So I'm joining the no-poo revolution. No shampoo, that is.

Apparently I'm rather susceptible to any suggestion on Facebook involving vinegar. It started with the 'make your own natural cleaner!' post. You know, the one where you soak your choice of citrus rind(grapefruit, orange, or lemon) in white vinegar in a Mason jar on a sunny windowsill for two weeks. After 2 weeks, you cut it in half or so with water and there you have it- a great, all natural cleaner. Tried it. I'm not yet convinced that it's better than plain vinegar, but it sure does smell a hell of a lot better.

Then someone posted some blurb about uses for apple cider vinegar, which I couldn't have cared less about. At least until my eyes got hung up on the 'make your hair shiny' bit. What's this, eh?

So to Google I flew to get the gist of it. 1 part apple cider vinegar with 3 parts water, dump it in your hair, let it sit a minute or two, rinse with cool water. Allegedly it makes your hair super shiny and soft. I couldn't wait to give it a try.

In my search about apple cider vinegar, I discovered that many folks are washing their hair with baking soda. Yup, baking soda. Mix into a paste with warm water, apply, let it sit a few minutes, rinse with water, follow up with apple cider vinegar rinse. A far kinder, natural alternative to the shampoos and conditioners I had been using that were chock full of nasty, harmful chemicals.

Now I hate to admit this anywhere, ever, but I have a serious scalp issue. It's seasonal, but that's plenty, thanks. Every fall through spring, I get nasty dandruff. Some hairdresser once informed me 'You don't have dandruff, you have dry scalp'. I don't give a damn what it's called, it's nasty white flakes that nothing will get rid of. NOTHING. Not dandruff products, oils, special brushes. And my scalp itches. Constantly. I've even considered seeing my doctor about it, but frankly, I think I would die of shame. So I cope with it as best I can, and it sucks. But according to what I read, this baking soda/apple cider vinegar routine could solve this.

Karma must have been smiling on me, because I had both baking soda and apple cider vinegar in the house. So I tried it. Round 1 of baking soda wash and apple cider vinegar rinse? My hair was gorgeously shiny and silky, yet oddly dry at the same time, too. I think perhaps I stripped out all the crap my usual products had been depositing so I could get a 'real' feel of where my hair was at, moisture wise. I still had some minor flake-age (it's September, and just beginning to make its usual appearance), but I was optimistic. It was only the first round.

Okay, I was on to something here. I have the kind of hair other women -think- they would kill for. Super thick and super coarse. I have enough hair for three people on top of my head (seriously), the kind that hurts because it pulls on my scalp if it's in a tight ponytail for too long. It looks like something straight out of a shampoo commercial when I take the time to give it some good attention, and it looks like a nightmare if I don't but leave it down (trust me on this one). Good attention takes so much time, I rarely bother. I don't have an hour a day to fight with it, so it usually gets thrown up in a clip or slopped into something held in place with an elastic. I have so much damn hair that I can't afford to get it professionally colored, because it costs me 2-3xs the 'normal' amount because one vat of mix does not begin to cover it, no.

I remember, when I was 18 or so and could spend my money on whatever, sitting in the chair at the hair salon, just about to get it colored. The package delivery guy was on his way out, and when he caught sight of me, he stopped behind me and told me, "Don't. Cut. That. Ever." Either he wanted to bang the hell out of me so he could be buried in my cascade of hair, or he wanted to kill me, shave my head, and glue my hair onto his Betsy Blowup Doll. Either way, he was clearly a fan.

So, back to the au natural hair routine. It was fabulous, fantastic. So I decided to keep it up. I also decided to try not to wash it more than twice a week. Hey, I'm a stay at home mom, I can do that.

Round 2 I did the same, then brushed a smidge of tea tree oil through my locks. Bingo. Super shine, soft, hair-commercial-here-I-come. Then I had to ruin it with a boxed hair color. The greys were getting bad, really bad, so this part was non-negotiable. My hair got great color from it, but it also got pissed off and didn't feel great anymore.

