Monday, October 16, 2006

Nerd/Geek/Dork Test

I wasn't surprised at scoring higest as nerd...

For The Record:

A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
You scored better than half in all three, earning you the title of: Outcast Genius.

Outcast geniuses usually are bright enough to understand what society wants of them, and they just don't care! They are highly intelligent and passionate about the things they know are *truly* important in the world. Typically, this does not include sports, cars or make-up, but it can on occassion (and if it does then they know more than all of their friends combined in that subject).

Outcast geniuses can be very lonely, due to their being outcast from most normal groups and too smart for the room among many other types of dorks and geeks, but they can also be the types to eventually rule the world, ala Bill Gates, the prototypical Outcast Genius.


Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Professional Wrestling

Love & Sexuality

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Mom vs. Mom

I've been revisiting some old message boards I used to post on, regarding childbirth and how we feed our children. Why-oh-WHY are we mothers so hard on each other?

It seems like in childbirth, we're screwed no matter how we went through it. If we had a textbook vaginal hospital birth, with or without epidural, we've screwed up because a) we gave into the "fear factor" and had our kids in the hospital, and/or b) because we weren't "strong" enough to handle birth without an epidural.

It could never be the case that we felt fine birthing in a hospital and really, legitimately WERE pleased with our birth outcomes.

If we ended up with a c-section as the result of a hospital birth, a) it was our own damed fault for being in the hospital in the first place; b) if we HADN'T had that epidural or the c-section wouldn't have happened; c) our doctors had a personal time-crunch and
"decided" we were Failing To Progress, and thus had us sectioned so they wouldn't miss a golf game/ dinner with their wife/ a night out with the guys.

It could never be the case that a c-section was warranted, and nothing we did or could have done would have had any impact. Perish the thought.

If we had a homebirth? Oh don't get me started. First off, if we had to transfer to a hospital, that's what we "get" for trying to have a baby at home. Or if our midwives were less than we wished? We didn't look hard enough for a compatible midwife (nevermind that we might be, er, LIMITED in our choices).

And even if things went well in a homebirth? "Well, I just can't believe you took that risk!" "What are you, some kind of hippie?"


And it continues after the child is born, by whatever means.

"What, you're bottle feeding? Don't you KNOW that the immunities you pass on to your baby as well as the oral-muscular development are paramount?"

"What, you're breast feeding? Don't you know that fathers need to bond with their children too? What, are you some kind of martyr?

The list of garbage goes on and on.

The big thing is this. Childbirth is a small part of a child's entire life. Sure, there can be effects from the birth process, but barring major complications we usually don't dwell on those effects to the detriment of our children. What truly matters is how we RAISE our children, not how we BIRTH them

And as for feeding kids? Again, a small portion of the child's life. Granted, breastmilk is best and breastfeeding is optimal for jaw development, gastric development, and immunological issues. But does bottle feeding cause irrrepairable damage? In most children, no. Sure it does, in some cases, but in the vast majority it doesn't.

What we mothers really need to do is to support each other in the process of raising our children, in teaching them how to become responsible and productive members of our society. We don't need to be bashing each other for epidurals, homebirths, bottle feeding, breast feeding, or any other of a myriad of choices we as parents make in what we feel are the best interests of our children and families at the time we make them.

And for the record? I had one appalling hospital birth. Some great nurses are at my local hospital. Unfortunately, I didn't have any of them for my elder son's birth. This doesn't mean all L&D nurses are evil, it just means I got a crummy shift. I can accept that. Some of my post-partum nurses were great. But the entire experience soured me on hospital birth outside of medical necessity. My nurses for my L&D were not the best, and it did have an effect on how I felt about hospital birth in general, and most importantly it taught me how important it was to have birth attendants who had full-pregnancy experience with my dry-humored self present at the birth. Because that way? No one would look at me sideways when I told everyone to to STFU.

For my second son, I had a home birth. It was GREAT. It wasn't perfect because, frankly, nothing short of pain-free childbirth would have been perfect in my book (I am a TOTAL wimp, admittedly). But it went well. During that birth I learned that a) I can handle labor pains like a champ (but that applying liquid eyeliner mid-contraction is a major no-no), and b) I hate pushing, because it freaking HURTS. Other women have different experiences, and that's cool, but I hate, hate, HATE pushing. I'd rather stay in transition forever than push. And that's just me.

