What's worse: paying for a car, or paying to have a car fixed?
I know people who pay cash for their cars. They are my friends, but I hate them. They have discovered some secret, kept from me, of how to save many thousands of dollars, and be able to avoid car payments. Obviously, there is something wrong with these people. Or, with me.
I pay cash for my cars. Over many, many years. I also support the bank at the same time. Is that the ultimate multi-tasking, or what!?
Here's the good news: At the beginning of January, I made the last car payment on my car. Number 48.
Can you guess the bad news? Sure you can.
Let me add this little bit of info: Late last year, my car turned over 100,000 miles. Do you remember that memorable post? There was a picture and everything!
And I'm sure you know what happens when a car hits 100,000 miles, despite the fact that everyone keeps telling me "oh it's good for another 100,000"? One hint: They don't give you a certificate for longevity.
What went wrong when your car a) hit 100,000 or b) you paid it off?
If it was like mine, it developed Mystery Illness.
A strange shake coming from the front end between about 40 and 55 MPH (sometimes). A hot smell upon exiting the car (sometimes). A bad grinding sound when stopped the car (occasionally). A faint, funny whomping sound on driving (once in a while).
When you tell a mechanic guy all they, they have no idea what you're talking about.
But that didn't stop me. I told the mechanic in Huntington all this LAST Monday. So they took it out and drove it--twice. "We couldn't find anything wrong with it," Gerald told me. (Remember, I said "sometimes.") But since it had so many miles, they suggested I get the spark plugs changed (which I knew should be done). And because they found a "service bulletin" that suggested an additive needed to be added to the transmission fluid to prevent a "shudder" at certain speeds, they also suggested the transmission fluid be changed and the said additive, well, added.
Okay, I said. How much will that run me?
Almost $200, and that didn't count that $77 "diagnostic fee" I got charged on Monday! That diagnosed nothing! All they did was put miles on my car and use up my gas.
So I make an appointment for Thursday, and drop my little Outlander off once again, arranging to pick it up in the afternoon.
At four, there was bad news, and worse news:
The bad news was, it wasn't done yet ("Didn't you say 5?" asked Gerald); then, the worse news, the spark plugs they had driven all the way to Ft. Wayne to get WERE THE WRONG SIZE. So, while I waited, they put the OLD ONES BACK IN so I could get home.
And I made arrangements to drop my car off once again, Friday morning. When it was -5 degrees. This place is just around the corner from work, and while I had walked on Monday AND Thursday, thank GOODNESS a co-w0rker saw me on Friday and gave me a ride.
So, deja vu: come 4 p.m., I was back to pick my car up. This time is was done, transmission fluid changed, spark plugs installed, and $177 in the hole.
So home I head, and the thing is still shaking, and it's not sounding so good. I'm talking to my mom getting caught up on her week. And trying not to be pissed off that over $200 of work has not solved my problem.
And then I turn onto my street, and find myself doing a half-donut, ending up blocking the street and scaring my mom to death. "I gotta go!" I told her. Something funny had happened with the wheels, like one was going and one wasn't, and it wasn't that icy or anything to explain it. And I'd heard that bad grinding noise again.
I had a little problem getting the car going back the way it was supposed to, and I was just kind of scared to drive it anywhere again, until I got the problem really licked.
So I babied it 'round the cul-de-sac to home, and parked in front of the house. And 1) called my mom back to let her know I was not nuts, and also talked to my dad, who thought the problem might be a bad wheel bearing or differential; and 2) called AAA to get them to tow it to Hire's Automotive.
Well, AAA couldn't come that evening, so I called again in the morning, and they were able to take it over about noon.
I called Hire's and warned them it was coming, and told them the phone diagnosis of my dad.
About 2, they called--they, too, had test drove it, and could find nothing wrong (should I name this car CHRISTINE!?) BUT, upon putting the car up on the lift and TAKING OFF BOTH THE FRONT TIRES, had discovered I had a stuck brake caliper. Whatever that is: all I know is, it makes the brake work, and when it's stuck, it makes your car shake, yours brakes smell hot, and a bad grinding noise.
The good news: somebody finally figured out what was wrong.
The good news: Hires found the brake parts I needed in town (and did not have to get more expensive parts from the manufacturer), so could fix it right away.
More good news: It was ready by 4:30!
The bad news, all this was to the tune of almost $800. (Bringing my car repair total for the week to over $1,000, or more than three car payments, in my language.)
