Rock the Silver

March is the cruelist month

Spring just makes me mad. Forget all that rebirth and renew stuff, I want warm weather, and I want it now. Spring seduces us with promises of rising mercury, but then you wear open-toed shoes and a lovely lightweight frock, and you spend the day freezing your ass off.

March is showy ... full of promises that are slow to deliver. We have fun outdoor activities scheduled and cute clothes to wear, damn it! Let's get on with this show.  

OK, so I have issues with March. Today is the 11-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. I have been fine and wonderful since my initial treatment, but it scares the crap out of me just the same. I will say this. Living through that ordeal frees you up to live a little large. I like it. Note to non-cancer survivors: don't wait to be invited. It's not a club you want to join. Live large anyway. Not Amy Winehouse large. Large ... with seat belts and air bags.

Finally, for a person who largely lives on the Internet, I was surprised to discover I can't replace Google. Keep the day job. But I learned two funny expressions as a result of real human interaction. You probably knew this, but I'm a late bloomer. If somebody says you're the shit -- that's a good thing. MDAL is mutton dressed as a lamb. By the way, that's not us ... at least that's not the look we're going for.

So, happy March. Keep moving, folks. Nothing to see here.

I'd like to thank the Academy

I watched most of the Academy Awards looking for signs of gray life in Hollywood. Of course, there are tons of men with gray hair, but the women are few and far between. There were a couple of spousal units out in the audience, but the Red Carpet? Not so much.

My awards ... Kathy Bates takes home the Oscar for totally rocking the silver hair, while Helen Mirren comes in second with her gray-blonde mix. Jeff Bridges' wife, Susan Geston, wins best gray hair in a supporting role with what looks to me like natural gray highlights. I don't know who that other guy is, but I thought he looked exceptionally cool!

Shopper's remorse

What a crazy weekend. I had a shopping Jones and a hair appointment on Saturday. Everything revolved around the long-awaited hair appointment. My stylist books well in advance and if you snooze, you lose. It was all supposed to work in beautiful symmetry, but I totally screwed up the shopping experience and missed my hair appointment. I managed to score a cute top before it was all over.

I was wearing my wiglet and feeling girly, so I indulged at Ann Taylor on Friday. I had brain compression from the extra hair and bought two dresses, one skirt, one jacket, a belt, two cardigans and a tee. The dresses, jacket and belt were full price, the rest on sale and they said if I applied for a credit card, I'd get 15 percent off.

I never, ever get any kind of credit card from any store. All my bills go to one VISA, and I pay that off every month. I explained this to the sales associate, who said I could use the Ann Taylor card to get points but then write a check before I leave the store, so I don't have to mess with billing. Oh, OK.

When I got home, I found a mailer in the bag announcing their huge sale started Saturday. Buy three items at full price and get 40 percent off. My head was already starting to hurt, and I was sweating like it was the SAT and a train just left Boston to meet up with another one in New York and unless I knew algebra or geometry or something, they'd crash and everyone would die. This is why I majored in journalism. 

I did the math, and I would have saved less than $20 by taking everything back for 40 percent off the full-price items versus 15 percent off everything I bought. I wasn't going to do it for the $20 but then decided it was all going back anyway. Shopper's remorse. I did a fashion show for my husband, who said it was all fine but a little boring compared to what I usually wear. Wow, you wake up one morning and find yourself living with Mr. Blackwell. 

Conveniently, there's an Ann Taylor in the same little shopping center where I get my hair done. I had plenty of time before my appointment, so I started with the return. The sales associate was lovely ... said it wouldn't be a problem ... that I'd get a credit on my Ann Taylor card. I asked if I could have it on my VISA or cash or something, and she called the manager, who said they have a policy of crediting the card you used. I'm thinking, hey, didn't I write a check? I said, well, I purchased something yesterday, I bring it back today with all the tags and all the receipts, and you're saying all I get is a store credit?

The manager said, "Call the card company. Maybe they'll do something." 

This was all handled in a mature, adult way, but I was seething. This was a fair chunk of change I would have to worry about spending at Ann Taylor, which was suddenly not as appealing. 

It was a pretty day. I sat on a bench, whipped out my iPhone and made the call. The card people were very nice and said to wait a few business days for the transaction to go through and call back. They can either send me a check or do an electronic transfer. Yea!

OK, this wasn't necessary, but I went back to Ann Taylor. The manger was floating about, folding, refolding. I said, excuse me, I was here a little while ago, and we had this discussion about my return? You were not helpful. In fact, you couldn't have been less interested in helping me. I just wanted you to know there is a process for recovering the cash in a case like this, and it would be nice if you told customers how it works.