The huge plusses about homebirth for me were that a) I was in MY house, and I like my home; b) I knew everyone there, and knew that they'd all been with me for months, and knew my sense of humor and wouldn't be freaked out by my "dryness".; c) I was really very cool with all these folks in my house, and even moreso since I'd bought a platter of holiday cookies from our local snooty bakery, partly because I liked the WONDERFUL eggnog cookies, and partly because I just knew everyone would love all the rest of the cookies, period, and d) have I mentioned being in my OWN home again? Because after what I dealt with in the hospital after having my first, that part was HUGE.

And no, it wasn't all roses. My younger son wasn't as sleepy as my elder, he was cranky from the get-go, he wanted what HE wanted, and NOW... but I was home, and it was fine.

I realize it isn't that way for everyone, but it was for me.

That being said, my SIL is expecting her first in just six weeks, and she's doing the hospital thing and planning to bottle feed (I didn't mention it, but I breastfed the first for 13 months and the second for 19 months). And yanno what? I'm fine with her decisions. I hope her birth goes well, I hope that she's happy with it. And with her feeding of her child? Same thing.

Heck, just being Auntie Amanda rather than MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! is good enough for me ;)

Monday, September 04, 2006


I'm having a major comfort food urge today, go figure. While contemplating such loverly foods as macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese and tomato soup, and other stuff like that, I remembered a dish I made about a month ago for my family.

Before I married my husband, my culinary abilities were limited to variations of stir-fry, boiling pasta and dumping Newman's Own sauce over it, breakfast foods, and one chicken dish wherein I panfried chicken breasts in Italian dressing. With the exception of the second item, all the things I knew how to cook took a bit of time, which as a single childless woman wasn't an issue.

Now, though? Time? Hah! There ain't much of that commodity present in Casa Justice, let me tell you. I am blessed in that my husband currently does most of the cooking, saintly man that he is. Also, Kitchen Nazi that he is. I've learned over time that drafting him as a vegetable chopper is pointless, as I am swiftly relegated to knife duties while Himself takes over the composition of whatever dish I opt to cook.

And God help me if it's lasagna. More on that another post.

Anyway, even HRH gets tired of cooking, or is otherwise tied up at times, so I do end up having to feed the family on occasion. At this point in my life I can adequately roast a chicken, do an awesome pot roast in the pressure cooker, and am fairly competent in general with cooking. However, I like to cut corners wherever I can, and I do that as often as possible. What follows is a dish I made one day when I wanted to go a little further than my standard "Desperation Pasta" dish, but was still determined as hell to use pasta. Because I like pasta, dammit.

So... to the store I went. I had noticed that I already had a sundried tomato Alfredo sauce that had been gathering dust in my cabinet. From there, I also purchased a jar of sliced mushrooms, a pack of Louis Rich Italian Style chicken breast pieces, a pack of prosciutto ham (and if I spelled that incorrectly, please forgive), an onion, fresh basil, and garlic. Two other items I used which were already in my possession were rotini pasta and a Parmesan/Romano shredded cheese blend.

I first chopped the onion and browned it and two cloves of garlic in a skillet-like pan. While trying to ignore the hot stove, I chopped the prosciutto which I then added to the skillet. Once that was well-browned, I added the sundried tomato Alfredo (whole jar) and the happily pre-cooked chicken. As I allowed the combination to simmer, I started boiling the rotini pasta and also chopped the basil (approx 1/4 cup worth).

With five minutes left on the pasta boil, I added the drained sliced mushrooms and chopped basil to the skillet and continued to stir. Once the pasta was finished, I drained it, then put it into a bowl. Next, I poured the contents of the skillet over the pasta, and added 1/4 cup of the grated Parm/Romano cheese blend, and mixed well.

It went over well that night with both the husband and the offspring. I thought it was pretty tasty and I refrigerated the remainder.

The next night, oh wow. Himself and I divided the leftovers for dinner, and I must say this dish was INCREDIBLE after it had time to meld its flavors during the refrigeration period.