Oh well! Mystery solved.
It's fixed; some necessary maintenance was completed (and loyal readers may remember that $900 of work I had last spring, which included exotic repairs that included the words "timing belt" and "serpentine"); and my ride is smooth and quiet once again, with no spinouts.
I don't really hate my friends who pay cash for cars; I'm jealous of them. How they do it is a mystery to me....
How about you? Repair, replace, or repay?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
About when I was really cold, in 1978
Thirty years ago, I learned what cold really was.
All week, our local media has been helping us relive the Blizzard of '78. Or, if you are so young as to not have been alive -- or cognizant -- in 1978, you are being educated.
From Wikipedia:
"The Great Blizzard of 1978 struck across the Ohio Valley and Great Lakes on January 26, 1978, with a center in northwestern Ohio. A freak convergence of two atmospheric low pressure systems resulted in a "storm of unprecedented magnitude", according to the National Weather Service, who categorized it as a rare severe blizzard, the most menacing grade of winter storm. Particularly hard hit were the states of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, Ohio, and southeast Wisconsin where up to 40" of snow fell. Winds gusting up to 100 mph caused drifts that nearly covered some homes. Wind chill reached 60°F below across much of Ohio where 51 of the total 70 storm-related deaths occurred.[1]"
Often, nowadays, when extreme weather hits, we hear it called a "100-year storm." Hurricane Katrina comes to mind.
I didn't know it then, but we were living through a true "100-year storm." And here's the lesson I learned: Although you can manufacture some fun during a severe blizzard -- if you happen to be somewhere safe and warm -- there is no fun about them if you are out in them, whether by accident or on purpose.
There have been lots of stories in the papers about peoples' blizzard experiences, and some of them are the "we partied for five days" type. But one yesterday was a reminder of how life-threatening the conditions were--four people caught in a car, buried by snow, for two days on I69 trying to drive to Fort Wayne from Indianapolis.
We lived in a small, poorly insulated house on the southeast side of Fort Wayne back then. Sometime Wednesday late afternoon or early evening, the wind cranked up, and it didn't back down until sometime early Friday morning. I'll never forget the unceasing howling of the wind. It blew so long and so hard, it was frightening, and the cold (plus the wind chill) was unbelievable. When the wind finally calmed a little very early Friday morning, the silence woke me up.
And then, the whiteness. While the snow fell, the view out every window was a whiteout. And on Friday, after the snow stopped, the sun came out, and the brilliance of the white landscape against the blue sky was stunning, and beautiful, and deceptive, because it was so terribly cold.
We were snowed in from Wednesday until the next Monday. We passed the time by watching a new local TV station that played movie after movie, and listening to the radio (one bulletin after another), and watching the local news (the news staff was looking pretty ragged after a couple of days), and sleeping in, and our neighbors had a potluck dinner on Saturday that everyone trudged through the drifts to attend.
When we could finally get out of the house, the city was like a big, high-walled maze--there were snow walls along every street. But wow--was it good to get out!
Effects linger from the blizzard. Any kind of winter storm warning brings a rush on the groceries and the gas stations. And since none of the storms we've had since--even one last winter that was officially labeled a "blizzard"--have measured up to 1978.
But here's what I really connect to the '78 blizzard: I was pregnant with our daughter; she would be born in April, a spring baby, sunny and warm-hearted. No blizzard memories for her.
And...my baby will be 30 this April.
Now, how the heck did that happen? That's a 100-year (or, should I say, 30-year?) storm to me.
How about you? Have you survived a "storm of the century"?
All week, our local media has been helping us relive the Blizzard of '78. Or, if you are so young as to not have been alive -- or cognizant -- in 1978, you are being educated.
From Wikipedia:
"The Great Blizzard of 1978 struck across the Ohio Valley and Great Lakes on January 26, 1978, with a center in northwestern Ohio. A freak convergence of two atmospheric low pressure systems resulted in a "storm of unprecedented magnitude", according to the National Weather Service, who categorized it as a rare severe blizzard, the most menacing grade of winter storm. Particularly hard hit were the states of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, Ohio, and southeast Wisconsin where up to 40" of snow fell. Winds gusting up to 100 mph caused drifts that nearly covered some homes. Wind chill reached 60°F below across much of Ohio where 51 of the total 70 storm-related deaths occurred.[1]"
Often, nowadays, when extreme weather hits, we hear it called a "100-year storm." Hurricane Katrina comes to mind.
