I Have Found My People

http://ihatecilantro.com/

BECAUSE I HATE CILANTRO TOO.

Poor Old Regular Flu, You're Nobody Now

Can someone just please simply explain to me already what SWINE FLU is by just telling me how it is different from boring old Regular Flu?

Yes, I'm talking about your run o' the mill, every once in a while, need-a -flu-shot, Regular Flu. The one you got every so often, ran you down into a state of delirium and sickishness worst than you have ever endured in your life. And then you get better, and your tales of woe become war stories you share with other people when you hear someone else is down for the count. Even if the last flu episode happened years ago, you still rehash it like you just emerged from the cold trenches of battle. (Or from feverish sweat. Whichev.)

The same old Regular Flu that actually carries fatality statistics in shocking numbers. Shocking enough that watching enough TV reminds you when we're in flu season (which seems to be all year long except for summer), and makes you stop for a minute or so once or twice a year and ask yourself, "Hmm... do I need a flu shot? Oh yeah, it makes me feel like crap sometimes. Eh, new insurance isn't covering it. Think I'll take a pass this year, just stock up on a little more Zicam and Purell."

Yes, that ol' Regular Flu.

OK, so now that we've established that... tell me what Swine Flu is. And since I understand Regular Flu somewhat, put it in Regular Flu terms so I understand better...

...

...

Oh. You can't?

Yeah, neither could I. And apparently, neither could the Internet.

And apparently, neither could THE NEWS.

Yes. The SAME NEWS that is going in overdrive to convince me to dictionary.com the word "pandemic". (But, I fought the urge. I didn't. What do you think of that, NEWS?! I didn't look it up. And I still don't know what it means. So there.)

So. Heck if I know what pandemic means. Or if it has anything to do with the words epidemic, panoramic, anemic, or academic. Or pancreatic. 'Coz I know those words.

There it is. I am not listening to you, NEWS. A pandemic could fall right on my head, and I still wouldn't know it. And I refuse to know it. And yes, you may have convinced me to wash my hands, cover my mouth when coughing and sneezing, and resting if I'm not feeling well. (i.e. Thanks for nothing.)

But I will not --- do you hear me, Charlie Gibson?? -- I will not learn the word pandemic!!!

- - - - - - - - - - -

Now... if anybody knows how I can find Regular Flu. I know how it can be to feel neglected. And if you do find Regular Flu, let 'em know I'm not upset anymore. The chills. The fever. The sweat. The sweat on top of the sweat. The head pain. Or the other version that comes along with the rampant stomach emptying from both ends. Man, I know it sounds rough, me remembering Regular Flu like this, but trust me. I'm over it. It's all in the past.

So come out and wreck my week or so!! You know. For old time's sake. None of this hype like this Swine Flu nonsense. Because I know you can deliver, Regular Flu. You're a guaranteed nightmare... you know, I don't think I've ever not been 150% miserable when you're around.

And hey, I never did get around to getting my flu shot this year, so it'll be great.

And by great, I obviously mean TERRIBLE.

Oooh! I can't wait!

Jamie Foxx broke Matt Giraud

Hahaha oops.

Although, lowering the key was a good idea. How would he have hit those money notes if he hadn't lowered the key?? Yeah, a little weird hearing Giraud trying to handle the pitch. Sloppy-ish. But overall, nicer sound. Less Timberlake.

From the Archives: "I Love My Hair"

Some people do a "Best Of". Or a "Recap". Or a "Greatest Hits". I won't begin to ennumerate why other people do it, but I will just own up to why I do it: because I'm lazy.

That being said, here is a gem from the Toni Ryan Says... Archives, because I was thinking about my lovely and loyal relationship with My Hairstylist Robyn (yes, that's her name, get over it. I gave it to her.) This blog post is from a couple years ago, and she is still doing my hair, of course. I don't mess with a good thing, baby. Saw her this past weekend, where she blessed me with her awesomeness. I am walking around in the world today with awesomefricking hair yet again, owed entirely to her genius and her patience with my personal ineptitude of hair science and styling aesthetic.

After all, if I was some sort of hair expert myself, then why would I have someone else do it? And since I know hairstylists only comprise 4.7%* of the entire population, there is no way, gentle reader that you are a hairstyling master, and thus, equally unable to make awesomefricking hair happen on your own either.

In that case, this entry from El Archives is dedicated to you. Yes, you. Look in the mirror. The one with the not-so-awesomefricking hair.