Round 3. Back to loveliness. No flakes, and my scalp isn't bothering me. My hair is back to its pre-coloring fabulosity, and the greys are gone besides. I'm a total convert. No more over-washing, no more expensive products that really do more harm than good. My hair and scalp are already thanking me, and my wallet will, too.

So if you're not happy with your hair's current state, consider giving it a try. It sounds kind of crazy, but it works. And no, I swear you don't stink to high heaven of apple cider vinegar. That's what the rinsing is for.

Oh my. What an absolute shit storm for Best Selling author Shey Stahl. Word has it she has plagiarized big chunks of her latest release, For the Summer, from a fanfic writers' piece (and yes, the ' goes there, because it was co-written).

Now, let me first say that I've read neither book/work. I went into this whole drama with an open mind. I mean, with all the books out there, some are bound to be similar, yes? But then I read what folks were saying about it...and read...and read, and I gotta say- the similarities are astounding. Too astounding to be coincidental. I'd like to think that it was completely accidental, that the fanfic piece so riveted Shey Stahl that she accidentally let too much of the overtone of it into her work.

But I can't convince myself of that. Too many passages, too closely written. No.

I'm simply disgusted. So many, myself included, write and publish and dream  of someday being a best selling author. But I'll be damned if I'll do it illegally or unethically. Using someone else's talent, sweat and tears to get me there is not only just plain wrong, it's disgusting. It's like drowning a basket of kittens, or shoving an old lady out of your way to get the last seat on the bus. It's low and despicable and makes my toes curls in a bad way. 

Will this make Shey Stahl a has-been? I don't know, but it should. Someone who steals someone else's intellectual property shouldn't sell anything. Ever again. Ever. But it's not up to me (though it should be, like everything else, IMO). I see folks have been busy calling her out on Goodreads and Amazon, and while I generally frown upon the 'wild dog pack' mentality, in this instance, they're right to do it, as I see it.

I'm guessing the lawsuits to follow will be epic. Anything she ever writes again will be scrutinized, page by page, word by word. As it should be.

As of this writing, it looks like ALL of her works are off of B+N and Amazon, and her FB author page has been pulled down.

Doesn't look like innocence to me when you run with your tail tucked between your legs. Doesn't help her case at all. I imagine her publisher made that call, because this shit storm is about to run down hill to them, I suspect.

There's no pride in 'succeeding' by stealing, so what's the point, really? Just my 2 cents, folks.

So my epic (read: sad, but a big deal in my world) night did not go according to plan. At all. And I'm very remorseful about it, because I can never get it back!

Last night was my long-awaited viewing of the movie World War Z. I love zombies. I mean LOVE zombies. Books, shows, movies...you name it, I love it if it deals with my rotting undead or infected friends. Needless to say, all week long I've looked forward to watching the movie with my hubby once the kids were in bed. I wanted to spend my Saturday evening with Brad Pitt, the Infected, and a nice glass of wine (or three). Oh yeah, and my husband. Yeah.

It should have gone as planned. Really, it should have. But my BF called all wound up about something with her ex-husband just when we were about to start the movie. I'm a bitch. I admit it. I didn't pick up and let her leave a message.

"It's me. I know you were going to watch your movie and all, but if you get a chance, give me a call. It's important."

Well, crap. Brad and the zombies would have to wait. I mean, I'm a shitty enough friend to make her leave a message, but not shitty enough to ignore it when she's says it's important.  Turns out, it wasn't important, just weird and sad, nothing earth-shattering, and damn it, she could have waited to tell me in a day or two instead of knowingly interrupting my big night. Which she totally knew she was doing.

So once that conversation was done when I begged off (I told her I could talk for 10, told hubby 'Give me 15', but spent 22 minutes on the phone), we finally begin my beloved, long-awaited movie. The lights are dimmed, the candles lit, I'm clutching my wine glass in one hand and my pillow in the other because it's going to be scary, ya know.