I didn't know it then, but we were living through a true "100-year storm." And here's the lesson I learned: Although you can manufacture some fun during a severe blizzard -- if you happen to be somewhere safe and warm -- there is no fun about them if you are out in them, whether by accident or on purpose.
There have been lots of stories in the papers about peoples' blizzard experiences, and some of them are the "we partied for five days" type. But one yesterday was a reminder of how life-threatening the conditions were--four people caught in a car, buried by snow, for two days on I69 trying to drive to Fort Wayne from Indianapolis.
We lived in a small, poorly insulated house on the southeast side of Fort Wayne back then. Sometime Wednesday late afternoon or early evening, the wind cranked up, and it didn't back down until sometime early Friday morning. I'll never forget the unceasing howling of the wind. It blew so long and so hard, it was frightening, and the cold (plus the wind chill) was unbelievable. When the wind finally calmed a little very early Friday morning, the silence woke me up.
And then, the whiteness. While the snow fell, the view out every window was a whiteout. And on Friday, after the snow stopped, the sun came out, and the brilliance of the white landscape against the blue sky was stunning, and beautiful, and deceptive, because it was so terribly cold.
We were snowed in from Wednesday until the next Monday. We passed the time by watching a new local TV station that played movie after movie, and listening to the radio (one bulletin after another), and watching the local news (the news staff was looking pretty ragged after a couple of days), and sleeping in, and our neighbors had a potluck dinner on Saturday that everyone trudged through the drifts to attend.
When we could finally get out of the house, the city was like a big, high-walled maze--there were snow walls along every street. But wow--was it good to get out!
Effects linger from the blizzard. Any kind of winter storm warning brings a rush on the groceries and the gas stations. And since none of the storms we've had since--even one last winter that was officially labeled a "blizzard"--have measured up to 1978.
But here's what I really connect to the '78 blizzard: I was pregnant with our daughter; she would be born in April, a spring baby, sunny and warm-hearted. No blizzard memories for her.
And...my baby will be 30 this April.
Now, how the heck did that happen? That's a 100-year (or, should I say, 30-year?) storm to me.
How about you? Have you survived a "storm of the century"?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
About keeping warm
Okay, if you are a warm-blooded type, just skip it. People who are always warm, no matter what, just don't understand.
If a slight breeze in July makes you wonder what the wind-chill is, this post is for you.
Because I am almost always cold. Even with what should be a well-insulating fat layer, or two.
Actually, I don't think fat has much to do with hot or cold. I think it's skin. Because my skin seems extraordinarily sensitive to stuff -- stuff like cold.
So weather like we've been having (as I type, it's 9 degrees) is anathema to me. And since I've been this way since I was a little kid, I've developed several strategies to combat the cold.
My favorite is one I've cultivated as a grownup, but is so extreme, and expensive, I can't practice it as often as I wish. This strategy is, well, leaving. The cold behind. And me, in a new location. A warm location. Like Ft. Myers, Florida. I know. Cheating.
So, the real strategies, like, wear two pairs of socks. Very helpful, if a multiplier of laundry.
Or, duh, wear pants. Because even the glimpse of a woman in a skirt and hose makes me have to go to the ER with sympathy frostbite. I mean, what are they thinking!? Don't you know you're freezing me!
The only time I wear anything resembling pantyhose in winter? (Oh, wait, I mean: ever.) When I wear nice, soft microfiber tights under my pants! Put socks on too, and some nice ankle boots, and you can walk to your car after work in a great state of denial.
And, wear sweaters. With blouses/t's underneath. Or a jacket. Or, and a jacket. And maybe a cami. With a vest.
You know, what they always tell you on TV: layer.
And: have a selection of coats. Shop the mark down sales here in the next month or so and you can do it for cheap! I got a parka good for -30 degrees on sales at L.L. Bean last winter, then snagged a sharp leather jacket (not good for frigid cold, but goodness it looks sharp in other weathers) at JC Penney's for about $35,then, in a final red-dot-sale paroxysm of coat shopping, picked up a black wool dress coat, three-quarter length, at Peebles, for less than $50. Wearing the black wool number is like wearing a blanket out and about.
Wear your hair over your ears or get some of those behind-the-neck ear muffs. Or, heck, make a statement with some fuzzy hot-pink things. You're so cold, who cares?
