this part a little longer - oh and make it in stripes.    sure.

I know my daughter.  I would have run out and bought really expensive wool but it would end up in the washer without my knowledge and then only fit our smallest dog.  Or then what about a sort of expensive wool blend?  Okay that's what I set out to do but they didn't have the color she wanted.  So I broke code.  She got the cheap but soft yarn that is IMHO crap.  complete total 100% acrylic crap.  I will do it in good faith anyway.  There will still be love and care and design put into it but starting with crap materials has me a bit vexed.  I may scrap her yarn and find better.  Though damn it is soft.  But I know it doesn't last.  It pills like an SOB.  However, she's 11.  This is my last child and it's not an heirloom design - so I should just shut up and knit.  Walmart carries the crap if I get into a bind and need another skein.

just saying.   I am working through spending 120 bucks on string that I know will make me an amazing sweater that I could very well be mummified in and come out wearable for the excavation crew.

Or I just keep trolling the Internet or thrift stores for a linen yarn for cheap.  My guess is it's there.  I just gotta look hard enough.  Quality.  it's not a bad thing.

a long time ago

So a long time ago in a galaxy.......  Jeez.  I wish I had a Galaxy.  Flat black. 5 speed.  frankengearshift. yum.

Sorry.  I like old cars.  Especially of the Ford variety.  ugh sidebar.

So a long time ago - even before I knew who Anthony Bourdain was.  Yeah that long ago.  I was a nursing mother and my then Husband and father to my progeny preached in our then church aka "cult of the holy reproduction."  His sermon was called - "Where is your passion?"  A fantastic and beautiful question.  I'm not sure if he's found his.  I most certainly haven't found mine.  I've certainly been passionate ABOUT things.  I really love God.  I really don't think abortion is great but unless you've been a scared woman/girl with no one to back her nor offer her help to make right on the life she is carrying you better shut up and not judge her.  I was both judge and jury once.  And then I was humbled.  just sayin.  don't judge anybody.  let God do that.  we are here to love.  R vs W was 40 this last week and I really hate that.  but then.  it's not all that important.  If God's people rise up and make places for these women to feel safe and loved.  Abortion - though legal would not even be an issue.  Just because someone CAN do something doesn't mean they will if the LIGHT shines brighter than the dark and seemingly -  only choice.

Sorry. Again.  Passion.

T.  asked this congregation to think about what they valued.  and really.  This is still an uber valuable question.  And one that still to this day some (gah. almost 13 years) later resonates within me.  I'm not saying what do you like.  I'm talking passion.  What makes you moan?  even if it's not in a sexual way but in a oh my GOD this tastes/smells/is so interesting/is so beautiful/look at the photo of that tree I just took/pintrest/ sort of way. . .

Okay if you are just joining us.  I can't eat most food.  I'm lactose intolerant so Dairy is out most days.  I'm currently out of the product called "Lactaid which does allow me "SORT OF" to eat SOME dairy (okay a tiny bit if truth be told - personally I think it's crap since I still get sick so I've stopped buying it.) and I can't eat wheat, oats nor grains.   I'm thinking buckwheat may be a go and may give it a shot.  But I can't eat bread/pizza/sandwiches/noodles/pasta/happiness/sunshine/freaking ponies nor unicorns.

I drink/eat my body weight daily in wine and rice.  I live on them almost exclusively.  and then there is that one thing.

that one.  beef heart.  ANGELS ARE SINGING > > > > > no?    Repulsed you are?  I challenge anyone to try my MY personal beef heart recipe and NOT like it.  MONEY back guarantee. How do I know it's good?  My 11 year old daughter tried it on a dare and now will eat it faster than I can.  SHE actually asks me to make it.   I make it taste like the leanest steak you will ever taste but it's mouth feel is so amazing.  I use marrow bones.  and roast them for a very very long time.  It doesn't have to be complicated but. . . . the question was - where is your passion.  My passion is making offal. . . not.

My heart is in this.  I crave it.  I wake up some mornings and crave PHO.  really.  if you have never had it.  find it.  your city has to have it.  chances are it's pho 234,pho 56, pho 456.  It's an address thing.  Get the fish soup.  get the big bowl.  thank me later.  it will feed more than your stomach.  your senses  - the ones that you forgot about.  your passion if you will - will awaken.  Thank me later and either dedicate it to me or name it after me.  whatever.  knit me something.  whatever.

so my passion?  guess what?  still don't know.  maybe it's what I'm doing right this happy happy second.  drinking cheap wine. writing and spilling what I think I know to the unsuspecting but seemingly receptive public.  I'd be a porn star if I had a) nice tits. and b) see A.  and was maybe 20 years younger.  OH and I didn't have kids.  and could only do it with my beloved.  yeah there's that.  So well shucks.  that I guess disqualifies me.  darn.  So hoping to never teach school in my later life.

so I guess.  the question still is hanging like ripe fruit from a late summer tree. . . what is your passion?  what do you personally make time for and then complain you don't THEN have time for?  If you want to be slimmer and then sit in front of a TV/Computer whatever and eat and then bitch you are too fat and don't have time to work out?  lie.

get out and unplug and go for a freaking walk.  it's too cold?  get a hat.