Would I make this "throw-together" again? Heck yeah. But I'd definitely make it a day ahead and let it sit for a night, then reheat.


Steve Irwin
February 22, 1962 - September 4, 2006

Rest in peace, Steve-O.
My most sincere sympathies to Terri, Bindi Sue, and Bob.
I've never see a man love becoming a father so much.
Damn. Just... damn.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Steve, Don't Eat It!

Oh holy Jesus God... if anyone reads this blog (not that I expect anyone does), please check out this guy's website. The Sneeze is self-described as "Half zine. Half blog. Half not good with fractions. "

The segment which entertains me the most is archived at:

Folks, in the pure interests of journalism and vicarious nauseated experiences, Steve has tried many "food" products of interest that are marked for the consumption of the unexpecting public, including potted meat food product (also linked from an entry on -- the guy who writes the featured Buccaneers column on that site had the misfortune to take potted meat food product on an FTX with him, and lived to tell the sorry tale and commiserate with Steve), pickled pork skins, breast milk, infected corn (long explanation), fermented soy beans, prison wine, and silkworm pupae.

A word to the queasy: If you are easily grossed out, this site may not be for you. Please think before you click. However, if you're easily grossed out but curious beyond belief anyway, have a look. It'll be well worth your time.

Just bring a bucket.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Road Rage? Ah, the Joys of School Traffic

School is now back in session in my area of the country. What this means to me, as a working mother making three stops by the time I finally complete the great circle of this town and finally end up at work, is a case of road rage... at least according to some sources.

Apparently, if we drivers get angry and mutter or even think nasty thoughts about other drivers, we're guilty of an episode of road rage. Good Lord, if what I feel is road rage, then some other people out there are probably figuratively guilty of episodic road homicide.

I wake up each weekday morning, get three people ready, get all three into the car no later than 7:15, and then the great circus begins. First, I drive about a quarter mile from my house to my elder son's elementary school. All three of us get out of the car (since there is supposedly no supervision prior to 7:40 --although the school busses arrive at 7:20, so don't even get me started on that part...) and walk the Spawn to his on-site daycare. The younger and I then walk back to the car and I buckle him in again. This trip takes us all the way across campus both ways since the school board, in its infinite wisdom, moved the child care facility from the rooms designed for it (which were placed directly beside the school's driveway) to the cafeteria as said geniuses determined it was preferable to have adults traipsing all the way through campus to the cafeteria than to add another portable and keep non-certified adults on the periphery of same.

I then drive through the never-ending road widening project (projected completion date: this past March; actual completion date: when frozen pigs fly in hell), and cross one of our main drags to my younger son's daycare location. This takes me through no fewer than three school zones, no matter which route I attempt. After that drop-off, it's once again through another school zone, across the same main drag again, and I'm at work by 8:00, if I'm lucky, where I can finally get some peace and quiet. This drive, when school isn't in session? Takes thirty minutes max. And if you cut out the daycare stops it's under twenty.

School zones, you may have noticed, figure heavily in my route, and they're the source of much of my annoyance. To all the overly-cautious drivers who opt to drive 5 mph rather than the posted 15 mph, it is simply unnecessary to go ten freaking miles under the bloody speed limit. There are no extra credit points for "super slow." The cop just beyond the school zone? Is not going to stop you and give you a "get out of points free" card. There is no gold star, there is nothing except the driver behind you muttering various things under her breath urging you to embrace the accelerator.

It's the vertical one on the right, in case there's any confusion.

On the flip side of the turtles, there are the idiots who break all traffic laws known to man in their efforts to beat every red light, dodge everyone who's maybe, perhaps, actually embracing the speed limit, and reach their destination no matter what the cost in life, limb, and curbing. These are the folks who embrace road homicide and likely induce it in others (not that I'd know about that). They dart in and out of lanes with machine gun-like rapidity and don't give a rat's asterisk whom they have to mow down to achieve their objective. And heavens forfend if they get behind vehicles in the slow lane that they cannot pass. Then they put on their intimidation suits and ride so close to the other cars' bumpers that the drivers can likely feel the fetid breath of the Reaper upon their necks.

