Is there such a thing as a Seeing Eye Mousse Dog? I think I need one.

Good afternoon!

I'm taking a break from the Green Bay Packers/Baltimore Ravens wonder of a defensive struggle  (I love a good defensive game, but come on...the two highest paid QB's in the league, and NO touchdowns in the first half?) to talk about something very disturbing I've noticed lately.

I've forgotten how to use hair mousse.

See, I'm a child of the 80's when mousse and Aqua Net hair spray were the tools we used to keep our teased, curling ironed hair looking slightly damp and very tall.

I love Rock and Roll...and really tall hair.

Over the years I went to very ,very short hair which needed very little in the way of hair product because, well, there was no hair.  But the last several months, under the expert tutelage of my hair girl, Meghan, I've rediscovered my love of tall, heavily layered hair.  And, since my arthritis has made pump spray hair spray almost impossible to use, I've also rediscovered Aqua Net hair spray.  (They keep it waaaaaay down on the bottom shelf, so it's hard for old 80's chicks like me to 1) see it and 2) bend down to get it, but it's there. I sometimes bring Peaches on shopping trips so she can spot it for me.)

So recently, having reached a length of hair I haven't had in multiple years, and having gotten some really cool rock and roll layers, I decided to return to my other hair product standby:  mousse.

Mousse, for those of you who do not know, is a foamy sort of hair product.  You can use it in your hair when your hair is wet or dry, but I prefer to use it when my hair is wet.   The mousse comes out of a narrow nozzle when you push on the little flat part of the plastic top.  Unlike pump hair spray, you can get a decent handful of mousse with one push, so my arthritis isn't as big an issue.

I didn't think I needed any refresher courses on how to use mousse, but, after two disasters, I realize something very sad:  I have, in my old age, forgotten how to use hair mousse.

It's a true sign of senility for a child of the 80's.

The first disaster I sort of laughed off.  I mean, it's been a good 20 years since I've used the product, so OF COURSE there's always a chance that the first time out of the box I'm going to do something stupid like look directly into the nozzle as I'm pushing the flat part.  And that would result, of course, in mousse hitting me square in the face and the neck and the chest, resulting in a complete change of wardrobe and ultimately, a late arrival at work.

All of that happened, except for one thing:  I wasn't looking directly at the nozzle.  Nope, I was actually aiming for my hand, which was positioned 20 inches below my face.  And I still managed to hit myself in the face, the neck, and the chest which resulted in a complete change of wardrobe since I managed to unleash so much mousse on myself it felt more like I was trying to unfrost a cake.

Go ahead, laugh.  I did.  Hey, that's funny.

This morning was NOT funny.  I was getting ready for church and, having learned a thing or two from my last fail at the mousse, I was more careful, way less cavalier, about dispensing the hair product.

This time I managed to hit my glasses, my pink boom box, my jar of moisturizer all located on the shelf 18 inches to the left of my target...my hand...AND I HIT THE FLOOR!

It didn't take a CSI to see, with so much spatter, that the person operating the can of mousse was clearly, maybe getting a little senile.  I mean, really, who forgets how to put mousse into your hand?  I used to do it in the dark, after a night where not only did I get no sleep, but I probably took someone's dare to try and cram myself into something.  (In college, I was much smaller than I am now, and I was able to crawl into fairly small spaces, like a drier, or under the bookshelf headboard of our dorm bed, or into a washer...yes, the agitator made that one very uncomfortable.)

So I'm thinking maybe I need to get a service dog that can help me release the mousse from the can into my hand.  I'm pretty good from there, although I have managed to hit my shoulder a couple times, I am getting better at that. 

Some would tell me to just give up using mousse.

Are you kidding?  Have you seen how tall my hair is lately?  I can't possibly give that up!   (I'm not saying I'm John Stamos height yet...but it's close!)

I can't be the only one who's given this a thought!

Good morning!

Sorry I've been away much of the week.  I've been blocking chapters for my upcoming office work book...have you voted for the title yet?...so I haven't been blogging much this week.

