And while I profess to be a pretty darn intuitive gal, my brain was putting the kabosh on all-things-insightful.

No matter how many THOUSANDS of intuitive readings I’ve done… No matter how many intuition-building classes I’ve taught… NOTHING Soulful can ever over-ride “Massive Cerebral Overload”.

So… let’s rewind 2 hours:

First, I get the GREAT idea that I’ll color my hair while I chip away at some important emails…

(Yes, yes: just in case the obvious needs to be stated: There is NOTHING natural about this red-head.)

I whip out the Clairol box. Slip on the gloves. Mix up the “Unstoppable Special Sauce” – and begin covering my head in dark red goo.

… Ooooh, and don’t forget the eyebrows! (Just imagine if Groucho Marx and Jessica Rabbit’s scrappier-and-less-curvy-sister had a love-child…)

10 minutes goes by.

I’m chipping away at my tasks…

(It’s now 10:15am… FYI.)

“…Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”

I stand up. And turn around in circles about 4x with my mouth wide open:

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”

…All the while realizing that if I’d stayed calm, grounded and groovy this A.M. – this would likely never have happened.

I look inside the empty canyon that is my bottled water dispenser… shout a soft, sad “Hellooooooo?” down into it’s hollow crevasse ––like I’m a lonely, lost mountain climber with only my echo for company…

A sun-baked bail of hay in a deserted field in the Sahara is already more supple and moist than my current head-o-hair. Sigh. Add 6+ hours of hair-coloring to that hot-head-o-mess, and I would surely be rendered an official Baldy.

Great.

That’s when desperation kicks in: What liquids are lying around that could be used to save my lack-luster locks?…

So I start my emergency clean-up craziness… mopping, wiping, dabbing ever-darkening-gloppy-gunk from my head with the nearest objects: half a roll of toilet paper, and two innocent white towels (that will never be white again) — until it looked like a slaughterhouse in my spare bathroom.

I pull as much coloring out of my hair as I can. Then, I pour the small remaining amount of water from the kitchen’s water-dispenser into an empty pot.

And shaking my head in silly self-disgust, I grab the pot’s handle, along with the handle of the smaller soaking-pot (yup, the one with bits of spaghetti floating lazily at the bottom!) – and head my butt to the bathroom…

(Oh joy, oh happy day…)

With my head over the tub (and 1 empty pot underneath to catch the overflow), I repeatedly pour spaghetti-water over my soggy noggin’ — floaty bits n’ all:

Over and over. Until there’s no liquid left.

Luckily it worked well enough that I could skip the stale coffee; lemonade; and toilet water. …whew, there is a God!

Patting myself on the back for a job well done — I head to the kitchen, pull out a deliciously-juicy mango from the fridge… and sink into my well-deserved morning snack. Chuckling to myself over my morning antics… I gobble up the slippery slices of sweet orange fruit –– mashed and mangled in my 2 happy hands…

And with juice dripping down my face… my hands… my forearms… I reach for the kitchen faucet handle – with a sinking feeling deep in my gut:

Nope: no wiping or rubbing is taking this hot mess from Ms. Thang’s ten digits…

So I am now stuck tying out this story to you –– with fingers sticking randomly to the keyboard…

A bit of keenex still stuck to 1 mid-forearm…

My chin feeling more and more “interesting” as the juice dried on my face.

I hope those tips of wisdom change your life. (I know they have mine..)

And share YOUR embarrassing tale of multi-tasking horrors below… if you’re dare.

THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY (I HOPE!?)…

XOXO

Stephanie

PS: If you’re curious… Yes, I would have resorted to toilet bowl water as a last resort. I have very, very little shame…

…An Unstoppable girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do!