I Love My Hair
If you care anything at all for your hair --- and one not-long-ago super-short do truly taught me just how goshdarn vain about my locks that I am -- then you will indulge me and my brief list on How To Ensure You Will Always Have Awesome Hair.

Now disclaimer goes here. No waxing lyrical on the merits of great shampoo. Not this round. This is about the investment known as Awesome Hair, and that all hinges on one very important catalyst: finding an Awesome Stylist.

I have one, and so here goes my little list:

1) Find someone good. I know this goes without saying. Maybe your personal rule is the old standby, about finding someone who's got hair you like. Pssssh. It's a nice rule, it seems like it should obviously make sense. But look, if you're not choosing that stylist over yonder bc he/she is sporting some 'do that you're cringing at, maybe you are overlooking a seasoned pro who has had practice with different cuts and different colors -- and the proof of their efforts is staring you in the face!!! Besides, what makes you think that you're even worthy of the choppy spiky green and turquoise confection they've sculpted on their own head?!

Case in point. My Hairstylist Robyn. She has been doing my hair for more than ten years. Where I'm somewhat conservative and rigid, she is so not anything like that. Everytime I come in to see her, it always takes me a few moments to figure out where she is - her hair is different every time. Color, style, length, etc. And then I boldly announce, "Robyn, I want to do something really different today. Brace yourself." She polites yesses me to death as I describe concept and emotion and evocative visuals. And then she delivers meticulous cutting and styling that ends up looking quite similar to what I had last time because truthfully it's what I really ended up describing, and because she knows I am not anywhere near as daring as I pretend to be. And the haircut withstands months of forgetting to schedule an appointment, and even as it is growing out, I can see the mark of an excellent cut... it still looks perfect and even all around as it grows. That's quality right there. Several salons, two cross country moves, and many years later, and I will still go whereever and Robyn and her quality workmanship land her. And yes, that has included a plane trip, road trip, and a visit to have her style my hair in San Diego. True story.
... which brings me to the next item

2) Trust. This might be scary stuff for some of you. I know. "But Toni Ryan," you plead. "I have trust issues." To that end I say, it's ok. But learning to trust again takes baby steps, and if you're going to conquer your bigger demons, easier to dip your toe in by learning to trust someone who you have no emotional investment in. Someone who you're paying to utilize their experience and extensive training. Yoohoo! Experience? Extensive Training? Yes, yes, you see where I'm going with this. Your hair stylist has been trained. You haven't. Now that having been said, if someone off the street said to me, "I need someone to make me look awesome, and I have to choose between these two people...." and these two people were YOU and the trained professional with a gazillion hours under their belt... well duh, obviously you're not the person I'm going to pick, right? Let them do your job. Especially if you're forking over what you consider a lot for a haircut.

Back to My Hairstylist Robyn. When I've finally had to turn around say, "Really. I'm serious this time. I know what I always say, but keep going. Cut more." ... I've held my breath as she cut and cut and cut. And later nearly got into a car accident looking admiring the new short 'do in the rearview mirror on my way home. I didn't know what I was talking about, but she did. Thank God!

3) The people populating the planet outnumber you. What does that have to do with my hair, you ask yourself. It has everything to do with it. It's what you need to keep repeating in your head when you are in the salon, most especially if you've come with some kind of fear, or are trying something new and here's why: Unless you have some ability to inspect your entire head three-dimensionally, you really really have no idea what your hair looks like. Ever. Think about it, you know it's true. In which case, what your hair looks like is something the rest of the world has to deal with not you. What do you know about your own hair? You can't even really experience what's on your head!


This little mantra is what will help you with Rule #2 above about trusting your stylist. If they tell you that something is gonna look good , you might just have to throw caution to the wind and think... well she knows what she's talking about, and I'm doing it for the aesthetic good of all mankind!!!! (overdramatized, but true)

And! It also comes in handy if you have some hair crutch... something you can't seem to let go of because you fear the unknown and would rather live in that decades-old bubble in your head where the curling-iron-fried-and-spritzed barrel bangs really bring out your eyes. They don't. They bring out the fact that you think 2007 is overrated, and that you are singlehandedly campaigning to bring 1983 back with a vengeance.

I hate to be harsh, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to do a disservice to yourself. For godssakes, I'm the one that has to look at you and that hair!


--fin--



* Did I make up that statistic? Yes. Of course I did.