It was one of this last type of drivers that drove me to more mental rather than oral mutterings... and ultimately to this post. On a day about a year and a half ago, one of these maniacs decided to dart out in front of me, which resulted in me saying (I thought inaudiably at the time), "Rat bastard." No sooner did those words reach the elephantine hearing of my younger son than I was treated to an endless chorus of, "Rat bastard," for the next five miles.

He rolled it around in his mouth.

He savored it.

He set it to song.


Upon the completion of the operatic version of "Il Rattus Illegitimus," we arrived at his daycare. I humbled myself and let his teacher know of my unfortunate utterance, and I both cringed and laughed uproariously the rest of the way to work.

From that point on, each time I was tempted to let a colorful phrase fly, I remembered that episode. I also realized it could have been much worse, as "Rat bastard," is sadly pretty mild for my unfortunate vocabulary. I also got lucky that the Shortest Spawn forgot the joy in his opera once he saw his friends.

Really, it's much safer for me to blog about these things rather than risk actual speech.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Magazine Cover Furor

Apparently the recent cover of babytalk magazine has a bunch of folks in an uproar:

If the link is no longer functioning, it leads to an article showing the cover of babytalk, which features an infant nursing. Basically, half the cover is the baby's face and the other half is a naked breast (skin only, no nipple/ areola/ etc.). The first line of the linked article reads, "I was SHOCKED to see a giant breast on the cover of your magazine!"

If that person was shocked, my poor sons were probably terrified beyond belief when the monster-engorged-breasts I was using to feed them the first few days of their lives approached their relatively tiny heads. Oish.

Yanno, I can kind of see where some people are stunned. Here in the United States, breastfeeding is slowly gaining popularity as the health benefits to people, both the mother and child, both in now and in their future lives, become more widely known. Unfortunately, in our appearance-obsessed culture, breasts are most often seen as sexual rather than functional. The first function of female breasts is to provide nourishment for the young of the species. In humans, the secondary function of the female breast is as a source of sexual attraction; but breasts are still first and foremost a source of food.

I am amazed at how many posts I've read over the past couple days saying that breastfeeding is gross, disgusting, pornographic, etc. I've even read a couple posts that go so far as to say that God gave us cows for milk, so we should follow God's plan and bottle feed our babies. ACK! God gave cows teats to feed baby cows. We humans have made use of the productivity levels of our bovine friends, but when it comes down to it, humans have no need for cow milk, and in fact, humans are the only species that regularly ingests another species' milk or milk products.

And as for the pornographic comments? Give me a break. There is absolutely nothing sexual about a mother nursing her baby. In fact, while nursing my children I believe I can safely say I felt the least sexual (or sexy, for that matter) of any time in my life. There I was, perched on the couch, not-so-lovely nursing bra on, flaps down, small child simultaneously nursing and pooing (what goes in must come out -- apparently rather quickly at that), and let's not forget the copious spit-up stains that my second child decided must decorate every top I owned. Oh yes, very sexy.

This particular magazine cover has also spawned a number of posts regarding nursing in public. There seems to be some disconnect out there between those who are accustomed to nursing in public in a discreet manner, and those who believe "all" nursing mothers just "flip it out" and let the boobs fall where they may. For the most part, women who nurse in public places tend to be discreet. For me, it was difficult to tell if I was nursing or just holding my child. That said, I did nurse less in public once my children reached about four or five months of age as that's when they started to play Let's Flash Mommy with anyone who happened to be within eyeshot. This was the point where I tracked down every shop with comfortable dressing rooms and friendly staff. Because I'm not into nursing to make a point, I'm in it to feed my child, and frankly, feeding my child doesn't mean I need to play peek-a-boobie with random passers-by.