I sound bitchy but I broke things a while ago.  I get the "can't" run.  I still went for a bike ride.  I still did sit ups.  why?  it's my passion.  I ran a marathon.  yeah.  my one.  I didn't like the process.  maybe will again when kids are in college.  I get obsessed.  I can make my body do things it's not so happy to do but does anyway.  but I get selfish in the process.  So?  I limit myself to 40 miles a week and then we stop.  and 100 miles on the bike.  you realize I'm home 24/7 when I get outside job all bets are off .  . . depending on whether I'm a personal trainer.  or not.  kidding.  not really.  lol  That is a passion.  I like pushing my body to limits and knowing what I can and cannot do.  Heights?  Not my thing.  Spinning?  not my thing.  Weird food?  bring it.

So again.  My 11 year old daughter craves my personal version of heart.  tell me it is not awesome?

I want to share.  but huh?  maybe I don't .  Oxtails.  One of my personal absolute favorites.  are suddenly going up in price.  DAMN it.

DON'T eat Beef Heart.  It's horrible.  stay away.  lol.

I bought Kitchen Confidential.  And read it for the 5th time.  but this time it's mine.  I want to write.  and then be on TV.  or the radio.  let's be honest - I have a face for radio.    but I give some good voice.

I can talk.  If you've spent 5 minutes with me you know I can talk.  I may be a bit nervous and awkward, but I can talk.

Where is your passion?

I run.  I knit.  I like beads.  I love God/Jesus.  I love my family.  I love sex.  I love wine and good food that I've made. And I love what I'm doing right this second.  I'm sharing what I think with the universe. I really would love if a million people got this - but I know it's more like 5.  and that is beautiful.

where is your YOUR passion?  find it.  it really is important.  it may not become your job/employment but it's super important to who you are.  you really need to know.

just sayin.

Some good drugs . . . .

SO the other night my darling husband said something that reminded me of a TV show from my very very early youth ("yute" if I were named Vinny).  And that sparked quite the Netflix frenzy of show after show that I remembered.  Some of them were actually there - some we had to slum and go to YouTube to find.  Regardless,  Roger had never seen, nor even HEARD of any of them.

I was shocked.  But then again this was the early 70's and watching Saturday morning TV was not where HE was spending his time.   And decidedly it was a niche market.   I remembered it fondly.

However, much like Big Mac's,  Shamrock Shakes and Twinkies - I swear something has changed.  The Problem very well may lie somewhere between the screen and the chair,  but change it has.   Watching shows that I have NOT seen in well over 30 years - was bizarre.    If you are anywhere near my age (just this side of dirt! LOL) and had a TV growing up you may remember Sid and Marty Krofft.  You should remember the shows I am referring to.  HR Pufinstuf (right - no drugs at all!) Dr. Shrinker,  Sigmund the SeaMonster, Electra Woman and Dyna Girl, the Bugaloos, and Wonderbug!


These images were what shaped my early years.  The Brother's Krofft overblown sets and fantastical plots made this kid feel that I could imagine and do just about anything.  Which was great . . .  to a degree.  If I had ended up working for Spielberg or as a graphic designer.  I personally ended up in HR.  and not the Pufinstuf kind.  Still - I do believe that my level of fantasy and vivid imagination WAS somewhat shaped by these shows.  Perhaps that is also why I love Musicals so much.  OF COURSE people just burst into song while walking down the street.  why not?  My disbelief was suspended from the start.

Roger was slack jawed watching my beloved shows.  He was adamant that copious and varied pharmaceuticals were involved in their creation.  I could not disagree.

And the acting was  - um how shall I say this delicately? - the acting was horrible.  Really really horrible.  And though it was super fun tripping (tripping right?) down memory lane this stuff was really crazy!  If you have never seen any of these shows or have only seen the later version like the Will Farrell "Land of the Lost" don't bother.   I think it only works if you have a baseline.  Or not.  Go ahead and YouTube or Netflix Sid and Marty and see for yourself.   The brother's have been quoted to say that no drugs were used to create their fantastical plots or sets . . . I am incredulous.  Somebody HAD to have been dropping some sort of something to dream this stuff up.  Just sayin.