First, she denied that she was anything but pleasant, then she said, "Well, that's what I told you to do." I explained there's a difference between saying, hey loser, this is between you and the credit card company and pleasantly outlining a customer's options. I said, I'm telling you this so the next person gets better treatment. She managed to say thank you, and I scooted out of there for my hair appointment. 

Me: Hi, I'm Donna. I have an appointment at 2:15.

Tressy: Uh, we had you for 1:15?

Me: Noooooooo! I confirmed! I confirmed!  

Tressy: Would you like to reschedule?

Me: NO! I need a haircut!

Tressy: I'm sorry, but she's completely booked.

Me: A bang trim? Please? I'm desperate.

It was my mistake, but they worked me in for a bang trim. And it's not that I'm not grateful or anything, but they do look a little Buster Brown to me. Really, they're fine. I felt much better and made one last stop at White House Black Market, where I got the sweater jacket and cami as modeled in the photo. I like this outfit a lot and Mr. Blackwell approved, but whew, that was a long and winding road. 

Gone girly

I went shopping today and stumbled upon these little hair things at one of the kiosks in the mall, and they actually had silver! I bought one for $29 and immediately came home to try it out. I just love it!  I went back out to do some more wandering around, and a woman at Neiman's said she loved my hair. I said, thanks, I just bought it!!! I think it's fun and cool -- what do you think? Just for kicks or would you wear it to work?

Calling it quits

Not the blog, sillies. But it has been a week for quitting.

I quit doing other people's work for them. I will never be one of those people who says, "It's not my job." I err the other way and end up taking on other people's stuff. A young colleague asked me to edit a white paper he'd drafted. The paper was poorly written and sloppy in presentation. Within the paper were seven or eight mini-profiles, so I edited three of them and sent it back with a note.

"I edited three of the profiles to give you an idea for how they might be improved. I would be happy to review your next draft once you've had time to work on the others."  He actually came over and told me I forgot to do all of them! "There are five more," he said pleadingly. I explained it was his task to go back and try again on the rest of them. Oh.  But he did it, we tweaked the final draft together and we both learned something. Regrettably, he called me ma'am.

I quit torturing my eyebrows. I really do not know the difference between $70 eyebrows and $20 eyebrows. I shape my eyebrows at home myself, so all I know is that magnifying mirrors and good tweezers are a dangerous thing. Note to self: you don't have to get every little stub.

I quit worrying about the yellow bags. The trash is picked up once a week (Wednesdays) in our neighborhood. No limits ... all you can drag out to the street as long as it's in a bag. You can buy yellow bags from the city (box of 10 for $5.64) and they will pick up those bags on Saturday. We've lived here almost four years, and a neighbor a couple of houses down has had at least one yellow bag at the end of their driveway every Saturday without fail. Every Saturday.

Lordy, I have squandered way too much time wondering what is so dang volatile that you have to pay extra for it to go out on Saturday. Why would you pay extra for the yellow bags? What's really in the bags? Would they mind if I took a tiny peek? Do they know Wednesdays are unlimited?  Are the trash people in on this scam as well? I would ask for your theories, but I quit worrying about it this week. 

Finally, I quit the Activia Challenge. I started 10 days ago for the all the reasons one might want to speed intestinal transit time. Plus, I wanted one of those flat bellies like you see on TV. I liked the taste and all that, but I didn't exactly feel like it was doing the Indy 500 through my digestive tract. In fact, it just made me gassy and bloated. Like the opposite of flat belly. So not liking it. 

The long and short of it

I was never a believer in long gray hair, but I'm liking it more and more. I mean, you don't want to end up looking like some kind of backwoods vigilante with stringy gray hair down to her butt (such as one might see in the parking lot at some discount retailers). That is not the look we are going for.

But there's a chic and sort of soft ethereal style for silver hair that comes with at least some length and subdued makeup. As in like not red lipstick. Here's Jane Alexander before (May 2009) and after (January 2010). She's a beautiful woman either way, but I prefer it long. What do you think?

Job-hunting orca

I hope this is not another dreadful sign of aging, but newspaper headlines continue to confuse me. Remember the last time I read that beach volleyball player Kerri Walsh became a man? Except it really said she become a mom? Either way, I was happy for her.

This morning I was not all that surprised to see a new orca showed up at SeaWorld with a resume in hand. I mean, it's not like the old one was doing a good job. Let's hope this one doesn't list killing people on its list of accomplishments.

Career Profile

_____________________________

Highly motivated, results-oriented ocean professional with excellent interpersonal skills and a strong track record of performance committed to building a long-term career in cheesy aquatic entertainment venue.