One poster I read about asked, "But have you ever seen a nurse-in? It's appalling! All those women seem to be DETERMINED to let you know EXACTLY what they are doing!" Uhm, well, ma'am, that's kind of the point of a nurse-in, and a nurse-in by its very activism is going to draw all types of activists, including those who rightly, although not in line with our culture' s standards, believe there is absolutely nothing wrong with nursing a child regardless of what is showing or who may be nearby. In a perfect world, this would be the case, and I do believe it is to be expected behavior at a nurse-in. Personally, I believe both methods have their benefits and drawbacks. The discreet nursing mother is more likely to go unnoticed, and therefore is less likely to show how easy it can be to nurse even in the middle of a mall (or in front of the elephant exhibit as I once did) without attracting undue attention. When people do notice, though, they're more likely to be supportive and approving. Note, though, I said "more likely." One time I was on an airplane nursing my three-month-old under an airline blanket. Nothing was showing. Zero, zip, nadda. But of course, this older woman across the aisle just kept glaring and "tsk-tsk"ing the entire time. On the plus side to that experience, as we disembarked from the plane I had numerous people stop by my row and mention how amazed they were that a baby had been sitting so near them as he hadn't made a peep of noise. Well, the reason the dear boy was so silent is that he was attached to me for the entire three hour flight. Hey, it worked, and it saved many eardrums aboard that flight. I considered it a public service, tsk-ing lady's injured sensibilities notwithstanding.

The more "out there" public nursers, who are most commonly seen at demonstrations such as nurse-ins, do a service by showing just how many women are breastfeeding now. And to be clear, not every mother at a nurse-in is there to flash as much boobage as possible. In fact, I don't believe flashing is the point at all. It's simply that some women are more comfortable with less coverage while feeding their children, and as this is a natural part of feeding our young, they feel it should not be anything worth noticing. Again, in our culture this is not yet the societal standard, but if it were not for these mothers there might never be a time when nursing publicly is viewed as simply normal, not as exhibitionistic behavior.

For me, though? I'll take my baby blanket and dressing room. Thanks.

Finally, to the actual topic of the cover of the magazine, is it appropriate? Well, yes and no. Yes, in that there was nothing obscene about the picture. It's a baby magazine. Babies nurse. One might actually expect to run into a picture of a nursing baby in a -- hold your breath -- baby magazine. However, the editors of that magazine are being disingenuous if they declare any degree of shock over the reaction to the cover. This is the U. S. of A., folks, land of the free, home of the repressed. This cover was bound to spark talk... and perhaps that's what the editors were going for. It's like the "out there" vs. "discreet" nursing issue. Whereas some people might not take issue with the picture being inside the magazine (although some surely would), those same people might take issue with displaying the magazine on their coffee table, or having it openly displayed in their store.

Time will tell which tactics, or which combination thereof, are more effective in raising the breastfeeding rate in this country. I'm not holding my breath for the results.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Paperback Writer: Beloveds

One of my favorite authors, PBW, known on Blogger/ Blogspot as Pbackwriter, aka S. L. Viehl, aka Lynn Viehl, aka Sheila Kelly, aka more pseudonyms, posted this: Paperback Writer: Beloveds. If you don't want to read her post, the extreme abridged version is what are the books that go even beyond favorites that you will re-read and re-read over and over again, and why?

For me, that's a hard question to some degree, as any book I enjoy tends to stay in my library, to be re-read ad infinitum. But I do have a few that transcend even that status to become Beloveds:

-All of the Little House books.
-C. S. Lewis's Narnia series.
-Anything by Edward Eager, although my ultimate favorites are Knights' Castle and The Time Garden.
-Anything I could find by E. (Edith) Nesbit (Bland). Yes, Edith Bland, who recreated herself into E. Nesbit. And it's entirely Edward Eager's fault, too, LOL.
-Madeleine L'Engle's Wrinkle series, and all others of her books that have some crossover, although my favorite is A Swiftly Tilting Planet.
-The first three of the Harry Potter books. Love the later ones as well, but they're darker and intrude on the innocence I like to pretend I still have, in some measure (do NOT laugh!).
-Johanna Lindsey's futuristic Warrior series (with the kystrals? And the UberBarbarians? Come on, tell me you don't remember it). Dang, that rocks! Cool trilogy.
-S. L. Viehl's Stardoc books and all others in that universe, but especially Stardoc itself. Because seriously, that book was like Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman; Star Trek, and The Fugitive, all rolled up into one. And she's awesome. And I'm such a silly fangirl of this series. Oish. Okay, carrying on...
-Diana Gabaldon's books. Yes, all of them.
-Jean Auel's Earth's Children books, although I think my favorite of all these is The Mammoth Hunters.
-L. M. Montgomery's Anne and Emily books. And, frankly, everything else she wrote, because she brought the era and heartaches of my great-grandmother's and grandmother's lives to life for me. Some days I'm not so sure how I should feel about her, but love is the overriding factor, especially as, in spite of Ms. Montgomery's personal experiences, I still retreat to her books to experience what, to me, feels like a more innocent and straight-forward POV.