I couldn't watch more than 15 f'in minutes at a time. The dog wanted out, the cat wanted in, hubby was passively aggressively suggesting that maybe I could make us a snack...but wait, there's more. Hubby was surfing online, some crap about getting his permit to carry a gun in the neighboring state of MA. That's all well and good, but can we discuss that shit NOT in the middle of my precious World War Z?

Fine. I wasn't freaking out. I was rolling with it. The movie was thus far awesome and I was way too wrapped up in wondering what would happen next to take the time to debate putting my pets, and husband, on the free section of craigslist.

The 5 yo Lil Miss starts whining from her bed. Her throat hurts, she complains. Hubby and I try every trick in the book to get her back to sleep, from a drink to a song to finally Advil. No dice. I even lie in bed with her until she's asleep again, but the little monkey springs awakes and cries the moment I shift my weight to make my escape.

Naturally we're at, like, the beginning of the end of the movie. Where it's scary and tense and edge-of-your-seat but I've got shit to do, you know. Shit I don't want to do, shit I just want to go away for another twenty minutes.

Finally, in desperation, I relent and put Lil Miss in our bed, where she promptly settles down and falls asleep immediately with a triumphant smile on her face. Damn, she's good. I finished my movie, and my snack, and lament over my lost perfect-movie-and-wine night that was so totally ruined by the rest of my life. I can never see that movie again for the first time -le sigh-.

But one good thing did come of it. Hubby was totally looking to get some, and figured we could have a good time, what with me and my wine and all. I would have been game, initially, but when I've been trying to watch a less-than-2-hr. movie since 9, and it's now after midnight, I'm worn out.

So, Lil Miss's unexpected trip to our bed was a totally welcome cock block in the end. Hubby didn't get his sex, but I didn't get my wine-and-a-movie escape as intended. So no one got what they wanted, exactly. Oh well.

I still haven't seen the movie 'Magic Mike'. Maybe I can chloroform the kids, and hubby, some future Saturday night and have my magical, uninterrupted, relaxing evening then. Because it sure as hell didn't happen last night.

So leprosy week has seemed to come to an end, more or less. No, I did not actually have leprosy, I just looked like it. Due to a lovely combo of pre-period severe acne coupled with a cold sore outbreak, I had (count 'em) 4 massive red, splotchy zit sites on my face and a lovely raw lower lip that went through various stages of scabbing. Oh, and half a dozen angry little red zit sites on my right lower neck, just to round it out.

It was highly attractive and led to me wishing I could lock myself in a bell tower for the duration. But there was homework to oversee, kids to pick up from school and feed, and a husband who only vaguely knows where the washing machine resides, so the bell tower idea was out.

I have managed to keep my face-to-face interactions with the rest of humanity to a minimum except for last Friday when I was forced to show my nasty face at the public library or forgo our weekend movies. I hadn't been in there in months and months, since hubby usually pops in to pick up/drop off stuff on his way home from work, but naturally it just didn't work that way last week. Because I looked like a dermatology experiment gone horribly wrong, of course.

There at the desk is one of the cheerful-nice librarians, who knows us all well. She commented how she hadn't seen me in soooo long while doing her best  not to stare at my eroding lower lip or my volcanic acne that even Cover Girl and Loreal could not so much as diminish. I muttered and avoided eye contact and wished the ground would swallow me whole. She did lighten the mood, however, when she laid out two of our reading choices side by side with a big flourish.

"I just had to chuckle when I see that this (points to Joe McKinney's 'Flesh Eaters' with the graphically decaying zombie on the front- come to think of it, I think I bore an uncanny resemblance to it at the time) goes home with this (points to cheery, sunny, Laura Ingalls Wilder's 'Little House in the Big Woods').

Bonus points to her for holding back on suggesting I also borrow 'So You've Got Flesh Eating Bacteria...Now What?' or 'When Your Face Is One Massive Infection- for Dummies'.