Thursday night I held a Party lite Candle Party at my home.  I've talked about these parties before, so I won't bore you with the details.  The women I have over to these parties are pros...they don't need to hear the sales pitch.  They are there to laugh out loud and to purchase candles.  It's probably the easiest party a consultant has all year.

The laughing out loud part is great.  Picture a room full of women who typically don't know each other outside of my living room.  But when they are all together, they can get on a topic of discussion that will have them snorting cola/appletini/wine out of their collective nostrils.

Such was the case Thursday night.  I have no idea how we got on the topic.  Who of us ever traces a conversation from it's ridiculous conclusion to the moment it started?  (Try it...it's hilarious.)

We started by talking about baseball.  The Milwaukee Brewers are doing quite well this season, and my friend Sheena  (she knows who she is) has a deep obsession with the team.  Sort of like me with the Detroit Redwings...only she gets to were shorts to the games.  So we talked about the Brewers, which lead us to a topic we ALL love...the Green Bay Packers.

It's Wisconsin...you're going to talk about two things:  the weather, and the Packers.

Talk about the Packers, since the season is only one game old, reverted back to a discussion about the Super Bowl, which my family watched at Sheena's house.  It was the first time I'd been to Sheena's house for a major sporting event.  When there's a big game...I tend to stay home.  I'm not saying I get into the game too much...but I will say that I firmly believe that if I STAND UP through the entire game, no matter where it is played, the Packers will win.  I believe that Refs can hear me from my living room.  I believe that players of the opposing teams will feel shame when I insult them.  I feel the Packer players themselves feel as if an angel is protecting them...as long as I am standing up.

No, I don't pray.  I stop short of that.  At least...up until the Super Bowl.

We went to Sheena's house because my husband likes to go to football parties.  As a man...no one expects him to socialize in the kitchen.  No one expects him to talk about the merits of ranch dressing as opposed to blue cheese on chicken wings.  He gets to watch the game man style:  In a chair, holding a beer.

So having never been to Sheena's house for a game, I was worried that I would again have to discuss dips while Hubby got to see the game.  I should not have been worried.  Sheena is a woman after my own heart when it comes to sports.  She sets out the food, points to it and says, "HELP YOUR OWN SELVES, I'M WATCHING THE GAME." 

We had a wonderful time at her house.  The woman knows how to through a football party.  But that fourth quarter had me not only standing, but pacing in a circle through Sheena's house.  I couldn't watch.  I could only walk.

I have heard your prayer...and I shall give you
a Superbowl championship!

And I prayed.  I paced, and I prayed...it was a first for me.

Oh yeah...and it worked.  So I'll be adding that to my repertoire.

But that's not why I bring this up.  I bring up the Superbowl and my prayer because all that came up on Thursday at the candle party.  We were talking about wacthing the Super Bowl, and I admitted that I prayed.  The general consensus in the room is that yes, God is a Packers fan.  It's a sentiment almost every Wisconsin resident...and a few Bears fans who can't deny it...will cling to.  So we talked about how God is a Packer fan.

And then...well then it got weird.

If it says it on a shirt...it must be true!

Someone then said, "And Jesus wears an Aaron Rogers jersey on game day."

Maybe it was all the fumes from the lit candles.  Maybe it was the high I was on from nibbling the beer bread and dips I'd made for the party.  More likely it was the fact that when I'm with my friends, I get a kick out of being the most shocking person in the room.  Because then I said, "No, Jesus probably doesn't wear a jersey.  He's pretty set with the white robe.  But I'll bet He wears Packer Boxer shorts under the robe."

The room erupted in laughter.  I'm not sure if it's because the idea of Jesus wearing boxers is so funny...but seriously, who hasn't thought about it.  We all see that picture of Jesus in His robes, sitting there, talking to the little children.  Who among us hasn't once looked at that picture and wondered, silently, "What does He were under there?"

It cannot be just me.

Can it?

Someone please tell me I'm not the only one who's wondered if Jesus wears underwear!

It might be just the way my brain works...because as she was leaving the party, Sheena turned to me and said, "I'm not sure I'm ready to believe Jesus is a boxer guy."

We both laughed at the idea...but I did note that she didn't question whether or not Jesus is a Packer fan.

See, this is Wisconsin.  There's just no question about it.