Do with that what you will.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

My Life of Late

Whew, the kids are in bed now.

Going back to my first post (the one immediately prior -- and I'm sorry, I haven't developed the ability to link to my past posts yet, but give me time!), one thing that's been major of late is that I quit working in the legal field. A quote that neatly sums up the reasons for my departure would be from Nietzsche: "He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you." I spent so much time dealing with horrendous family, criminal, and dependency (child welfare) situations, that I nearly lost touch with myself, my needs, my enjoyments, and most importantly, my family's needs and enjoyments.

Anyway, when I chose to leave the legal field, it was a hugely difficult decision, despite the obvious necessity and benefits. My (former) boss is a friend as well as employer, and my decision left her in a difficult spot. If it weren't for the stress level of the field, I'd likely have stayed even though her offer to keep me, financially, was still about 3K under what my new job is giving in compensation and benefits. I mean, who can beat regular two-hour lunches, weeks that end between noon and 3:00 on Fridays, a day and a half at Christmas, paid, for Christmas shopping, Christmas Eve-eve, and the day after the day after Christmas off, as well as Christmas Eve and Christmas... it just goes on. It was awesome working for her in so many ways. Ultimately, though, the stress of the clients was the final factor. I had to choose to work in a field with much less adrenaline rush (and much more money and bennies - actually, 9K once they're all added in, prior to my boss's generous offer) along with fewer days off in order to keep the truly important things in my life intact.

Needless to say, life around here hasn't been easy of late. I have second-guessed myself countless times. I mean, who wouldn't? Sheesh.

At any rate, that's the more detailed version of what's been up with me. Not that anyone's reading this, but eh, it felt good to get it out.

About Me

I hate doing intros, but since I feel like I have to (it's just my own pressure on myself), here goes.

Firstly, "Amanda Justice" is not my real name. Please do not look up people with the name "Amanda Justice" and try to figure out which one is me, as none of them are, and you'll just be pestering some innocent folks. "Amanda" is my great-great-grandmother's name, and "Justice" comes from my former profession of legal secretary as well as my desire for justice which, believe me, isn't always a given in our legal system. I do believe we have one of the best systems currently in place, but I'd be the last person to say it's perfect.

For the more personal stuff, I'm a married thirty-six-year-old. The spousal unit and I have two sons who are 7.5 and 3.5 years old, who have been solely responsible for my "things I never thought I'd say" list which consists of delightful phrases including, "You may only eat your boogers in your bedroom," "The ice dispenser is not a toe-hold," and the ever-popular, "We do not wear potatoes in our underpants."

The title of this blog? Well, I work for an architecture firm, so that's one place where the walls come in. Another reference would be my total inability to separate myself from the clients I used to work with in the legal field. I'd lose sleep over them. I just don't have the "walls" necessary to deal with criminal or family law on a long-term basis. Part of me wishes I did, as I was good in the field and really enjoyed much of the work. That didn't hold any water, though, when I realized I was concentrating on my job to the detriment of my family and myself. So... boring architecture (punch lists are fun! Not), here I come. Eh, it's a living. It also offers health insurance, a 401K, and 6K more a year than I made previously. Money wasn't the deciding factor in my job-switch, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't put it into my calculations.

Outside of work and family, I love to read. My favorite authors are S.L./ Lynn Viehl, Nora Roberts/ J.D. Robb, Piers Anthony, Christine Feehan, Sherrilyn Kenyon/ Kinley MacGregor, Catherine Coulter, Paul Levine (the cover art on his first Solomon and Lord novel is a hoot!), and.... sheesh, there are too many for me to list. As I write more and figure out how to put links on this thing, I'll link to their sites.

That's about it at this point. My husband and I are both a bit under the weather. I took a brief nap while the kids were at school, and now Himself has crashed out for the evening, so I'm trying to keep the offspring from waking him. Next time I get my roots touched up, I strongly suspect they'll be totally white.