Now it's a week later, my zits have calmed down to a dull roar and my lip just looks a little irritated. I'm not a super-vain woman. I've even been known to run out of the house without brushing my hair because there just wasn't time to do so, but it was bad. Really bad. I thought that acne was for teenagers and as I generally only break out in cold sores a time or two a year in times of extreme stress, I don't know what the hell that was all about. I'm neither a teen nor under extreme stress and while I will get a few smaller pimples before my period, that was, like, 4 years of pre-period acne all lumped together. Is it too much to hope that I get a free pass on that for the next 6 months? Probably.

All I know is that if the 'Perfect Storm' of skin/visible health issues on my face could not converge all together at the same time ever again, I'd be okay with that. May next month be better, or movies at the library be damned, I'm hunkering down 'til it clears. Local public, you're welcome.

So today is just tough. There's no particular reason for it, but I often suffer from mild to moderate depression, and today feels like a moderate to severe day. One of those days where I want everyone and everything to just go away and leave me the fuck alone. It just feels like the simplest little daily tasks require herculean effort on my part.

Again, nothing in particular triggered it. I just woke up wondering how the hell anyone could expect me to let out the dogs and get the kids cereal, never mind piece them together and get them to school. I managed, somehow. I should add that with one in 2nd grade and one in K, and no bus service for our 1/2 day K program, I make 4 trips a day back and forth to deliver and pick up my younger ones every day. I have to be somewhere with someone at 8:45, 11:50, 2:30 and 3:35. It's a royal pain in the ass that makes my day bleed away, but it gets done. But it's tiresome.

I went grocery shopping this morning, as I always do on Thursday mornings, and I knew, as I stood at checkout, that I look like shit today. Not the 'under the weather' or 'not quite put together' looks like shit, that very lovely, special, dead behind the eyes looks like shit. The kind where I don't have the strength to muster chitchat with the cashier or do tough stuff like, you know, make eye contact with people around me because it's just too damn draining. The looks like shit where I'm sure that people can tell something is really wrong with me by just looking at me. I look 'flat', dead behind the eyes, because I feel hollow inside today. I've seen folks like that, and I know that today is just my turn, apparently.

So I get my groceries and head home with my 5 yo daughter in the back seat, happily chatting away. Naturally it's not even the kind of chatter you can phone in your response to with some 'Oh?' or "Uh-huh's, it's the kind that requires concentration and responses. I silently cried for half the ride home because I had no idea how I was going to force myself to get all of the groceries inside and put away. I just wanted to crawl into bed, throw the covers over my head, and sleep for 6 hours, and leave everyone else to sort their own shit out without me.

But I don't have that luxury (who does, really?). I have children and pets and a husband depending on me. I somehow got the food in and put away, and even got my daughter to K on time. Now I've got a blessed 2 hours to myself. I'm an indie author, and I should be pecking away at my newest work, but I just can't. I want to, I really do, and I know that I should as I've barely done anything in the last week, but I just plain can't. It's like the part of me that's motivated has been held down by the part of me that just wants to sink into nothingness, and while Motivated Me's kicking and screaming, Nothingness Me is still winning. At least for now.

I used to 'juice' frequently. Hell, I've even done 10 day fasts of nothing by homemade juice. It's been a while since I juiced at all, and my weight has been creeping up a bit (up 8 lbs in a year). So I need to get that shit straight. Weight aside, I feel like Superwoman on the juice, with tons of energy, and happy, too. I'm sure it's my body rejoicing that it's getting the stuff it needs since my regular diet isn't exactly balanced. It could be better, it could be worse. But I definitely feel better when I'm juicing.

So I got tons of stuff for juicing today. I'll take off some pounds and hopefully get my energy and ability to do more than just exist back. Because today, that's how I'm feeling. Like it's a monumental task to keep putting one foot in front of the other. But I'm managing, and I'll manage tomorrow too.

But I don't want to just 'manage'. I want to feel, to be happy, to look forward to things, to not be daunted by usually insignificant tasks. Tomorrow is another day. Until then, I'm gonna watch some crappy daytime TV and play some Candy Crush Saga. I'll be okay, just not today.