Hmmmmm Remember Mayor McCheese . . . .  from McDonalds?  Coincidence?  I think not.  Maybe it's my palate that has changed but a few years back when I could still eat wheat and dairy and wanted to eat at McD's for some dumb reason in the month of March, I had a Shamrock Shake and a Big Mac.  I finished neither.  Something had changed.  If it was me I do understand the adult rather than childhood preferences -  okay but this did not taste like what I fondly remembered  Ditto on the twinkie.  I am a huge nostalgia junkie (duh right?) so this was a blow.

I guess you really can't go home again.  Which is pretty much the plot of every one of these shows.  hmmmmmm.  Coincidence?  I think not...

that thing you do . . .

"You know that one thing we do one night every year, ". . . "OH YES Estiban".  . . . "well, we still have 3 months to go. .  "

if you can actually name this movie without IMDBing it you may have been a first time subscriber to Cable in the early 80's.

if you can name it.  I'll knit you something special.  bring it baby.

Now for something completely different.

I know I have sorta riffed on this before - that certain thing.  That thing that defines you as well,,,,,,, you.

I would love to think that I am more than JUST ass-length Irish Setter red hair and knitting prowess . .  but well ?  I  - at least own those two things.  I am MOST certainly more than that.  I would love to add great mom, good friend and sister,  great cook and adventurous eater.  Certainly not least LOVER and follower of Jesus.  But it's the things we see as the bumpouts  - the real things that we put to the forefront that really really make who we are.

For real, I am stopped in almost every store or venue by someone; by male or female to comment on my hair.  I have amazing hair.  I do.  I own that.  It's big and thick and the stuff lights up like a freaking ROMAN CANDLE in the sun.  WHY? short answer -  because I'm allergic to hair dye. huh?  hear me out.

I have always had a lot of hair.  I just do.  The thickness is really not manufactured it just is that thick.  Thanks mom.  That I can't say is anything but DNA.  Perms took quite literally HOURS.  My hair was stick straight.  I remember one perm taking 7 hours and I could not pick my head up out of the sink.  The weight alone was too much.  But I've been doing horrible nasty chemical based things to my head honestly longer than I can remember.  Really I was Brady Bunch era.  Perms were just the rage.

I colored it for the first time (not counting peroxide and sunshine or Sun-in) in College.  Went from Blonde to Burgundy/Pinot Noir red.

Got Married.  stayed red.ish.

Had kids.  let hair grow.

stayed red

got bored.  dyed blond.

another baby

dyed BLACK.  5 boxes. life as I knew it then stopped.

Head blew up.  Doctors involved.  Here's where stuff really went south.  3 dollar box of Cheap walmart dye will never be fun again.  Oh wait.  I choose life and not having my skin peel off again.  It was bad.  You - if you use color of ill-repute - need to rethink.

paraphenylenediamine (aka ppd)

I can never use "walmart" dye again.  ever.  PPD is actually a horrible chemical.  I won't beat anyone up who "CAN"use it but after almost losing my hair and (more importantly) my life I'll just say it's not pretty.

SO....  In comes henna.  Henna is an herb.  It's grown in the Middle East.  I like mine specifically from Yemen.  Though Saudi Arabia has some nice crops as well.

Brides get Henna tattoos.  It is said while the tattoo is still visible on her hands she need not do any work.  They like that shit to STICK!.   So we terp it.  Terping is adding essential oils so that it really gets in.  I use tea tree oil because my body likes TTO.  And because it terps like a mofo.

If you see a henna tattoo at a flea market or fair and it is Black.  um. run.  true henna is red.  or orange.  Indigo is blue/black but rarely done.   In fact I don't think they can.  Henna is red/orange.

SO my liability became my asset.  Henna makes your hair grow faster.  Repels insects (Goodbye LICE!) and thickens it.  My braid weights 4lbs.  Indian women who see me at the grocery store smile since they know why my hair looks the color it does.  :D

I will help you if you are interested in starting out with Henna.  I have been doing this for more than 10 years.  It doesn't have to be RED.  If you want to cover grey but not use chemicals that can hurt you.  Let me know.  I have connections and experience.  basically.  I got this one.  in spades.  really really

I have some crazy long hair.  It's pretty.  If you want to experiment with hair.  EVEN if you want short hair that is pretty.  contact me.  I GOT the hair thing folks.  I can get you red/healthy not red and jet black but with good stuff   and points in between.  PPD is bad and can make you really sick.

just say hey and I got ya.  

There is a saying that the uglier you are at getting beautiful the more beautiful you become.