Write now, I'm on the sofa, fuzzy afghan over me, warm laptop on my lap, two pairs of socks, cup of tea, heating pad.
My feet are still freezing. HOW MANY SOCKS MUST I WEAR?
How 'bout you? How are you keepin' warm?
If a slight breeze in July makes you wonder what the wind-chill is, this post is for you.
Because I am almost always cold. Even with what should be a well-insulating fat layer, or two.
Actually, I don't think fat has much to do with hot or cold. I think it's skin. Because my skin seems extraordinarily sensitive to stuff -- stuff like cold.
So weather like we've been having (as I type, it's 9 degrees) is anathema to me. And since I've been this way since I was a little kid, I've developed several strategies to combat the cold.
My favorite is one I've cultivated as a grownup, but is so extreme, and expensive, I can't practice it as often as I wish. This strategy is, well, leaving. The cold behind. And me, in a new location. A warm location. Like Ft. Myers, Florida. I know. Cheating.
So, the real strategies, like, wear two pairs of socks. Very helpful, if a multiplier of laundry.
Or, duh, wear pants. Because even the glimpse of a woman in a skirt and hose makes me have to go to the ER with sympathy frostbite. I mean, what are they thinking!? Don't you know you're freezing me!
The only time I wear anything resembling pantyhose in winter? (Oh, wait, I mean: ever.) When I wear nice, soft microfiber tights under my pants! Put socks on too, and some nice ankle boots, and you can walk to your car after work in a great state of denial.
And, wear sweaters. With blouses/t's underneath. Or a jacket. Or, and a jacket. And maybe a cami. With a vest.
You know, what they always tell you on TV: layer.
And: have a selection of coats. Shop the mark down sales here in the next month or so and you can do it for cheap! I got a parka good for -30 degrees on sales at L.L. Bean last winter, then snagged a sharp leather jacket (not good for frigid cold, but goodness it looks sharp in other weathers) at JC Penney's for about $35,then, in a final red-dot-sale paroxysm of coat shopping, picked up a black wool dress coat, three-quarter length, at Peebles, for less than $50. Wearing the black wool number is like wearing a blanket out and about.
Wear your hair over your ears or get some of those behind-the-neck ear muffs. Or, heck, make a statement with some fuzzy hot-pink things. You're so cold, who cares?
Write now, I'm on the sofa, fuzzy afghan over me, warm laptop on my lap, two pairs of socks, cup of tea, heating pad.
My feet are still freezing. HOW MANY SOCKS MUST I WEAR?
How 'bout you? How are you keepin' warm?
Winter poll
The results: 2 people hate winter and are ready for spring. One of those people was ... me. One person tolerates the seasons, finding them interesting.
I find them interesting, but I'm getting slightly intolerant.
I find them interesting, but I'm getting slightly intolerant.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
About skimming
Skimming. To skim. Like, just read a few pages of a book here and there. Or, to lightly take the skin off some kind of boiled liquid, with a light touch. Skimming the surface. Skim (light) milk. Skim boasrding.
Some days, some weeks, are so busy, so full of stuff, that I adopt a similar technique for getting through them: I skim.
I suppose that will be anathema to some of the "embrace the moment" ilk, you know, live fully in the moment, in the now, I bet Oprah would be appalled.
But then, we do what we must to get by.
How do you skim though a week of your life? Well, quit thinking. At least about all the stuff you have to do. Write it down. And then as it gets done, cross it off, one thing by one thing.
Do think about something that you like, or that makes you happy, or made you happy in the past. Feel free to be as superficial as necessary. If thinking about lying on the beach doing nothing except feeling the sand under your hands make you happy, think about it. If thinking about shopping,or planning outfits, or anticipating some future wonderfulness takes your brain away from the busyness at hand, think away. (For guys:think about good games?)
Indulge just a little--sleep in 10 minutes. Wear your most comfortable outfits. Stop for a latte. Take a bubble bath.
For my plethora of doctor's visits, I put together a little totebag of waiting room necessities. Two magazines, Marie Claire and InStyle. My mp3 player with Michael Buble cued up. Some dark chocolate. Some Sunflower body mist. Some mints.
It worked. I actually had fun waiting for my mammogram.
Well, "fun" is an exaggeration. But I was able to skim over the dread of the squishing.
How about you? what are you skimming over?
