It’s Throwback Thursday, and in honor of the popular social media trend, I posted a photo of myself today when I had red hair.  I’ve had red hair twice now.  Once when I worked for the Muppets and once in my early Peanuts days.  Oh fuck. I literally, as I’m writing this, am just reminded that the second time I got red hair was in my early days with Fucker.  I was upset with him one day, so I went to my hair stylist for a change.  Why does everything lead back to Fucker??????  It’s actually kind of shocking how many things I can think of that relate back to that waste-of-time-penis-face.  You all must think I’m fucking CRAZY for some of this shit I tell you.  Wow.  I am so lame.

Anyway.  I had red hair twice.  And frankly, it was terribly awful.  I thought it was good at the time — but looking at the photo above, I think it’s pretty bad.  So I posted my red hair for Throwback Thursday. I posted a photo of myself in the town of Arezzo in Italy.  It’s near the Villa that my family has now stayed in multiple times.  It’s amazing.  And I’m happy to say that I am returning there again in July with the gay husbands and the gay husbands’ families.  I can’t wait to be back.  Last time I was there was two or three months before my brain exploded.  Probably right around the time that Fucker married someone behind my back. It will be good to get back for another Prosecco and wine marathon Fucker free… It’s time.  

At any rate, today I posted a photo of myself in Arezzo from exactly 10 years ago.  With red hair.  That’s really the only thing that looks different to me.  I personally think I haven’t really aged much.  Maybe it’s because I don’t sit in the sun or I am diligent (even full of wine) with cleansing and moisturizing my face with expensive skincare products.  Or maybe it’s my genes or the alcohol from the wine pickled my face, preventing any wrinkles from forming. I don’t know — but I know I have very little wrinkles and no gray hair….yet.  (Now that I’m declaring this, I’ll probably prune up and shrivel into a gray white mass by the end of the week.  I hope I didn’t jinx myself.)

So — I know you think I’m rambling – but there’s a connection. I was riding the subway home tonight thinking about my red hair and the phrase “terrible, awful” came to mind.  I called Fucker a “terrible, awful person” in my last post — which he is.  But I also just loved the “terrible, awful” story from The Help.  I loved that someone thought of making a shit pie for someone she hated and had her eat it.  One time when I was young, I used salt instead of sugar in a recipe.  Don’t ask me why — but I got confused and put a cup of salt into the cookie dough instead of a cup of sugar.  My dad came home and stuck his finger into the dough and ate it.  Then spit it out.  That’s also a “terrible, awful.”  But not one done on purpose.  It was a terrible, awful young person’s mistake. 

I’ve done lots of other “terrible, awfuls,” but none as good as the shit pie in The Help.  One of my friend’s suggested lining someone you hate’s room with a small piece of dead fish so that it rots, but you can’t find where the rotting is coming from because it’s too small to detect.. So you basically just have a smelly, dead fish room and can’t figure out why….  That’s pretty good.  But eating pie made of shit is better.

Terrible.  Awful.  Terrible, awful.  Gotta love it, terribly.