I guess this means I'm still poor

Right? If our office pool won the Mega Millions surely I wouldve heard by now. I mean who would do that? Stage an elaborate surprise to let me know I was a bazillionaire?

So if it's Tues morning and I still haven't heard a peep we can all just safely assume I'm still poor. Like if they couldn't reach me would the rest of my cohorts say amongst themselves "hey she's not picking up what should we do?"

"eh wait til the morning. She's probably asleep. You know what a weirdo she is about her sleep"

I DON'T CARE WHAT TIME IT IS! IF WE'RE STINKING RICH I WANNA KNOW NOW!!!

Oh. Was the drawing not last night?

My bad.
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It's here.

Rather. THEY'RE HERE.

My Bags.

The ones I had made through My Bag Girl Julia

After I threatened to stall the bag-making process by bugging MBG Julia for pics of her process, she also kindly sent photos of the completed bags. And how lovely they looked, right? But now that they are here, I am going to share something quite personal and intimate with you, gentle reader. I will now show you the madness that goes into one of these creations after they arrive into my shaking & excited hands. The madness that ergo requiring such a vessel to be concocted from scratch. Brace yourselves. Strap down all small children.

So there it is.

I have to have bags made because basically, I carry a lot of stuff. A lot.
(The Crew was not kidding when they said yesterday that I bring carry-on luggage into work disguised as a "handbag")

And the sheer volume of it alone is enough to make me insane, so I require specific pocketage and area-age to ensure an organized state of mass transportation for all the stuff. And I also require a specific lengthage to the strappage so that the bag is perfect for someone of my heightage. It's all quite scientific, of course.

I guess now the question that begs answering is:
Is Toni done yet? Has she finished acquiring all the Perfect* Bags out there?

(*"Perfect" referring to bags meeting her specific specificationage)

NO. No. Not even close. Not when there is pretty fabric out there that needs to be tamed in MBG Julia's workshop and turned into a lovely six-pocket tote with two additional pen slots, and twenty-two and a half inches of sturdy strappage.


OK, enough banter. I need to finish rearranging items inside my fabulous new bags. All five of them.


Er, two I mean. Well, uh three. Eh, never mind.

The Science to My Addiction

As promised, exclusive photographic details of the process by which My Bag Girl Julia enables my weakness for a good bag:

The Bags are Coming! The Bags are Coming!

Not to be confused with The Bags or That Bag.

I mean, these bags. The ones I'm having made by My Bag Girl Julia. I received word that they are en route.

AND I AM FREAKING EXCITED.

Apparently I hate nature

A door to door marketer just knocked on the door. I politely said it wasn't a good time. He pushed his petition at me saying any size donation was fine. I pushed it back and repeated myself that it wasn't a good time. No he couldn't come back tonight either. Pushing the petition back at me he said ."don't you care about clean water and the environment?"

Well then I guess I don't.

I said "if me signing this will make this move along faster then fine"

He actually bothered to ask again for a donation.

What part of THIS ISN'T A GOOD TIME was unclear, ya think? For heavens sake, I'm watching my soap!!
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Is this dog for real?

I want this dog.

I especially want this dog because it doesn't look like a real dog.



It reminds me of those little toy dogs that were popular in the 80's. Sorta cute to look at, but you could stuff it with like half a dozen D batteries, and then it would have these loud but limited mechanical movements that were supposed to resemble a stiffly moving robotic dog. And it would yap yap yap the most annoying bark ever.

That's what the Cesar dog reminds me of. Like I don't know if I've ever seen it MOVE in any of the commercials. Maybe it's not real.

Which, in that case, as a person who is not a well-versed "dog lover", I might appreciate in having this kind of comatose dog as my first official pet. ("Official", meaning not including the beagle my parents had when I was little that HATED me, or the dalmation we had for a hot minute because I hated it.) I'm allergic to dogs, cats, etc. Or at least I used to be -- thanks to years of allergy shots, so this would be my first foray into living with a pet. I don't know if I'm actually gonna do it, but I am strongly considering it. And the fact that I'm thinking about it is a huge milestone.


So that's what I'm looking for. A dog. A small dog. Cute to look at, and leaves me the heck alone.

I certainly have a type, don't I?


Don't worry, I'm not really gonna do it. It's pretty obvious I'm not ready, ain't it?

My name is Toni and I am an addict.

I don't need help.

Besides, there's no such thing as "Bags Anonymous".