Some days, some weeks, are so busy, so full of stuff, that I adopt a similar technique for getting through them: I skim.
I suppose that will be anathema to some of the "embrace the moment" ilk, you know, live fully in the moment, in the now, I bet Oprah would be appalled.
But then, we do what we must to get by.
How do you skim though a week of your life? Well, quit thinking. At least about all the stuff you have to do. Write it down. And then as it gets done, cross it off, one thing by one thing.
Do think about something that you like, or that makes you happy, or made you happy in the past. Feel free to be as superficial as necessary. If thinking about lying on the beach doing nothing except feeling the sand under your hands make you happy, think about it. If thinking about shopping,or planning outfits, or anticipating some future wonderfulness takes your brain away from the busyness at hand, think away. (For guys:think about good games?)
Indulge just a little--sleep in 10 minutes. Wear your most comfortable outfits. Stop for a latte. Take a bubble bath.
For my plethora of doctor's visits, I put together a little totebag of waiting room necessities. Two magazines, Marie Claire and InStyle. My mp3 player with Michael Buble cued up. Some dark chocolate. Some Sunflower body mist. Some mints.
It worked. I actually had fun waiting for my mammogram.
Well, "fun" is an exaggeration. But I was able to skim over the dread of the squishing.
How about you? what are you skimming over?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
About what we do on Saturdays
On Saturdays we sleep in a little even when McKenna is around, cos she sleeps in too.
On Saturdays we make some turnovers and cinnamon rolls, and have them with our coffee and tea, and McKenna had pancakes too, and ate them all.
On Saturdays we read the paper and everyone takes showers, and Jayme gives McKenna a bath, and I start the laundry and change the sheets and do the dishes, and Greg lets McKenna watch Dora until she quits, then watches ESPN, and Tony drinks more coffee.
On Saturdays the phone rings and it's Angela and more plans are made and then we get ready and leave for Julian's basketball game. And we go to the school and watch Julian make some good passes and score a couple baskets and guard a little boy who dribbles too much, and Matt holds McKenna and gets her a snack, and we talk to everybody and clap when we're supposed to.
On Saturdays we go out to lunch at IHOP and try to decide do we want breakfast or lunch, and talk about work and what the kids said/did, and make more plans, and laugh about how we wait in the foyer while Matt comes to get Angela because we don't have room in the car to take her.
On Saturdays we head home to watch some ballgames or take naps or play video games, depending on who we are, or go to the grocery, like me. And if you're me you wander around the grocery about four times because you forget stuff like hamburger buns or bottled water, which you really shouldn't buy anyway. And you see two people you know and say hi.
On Saturdays, Taylor comes over to spend the night because Caroline is at Carlee's with Julian and Ang and Matt have a party. And after the girls take naps they play together better than they ever have before, and Taylor calls McKenna "Kenna" and McKenna calls Taylor "Tay-Tay."
On Saturdays the guys grill up the steaks that got bought at the grocery and we throw some potatoes in the microwave and put some salad mix in bowls and make some cookies for dessert. And sit at the table and watch the girls eat their mac-n-cheese.
On Saturdays our only lament is that if we cook at home we have to clean it up, but with help it goes fast, even with the girls running about and through the kitchen.
On Saturdays we get an On Demand movie like Even Almighty and don't try to analyze it too much, and watch the girls play kitchen and tear our every. single. book. on. the. kids. bookshelf. And eat their snacks and drink their juice.
On Saturdays the girls get tired and Tony and Jayme have to take McKenna home, and they pack up and kiss everybody goodbye an dgo out in the cold. And Taylor is tired and watches one more Dora and then goes to bed and makes it through three pages of a Little Golden Book Snow White story until she falls asleep.
On Saturdays Greg falls asleep on the couch and HGTV is on and I think back about everything we did all day.
And that's what we do on Saturdays.
On Saturdays we make some turnovers and cinnamon rolls, and have them with our coffee and tea, and McKenna had pancakes too, and ate them all.
On Saturdays we read the paper and everyone takes showers, and Jayme gives McKenna a bath, and I start the laundry and change the sheets and do the dishes, and Greg lets McKenna watch Dora until she quits, then watches ESPN, and Tony drinks more coffee.
On Saturdays the phone rings and it's Angela and more plans are made and then we get ready and leave for Julian's basketball game. And we go to the school and watch Julian make some good passes and score a couple baskets and guard a little boy who dribbles too much, and Matt holds McKenna and gets her a snack, and we talk to everybody and clap when we're supposed to.
