At heart I am a skeptic, but at times I am inclined to be fooled by the hype.  My self-esteem is based almost entirely on believing my own hype, so hype can't be all that bad, can it?  Well, such was my mood yesterday afternoon when I was shopping at the Target with my stepmother.  I've been in the market for a new shampoo for quite some time.  Actually, I am constantly in the market for a new shampoo.  An example of hype that I am not fooled by is that silly notion that expensive salon shampoos aren't any better than Suave, just more expensive.  I am rather hard-pressed to think of a shampoo that is worse than Suave, regardless of price.  I do tend to think one gets what one pays for, so more expensive shampoo is generally better shampoo, but at some point it has to succumb to the law of diminishing returns.  Is $20 shampoo really better than $12 shampoo?  Is $16 shampoo really better than $8 shampoo?  That's the question eternally on my lips.

I hate the shampoo aisle.  It is much too over-stimulating.  There is way too much "product" to choose from.  And too many of these products are promising to do things for my hair that I know in my heart of hearts they just can't possibly do, but part of me–generally, that part of me that looked in the mirror that morning…and the afternoon–wants very much to believe that these bottles are not in fact lying to me.  This was the vulnerable state of mind I was in when I impulsively bought John Frieda's "brilliant brunette" Shine Release Shampoo™ and Light Reflecting Conditioner.  These products will supposedly make my brown hair "come alive with multi-dimensional richness and luminosity."  I had my doubts, but for me the real selling point was that it happened to be on sale this week.  I figured, worst case scenario, my hair merely gets clean.  Best case scenario, my hair comes alive with multi-dimensional richness and luminosity,and all of that is mine for $4.50 instead of $5.79.  Who could ask for anything more?  (Unless it covered my gray, too, in which case I would expect to pay at least $5.79 anyway.)

The trouble was deciding if I needed the special formula for lighter shades of brown or for darker shades of brown.  "Lighter shades of brown" covers everything from amber to maple.  "Darker shades" includes everything from chestnut to cocoa.  Or something.  Well, my hair is sort of medium brown.  It's not amber.  It's not cocoa.  Is it maple or chestnut?  Where does "mousy" fall in the brunette spectrum?  I don't really know what "mousy brown" means, but I suspect it might accurately describe my dull, lackluster brown hair.  If we were talking about a mouse who only needs the right shampoo to achieve incredible shine and clarity–oh, if only John Frieda would give it to me straight!  I can handle the truth, in small doses.

Anyway, I decided I am more maple than chestnut and bought me some of that fancy four-dollar shampoo.  Excuse me, four-and-a-half-dollar shampoo.  Plus conditioner.  Plus what they call "straightening balm."  This is a new one for me.  Some might say my hair has natural curl.  Others might say it has natural wave.  Perhaps one might most accurately say my hair has natural tweak.  Whatever you want to call it, it requires manipulation in order to achieve that chic look we call "combed."  I almost always choose to push it in the curly direction, since it goes there so readily and happily.  Occasionally I try to make it smooth by blow drying it and whatnot, but I can't really keep it "straight" for more than a few minutes.  It wants to curl.  Or wave.  Or tweak.  So tweak it does, especially if there's any sort of humidity in the atmosphere.

So on Friday I got my hair cut in my hip, A-line bob style, and my hairdresser straightened it for me with one of those straightening irons, or flattening irons, whatever they're called.  The first time someone did this for me, it looked really weird.  I suppose from another perspective it looked sleek and classy, but I was so unused to seeing my hair this non-frizzy that I didn't know how I felt about it.  I actually worried that Sugar Daddy wouldn't like it because I looked so different.  As it happened, he was thrilled with it because, in his words, it was like "getting a whole new wife."  That was a few months ago, so I figured maybe it was time to get SD a whole new wife again, so she straightened my hair again, and I looked weird again–to myself, anyway.  SD was very happy with his new wife, and my stepmother thought I looked pretty hot, too, you know, for a stepdaughter.  Even Mister Bubby thought it wasn't too "cwazy."

Over the course of the day the straightness started to grow on me, in the figurative sense, so the next day I bought a straightening iron and this straightening balm that's supposed to illuminate my brown tones, and today I went to church with my new, chic, hip, brilliantly brunette straight hair.  Several people stopped to chat with me about Elvis's new haircut (it's adorable) and the fact that I looked tired.  No one mentioned how chic and straight my hair was.  It may be that when my hair is straight, I look more tired.  It's hard to believe that I could actually look more tired than I usually do, but next week I'm going with curly hair and the same amount of sleep just to see what happens.

To address other areas of self-improvement:

My therapist has told me that on my next visit we will do something called the "sand tray."  I don't know what that is, but it sounds about the same level of corny as the "safe place" exercise.  You might say the hype is unconvincing, but I will keep an open mind nonetheless.  Until the sand starts getting in my shoes.  Then I'm done.

My new addiction is organizedhome.com.  As addictions go, it's kind of a drag, but it was free, and unlike the Fly Lady, it doesn't attack my e-mail inbox with locust-plague ferocity.  And unlike Extreme Home Makeover, or whatever that show is called, it doesn't require public humiliation.  That part is optional.  So far I have decluttered my kitchen, the kids' rooms, all three bathrooms, the downstairs closet, the upstairs closet, and half of the master bedroom.  Congratulate me.  But wait!  There's more.  I even cleaned out the fridge this week.  Funny, but I haven't had much of an appetite ever since.  Do you know what happens to food when you don't eat it?