So yeah, I'm a planner. A down-to-the-last detail, all-ducks-in-a-row planner. This include Holidays and birthdays, and truth be told, I'm behind this year. I just started my Christmas shopping. This time of year I'm usually at least half way done, but not this year. There's nothing I hate more than the packed stores and traffic come November/December, so I prefer to get the vast majority of it done was ahead of time. Easier on the wallet, too. I've just been lazy this year, apparently, since I'm just starting now.

A few weeks ago we helped a couple we were newly friends with pack up their UHaul for a big, interstate move. We helped them load up their stuff while my two younger kids, 5 and 7, and their 3 kids, 3, 5, and 8, ran amok all over the place. Everything was fine...until the drive home.

My son, 7 yo Sam, casually announces on the drive home that he's got a pocket of rabbit corpse. No, he's not a serial killer in the making, he's a little guy hell bent on becoming a Game Warden and therefore is extremely focused on all things wild. Where the hell did he get rabbit remains, you ask? Our new friends keep meat rabbits, and apparently there's a pile where they dispose of the bones on the edge of the woods. Sam thought it would be great to help himself to some dead rabbit parts, and also thought it wise to not mention it until we had already left the scene of the crime. Wise move, Samuel, because I never would have let you load up on rabbit corpse had I known that was your intention.

Fine. So we brought home a pocketful of rabbit bones. Then 5 yo Allie pipes up that my friend's pet rat bit her. I saw the rat, caged in the room the kids were playing video games in at one point, and mentioned for her to just look but keep her fingers away. I don't mind pet rats, I just know that they'll nip if your fingers smell like food. Sure enough, the kids decided to feed the rat while we were busy, and my daughter got nipped. Nothing major, but it broke the skin. She too decided not to mention it until we were headed home. I think she feared I would make them leave early. Again, wise move, offspring. I would've preferred to clean that sucker the moment it happened, not an hour or two later. But too late for that.

So we go home with our rabbit corpse parts and a fresh rat bite. Yeah, another day in paradise over here.

The rat bite healed up just fine with some neosporin and keeping an eye on it, and the rabbit bone incident led me to consider getting my son some animal skulls for Christmas this year. I know, I know, it's weird and macabre and not the usual sort of thing a kid likes to find under the tree, but the little bastard's riding home with a pocket full of rabbit parts. It's like a warning from above: 'Get the kid what he wants or he'll bring home something nastier next time!'.

I have an older brother in rural Maine. He's very outdoorsy and on occasion processes his own animal skulls. Naturally I begged him to keep his eyes open for an appropriate corpse for my son for the Holiday. You know, like all the other parents looking for that perfect animal corpse to go under the tree.

My brother texted me today-score! He's got a fox skull he'll clean and process so we can give it to Sam for Christmas.

Christmas prep is underway over here, folks. Perhaps my slacking will not bite me in the ass after all and I won't have to get out the Valium to hit the stores in a few months in search of the perfect gift for Sam. His uncle is processing what is sure to be a long-treasured gift as we speak.

If only the kid were into something a little more 'normal'! But we'll support him in his interests, mainstream or not, and support him for who he is, even if that requires a shelf or two of cleaned animal skulls in the future.

So I broke my own cardinal, unbreakable rule and now I'm paying for it. And pissed. You see, I never attend candle, cookware, cosmetic or whatever-the-hell overpriced merchandise someone is trying to shove down my throat at a sales party under the guise of a 'girls' night'. But I made friendsies with one of the mothers from my daughter's preschool class and I really liked her. I mean, we just clicked.

It's not like I don't have friends, but I lost my BF a while ago (not 'lost' like something tragic like she died or something, we had an unfixable falling out when she revealed what kind of person she really is. It had nothing to do with me, but needless to say I stepped back and went 'WHOA. Not a good person, no'. More on that another day). So needless to say, I've been kind of floundering in the friend department, feeling a little lost without a partner in crime, so when new-Mom-friend invited me to the Mary Kay party she was hosting, I agreed to go. How bad could it be? I mean, it's been ages since I attended something like that and I really deserve a night out, right?