On Saturdays we go out to lunch at IHOP and try to decide do we want breakfast or lunch, and talk about work and what the kids said/did, and make more plans, and laugh about how we wait in the foyer while Matt comes to get Angela because we don't have room in the car to take her.
On Saturdays we head home to watch some ballgames or take naps or play video games, depending on who we are, or go to the grocery, like me. And if you're me you wander around the grocery about four times because you forget stuff like hamburger buns or bottled water, which you really shouldn't buy anyway. And you see two people you know and say hi.
On Saturdays, Taylor comes over to spend the night because Caroline is at Carlee's with Julian and Ang and Matt have a party. And after the girls take naps they play together better than they ever have before, and Taylor calls McKenna "Kenna" and McKenna calls Taylor "Tay-Tay."
On Saturdays the guys grill up the steaks that got bought at the grocery and we throw some potatoes in the microwave and put some salad mix in bowls and make some cookies for dessert. And sit at the table and watch the girls eat their mac-n-cheese.
On Saturdays our only lament is that if we cook at home we have to clean it up, but with help it goes fast, even with the girls running about and through the kitchen.
On Saturdays we get an On Demand movie like Even Almighty and don't try to analyze it too much, and watch the girls play kitchen and tear our every. single. book. on. the. kids. bookshelf. And eat their snacks and drink their juice.
On Saturdays the girls get tired and Tony and Jayme have to take McKenna home, and they pack up and kiss everybody goodbye an dgo out in the cold. And Taylor is tired and watches one more Dora and then goes to bed and makes it through three pages of a Little Golden Book Snow White story until she falls asleep.
On Saturdays Greg falls asleep on the couch and HGTV is on and I think back about everything we did all day.
And that's what we do on Saturdays.
Friday, January 18, 2008
About Cathy's Top 3 Hints for Looking Good
Pursuant to my previous, self-absorbed post on my youthful demeanor (Or dementor, depending on the day), I continued to ponder the subject. Actually, my peeps do ask me quite often about this or that--where I shop, or get my hair cut, etc. (you know, girl stuff). And I realized I do have a bit of advice to share with anyone interested in updating their look.
So, all you in Generation Jones, if you're feeling a little dated, but don't want to look like you're trying too hard to be hip, come along with me.
My first advice, and the hardest: Lose your stomach.
After having been a thinner person for most of my life, then becoming a not-so-thin person, I used to make the joke that "of everything I've lost, I miss my waist the most." I didn't how true that was until I lost 50 pounds, and rediscovered my waist, and the wonders that having a waist does for you. I'm convinced that tummy fat--in a man or woman--contributes to somebody looking older than they should more than anything else.
And I don't mean you need to be a flat-ab-ed, rib-cage-showing fit freak, either. Because you don't. You just need to lose enough of your stomach so you don't have a fold down there, and you know where I mean. It might mean 10 pounds or it might mean 50, but believe me, you will not believe the comments you get when you get rid of your tummy.
Cut the calories, cut the fat, cut the beer, walk, and if you can manage a sit-up or two, the compliments you get will be all the motivation you need.
(And as a follow-up to this, if you lose your stomach, you will probably need some new clothes: make sure they fit and show that waist off, and for goodness' sake, don't buy them in either the teen OR the senior citizen department. Classic jeans, fitted t's, beautiful white blouses, well-fitting work pants or skirts--check out More magazine for some good advice.)
Second: Get a good haircut.
If losing your stomach is not only visually pleasing but probably also good for your cholesterol levels, getting a good haircut is going to top it off like frosting on a cake. And if you think getting a trim on that leftover '80s big-bangs thing is a "good haircut," think again.
You don't want it flat, you don't want it puffed, you just want a style that's easy to take care of, feels good on your head, and looks like you live in this century. Which is the 21st, BTW.
Ladies, if your hair if still past your shoulders (and oh please God, not flat, parted in the middle, with or without bangs), GET YOUR BUTT TO A HAIR STYLIST IMMEDIATELY. (With rare exceptions, and you will know who you are. Hopefully.) Check out all your friends, check out people at the mall, buy a couple hair-style magazines at the bookstore, or just opt for a classic, elegant pageboy, but don't be afraid to update. Also, don't be afraid to try something new: Not purple streaks, but maybe a boy cut? Eschew the obviously trendy (who really wants to try to contort with the hair dryer to flip up your back hair, as was the style a couple of years ago?) or the achingly youthful.