People with tendencies towards addictions tend to have a problem with restraint, naturally. Ergo, they tend to have more than one vice.

Mine are as follows:

• Shoes

• Makeup

• Bags

• Jewelry

• Scarves

• Shoes
  

Not in any particular order, mind you.

So given my predilection for bags, and any type of product that holds stuff, you might understand how the notion of being able to design my own bag can make me both happily excited and disturbingly hyperventilated at the same time.

For the first time ever, I am openly sharing the source of one of my guiltiest pleasures... my bag girl, Julia. Yes. That is her new "Toni Ryan Says..." name. Because Toni Ryan Says, that's why. My Bag Girl Julia. Not to be confused with My Actor Friend Justin, or My Hairstylist Robyn, my old dentist Dr. Pith Helmet (and matching Pick-Axe) , or Lorraine the Singer (who is actually my friend Lauren but my parents and their friends keep referring to her as Lorraine. "You know, the girl with the beautiful voice that sings, and should be on one of them there shows?")

So. My Bag Girl Julia not only designs and handmakes a variety of backpacks, messenger bags, diaper bags, handbags, coin purses... but you can opt to customize every aspect of the process. Which for me is a major big deal. Major.

Not only can this control freak pick colors, style, and where the pockets will go, but I can only customize strap length. "Strap length?" you ask yourself aloud. Yes, strap length. It's mucho important. Any girl who struggles to keep her head above water when standing in the shallow end of the pool (literally) knows the value of a perfect strap length. It means no more dragging bags along the ground when you're walking with a bag in hand.

(Yes, it happens. Quit laughing.)

So, after my last Bag Making Spree where I acquired such gems as My Perfect Toile Bag and My Other Perfect Toile Bag (but bigger), I took a little respite. Rode on my high for many many months, trolling around in airports worldwide with my matching luggage, and actually fielding questions about where I got my beautiful bag. (Which is totally what it says on Julia's website... it's like she predicted the future.) Decided that I needed to settle down and lay off the bags for a little while. Laid low, and stuck with frequenting the sale rack at Marshall's and Loehman's. Even found a nice "throwaway" junky tote at Target for $6. (A "throwaway" bag is the one you keep in the car and can just throw crap in, yet still look somewhat stylish in an emergency involving an armload of random things.)

But now... Uncle Sam has tapped me on the shoulder to say he owes me a little something. "Yeah, go get yourself something nice. And heck, spend it all in one place if you want. Go. Shoo. We'll talk again next year, kid." OK, then! I will!

Right now, My Bag Girl Julia is in the process of concocting more than one item for me. It was hard not to want the other matching bags. Really. I was totally exercising some restraint here, just to prove that I could. Well, and also coz it wasn't that big of a refund check.

So, I just wanted to share that I am just giddy with excitement. Like, really corny kind of giddy. Like, you'd be embarassed to be seen near me while I wax enthusiastically about the bags that are in progress. That kind of giddy. Teee heeee heeee...... Bags are coming! Bags are coming!

In case you are also fascinated by the bag making process, or have an insatiable hunger for accessories, Julia will be sending pics of her making some bags so I can show you. Kinda like that part of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, where you watch the hypnotic film playing on his wall about how they manufacture milk and put it in a bottle. Sort of like that but better, and less creepy.

Ya think it's accurate to say I'm "excited"?

LOL. Good thing I've never heard of any kind of support group for this kind of thing. Last thing I want to be lured into is some kind of Bag Intervention.

Although if that's the case, I can grab a bunch of stuff quickly and just make a run for it.

I've already got a bag or two or five ready for such a situation.

I love daytime running lamps

I'm in the Vibe right now. Quit freaking, I'm sitting in traffic.
Was just thinking about my first car, the dumb battery dying bc I left the headlights on. Only good thing is I'm a whiz at jumpstarting a car in a pinch.

Reason #44. Viva la Vibe!
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Goldie Gold & Action Jack

Am I seriously the only person on the planet who watched "Goldie Gold & Action Jack"??

I loved this show. It was like Richie Rich, but geared towards the older Aaron Spelling-influenced crowd. I guess it was like Richie Rich meets Hart to Hart. I was like, wow, they're like Barbie & Ken but they actively solve crime with her immense largesse and her technicolor wardrobe!

I wanted to be Goldie Gold... an intelligent, mad wealthy, crime-solving, curvy, blond chick with a hot not-gay best friend.

I'm not being a pessimist here, but it's probably not gonna happen, huh?