The party itself was a blast, actually. Picture too-strong margaritas and a plethora of new make up to play with. Yay! It was me, new-friend, her e-cig chain smoking, hysterical MIL and the Mary Kay rep. And the MK rep was sooo sweet and fun. So, like the sucker that I am, I threw caution to the wind and ordered $55 of shit I don't need but suddenly felt like I couldn't live without. I'm an easy keeper, I rationalized. I never buy myself anything (this is actually true-I'm a cheap s.o.b. who's big 'splurge' is usually buying a .99 bottle of nail polish or knock-off, generic face cream at Walmart). So treating myself to the stuff was a little fun moment for me, and it wasn't like now we couldn't eat or pay the mortgage or anything tragic.

So I went home with my night cream, which the MK rep had with her, and she was going to mail-right-out my zit zapper and plum mascara (because my life was incomplete until I discovered there is such a thing as plum mascara). The party was on a Thursday night, and she assured me that my last two items would arrive mid/late next week. Fab.

Fast forward a week...and then another...and then...now I'm getting antsy. Mind you, she hasn't cashed my check yet, but where the hell are my precious zit zapper and funky mascara? Finally she hits me up on Facebook on 8/28, and it goes a little something like this:

'Just prepping your order to send out tomorrow. I have you down as the green mascara, but I think you wanted the plum?'

So I respond along the lines of: "Yes, plum, please. New-friendy of mine was the green. Can't wait to get this stuff!'

So I wait...and wait...finally, 9/6, I very politely message her and say, 'Gosh, you haven't cashed my check and my products haven't arrived yet. Any ETA on that?'

I get back a sort of snotty, curt 'Monday'. Nothing more than that one word. No apology that it's now almost a MONTH past the party when I ordered. Okay...(insert patient deep breath here). It's not as if my life depended on getting my Mary Kay order, but c'mon now. I spent good money on stuff that should have arrived within a week, yet I don't get so much as an apology that's it's running weeks late. Whatever.

My package did come Monday. Finally. I was so delighted to get my zit zapper and wouldn't you know it? My green mascara. My $15 a tube, wrong color, GREEN mascara. You should know that I only buy mascara when it's super-extra-bucks at CVS paired with a coupon for $5 or something. I'm not sure that I've ever spent $15 on a single tube. Now that I have, it's the wrong f'in color that I have no use for, weeks late and after confirming with the rep that I wanted plum, not green. WTF.

Yes, I could run to the post office, buy a packing envelope, spend $3 or $4 to pop it in the mail for her and then wait until next summer for her to send the correct one, but at this point I'm so f'in pissed about the whole thing that I just want to be done with it and I can't be bothered. So my dear friend with the gorgeous eyes that change color according to what she's wearing gets a free-to-her-but-cost-me-$15-for-nothing tube of overpriced green mascara, and that MK rep gets no repeat order from me. At least I still have my night cream and zit zapper, and the quality is fine on both.

I'm just mad as hell to be treated so shabbily by a so-called 'business woman'. Things get delayed, things get messed up, but for the love of Christ...this was just not worth the hassle and money wasted. She did a great party, but after the sales were made I received no real customer service. Not only has she lost any possible repeat sales to me, she's turned my off the whole damn brand, just when I was giving it a chance.  (To be crystal clear- I'm happy with the products I did correctly receive and realize this giant flub has nothing to do with Mary Kay as a company and everything to do with my horrible rep)

No more sales parties for me! Should've stuck to my no-sales-party rule in the first place. I'd have $55 more in my bank account. And I wouldn't get pissed off just thinking about it every time I slather on my $30 night cream or banish a zit with my new zip zapper.

And my new friend? We adore each other...but she just moved half a dozen states away and there really was little point in me attending that party since we're just Facebook friends now. Argh. Lesson learned on my part. NO SALES PARTIES. ever.