As far as color: up to you. There's a real movement to going naturally gray, but if that means your hair is somewhere between dishwater and dirt, you might consider some enhancement until you go over the edge to light gray or white. Or, it's a great time to try highlights or lowlights. I just don't recommend primary colors.
(Also, might be the time to update those glasses--the big-eyed look is so 1990.)
Third, and this one is for guys: Lose the facial hair. I mean it. The little modern version of the goatee looks good on 20- and 30-somethings, and the soul patch on, well, not many, but really--mustaches are so out I'm freezing just typing the words. And full beards--eeuuww. For one, if you're going gray, your beard goes first. Why advertise it? Nothing ages a guy like salt-n-pepper facial hair. I'm not sure what you're hiding under that beard, but it's time to uncover it, 'cause you're not hiding your age (not that you want to). And while we're at it: no comb-overs, no Brillcream, no sideburns. No toupees.
Well, how about you? What's your best advice?
So, all you in Generation Jones, if you're feeling a little dated, but don't want to look like you're trying too hard to be hip, come along with me.
My first advice, and the hardest: Lose your stomach.
After having been a thinner person for most of my life, then becoming a not-so-thin person, I used to make the joke that "of everything I've lost, I miss my waist the most." I didn't how true that was until I lost 50 pounds, and rediscovered my waist, and the wonders that having a waist does for you. I'm convinced that tummy fat--in a man or woman--contributes to somebody looking older than they should more than anything else.
And I don't mean you need to be a flat-ab-ed, rib-cage-showing fit freak, either. Because you don't. You just need to lose enough of your stomach so you don't have a fold down there, and you know where I mean. It might mean 10 pounds or it might mean 50, but believe me, you will not believe the comments you get when you get rid of your tummy.
Cut the calories, cut the fat, cut the beer, walk, and if you can manage a sit-up or two, the compliments you get will be all the motivation you need.
(And as a follow-up to this, if you lose your stomach, you will probably need some new clothes: make sure they fit and show that waist off, and for goodness' sake, don't buy them in either the teen OR the senior citizen department. Classic jeans, fitted t's, beautiful white blouses, well-fitting work pants or skirts--check out More magazine for some good advice.)
Second: Get a good haircut.
If losing your stomach is not only visually pleasing but probably also good for your cholesterol levels, getting a good haircut is going to top it off like frosting on a cake. And if you think getting a trim on that leftover '80s big-bangs thing is a "good haircut," think again.
You don't want it flat, you don't want it puffed, you just want a style that's easy to take care of, feels good on your head, and looks like you live in this century. Which is the 21st, BTW.
Ladies, if your hair if still past your shoulders (and oh please God, not flat, parted in the middle, with or without bangs), GET YOUR BUTT TO A HAIR STYLIST IMMEDIATELY. (With rare exceptions, and you will know who you are. Hopefully.) Check out all your friends, check out people at the mall, buy a couple hair-style magazines at the bookstore, or just opt for a classic, elegant pageboy, but don't be afraid to update. Also, don't be afraid to try something new: Not purple streaks, but maybe a boy cut? Eschew the obviously trendy (who really wants to try to contort with the hair dryer to flip up your back hair, as was the style a couple of years ago?) or the achingly youthful.
As far as color: up to you. There's a real movement to going naturally gray, but if that means your hair is somewhere between dishwater and dirt, you might consider some enhancement until you go over the edge to light gray or white. Or, it's a great time to try highlights or lowlights. I just don't recommend primary colors.
(Also, might be the time to update those glasses--the big-eyed look is so 1990.)
Third, and this one is for guys: Lose the facial hair. I mean it. The little modern version of the goatee looks good on 20- and 30-somethings, and the soul patch on, well, not many, but really--mustaches are so out I'm freezing just typing the words. And full beards--eeuuww. For one, if you're going gray, your beard goes first. Why advertise it? Nothing ages a guy like salt-n-pepper facial hair. I'm not sure what you're hiding under that beard, but it's time to uncover it, 'cause you're not hiding your age (not that you want to). And while we're at it: no comb-overs, no Brillcream, no sideburns. No toupees.
Well, how about you? What's your best advice?
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