_____________________________

Humor aside, the trainer's death was a tragic accident, and my deepest sympathies go out to her family and the whole SeaWorld team. It's just heartbreaking, because they lost a person they loved, but you know they love the whale, too.

I personally don't like the idea of penning them up and making them do stupid tricks, but that's just me.

Blog envy

I've been reading some very nice style blogs, and I realize now more than ever that Rock the Silver® is anything but a style blog. I mean, really, the fake snake clutch/wallet shouldn't have been your first clue. I don't know what I am doing at all.

I only know I am getting older by the minute and want to BE my best and LOOK my best, and I thought I'd write about it (in case you are wanting the same). And maybe nobody else is encouraging you to race through midlife with style and authenticity. If not me, then who? Oh yeah, before I forget, I'd like to do it all with cool gray hair.

So, consider yourself warned: don't come here for serious fashion advice. You can come here from time to time and watch me play dress up, and I'm hopeful my attempts might inspire you to try something new ... to not limit yourself to baggy and black.  The rest of the time I am probably talking about hair, health, fitness or some other silly thing that seems to get harder with age.

I don't mind putting myself out there for the good of the cause. I think of it as reality TV only on a blog. Some crazy silver-haired chick has to do it. But I feel sad for those of you who really are struggling to find a fashionable look. I don't think I'm helping. Today, I offer the gift of links. These sites are lovely and sophisticated, and I think you will enjoy checking them out:

Privilege

Trying to Look Fab in your Forties

A Femme d'un Certain Age

Inside Out Style

Corpette

Be sure to come back when you're ready to hear from the whack job with silver hair who was raised by wolves and can't tell the difference between real diamonds and fake diamonds or $70 eyebrows and $20 eyebrows. We'll have fun trying to figure it all out.

Shop like a guy

It is well documented in shopping anthropology that men are hunters, and women are gatherers. Men will wait until they're starving, hunt their prey down at the very last minute so the meat will stay fresh, and then kill it with a credit card and drag it back home.

Women, on the other hand, lollygag around on a regular basis, grabbing berries here and there, and oh! Look! Nice herbs ... I had better get those! We might need them later! Plunk, plunk. In the basket they go. Oooh ... pretty shoes. And such a great price! Plunk, plunk.

I didn't invent this theory, nor am I the first person to write about it. But I may be the first documented case of gender-based shopping disorder. I typically shop like a guy. I have a hard time shopping just to see what's out there. I'm mission oriented. There must be a pressing need.

OK, I know this is not an efficient way to shop, and I am proud to say I had a breakthrough this weekend. I was cruising Marshall's and saw this dress for $59.99.

I put on my gatherer hat and thought, well, wouldn't it be good to have one of these in the closet? It looks really great on, and I will have fun thinking about the accessories without the pressure of a real event. I like the idea of pairing it with lacy tights and bottines as seen on A Femme d'un Certain Age.

In deference to dear reader Barbara, I browsed handbags looking for a cute clutch, which I had failed to find prior to the evening of the white dress and accordingly went clutchless. This fake snake item was the only one of its kind (are you surprised?) and didn't have a price tag. I found a similar style and the price was $9, so that's what they charged me. I felt pretty smug, and only after I got it home did I realize it's not a very good clutch. It might even be a wallet. Not even room for lip gloss, unless lip gloss comes in flat. 

 

I tried, Barbara. I really tried. Still, it's cute. I'm sure I will find a use for it and the black dress at some point in my life, but this is what worries me about being a gatherer. I don't want to gather a bunch of stuff that will rot in my cave. 

Which one works for you? Hunter or gatherer?

Cougars for Tiger

Hey Donna,

You’ve been on my mind ever since the Tiger Woods scandal broke. I couldn’t help remembering what a fine specimen you said he was in person ...

*****************************************************************

Hi Donna,

I hope all has been well with you, these many, many months since we’ve communicated! Naturally, I thought of you when Tiger’s adventurous escapades came out in the open, and was waiting to read that you, too, had had your wish come true ;-)

 

A bit of correspondence from my friends yesterday. It takes a scandal to bring them back.

They know I am a Tiger Woods fan. Let's be clear: I admire him as a golfer, nothing more. I was thrilled to see him in person at the Wachovia Championship one year. They claim I once said I would pay $100 to see a picture of Tiger Woods naked. I will not confirm or deny such ridiculous accusations.

I will acknowledge he is not looking so good as a decent human being these days. Even with the apology. Everybody is mad at him, including me. I mean, jeez, there was practically a sign-up list at IHOP, and he couldn't hook up with even one silver-haired hottie?

Not me, of course. I wouldn't even entertain such a thought, I'm just saying. Imagine what it might have done for our cause. Cougars gone gray! Wouldn't that be something?