Who will help me color my hair?

This is one of the things that pop into my head in the early morning hours as I contemplate my daughter heading off to college next week.  Yesterday while she was out, I padded into the bathroom and attempted to color my hair by myself. Success is usually mine at least half the time. This time, when she came home, she told me she liked the color and that I missed an entire section in the back. Naturally, she will be providing touch-up services today for me. Can't let me go around looking like nobody's child...in public. So, my hair will be perfectly lovely by the end of the day. But what about next time? Do I plan my coloring around her visits home? What else do I save for those sporadic days? Should I space out my nail appointments to accommodate the times she's here? Nobody else enjoys Walgreens quite as much as she and I do. How the hell am I going to select the appropriate curly pudding or buttercream for mixed chicks by myself? Sure, I can open the jars and have a sniff. But, once I sample a bit on the back of my hair, do I ask a Walgreens employee which side looks better? I can see that going over like a fart in church.

Who will not only introduce me to mind-numbing, yet quite entertaining TV shows like Jersey Shore and Secret Life of the American Teenager, but also watch them with me religiously? Of course, Jersey Shore had the secondary draw of reminding me of some of the gavones I went to Christ the King with, but it was the company with whom I watched it that made it fun. Secret Life DID have Molly Ringwald, but I may have shunned it for its ridiculous portrayal of high school students, anyway, had I not had her to DVR it and watch it with me. Let's not even delve into the competition shows like American Idol and X-Factor, where she and I almost always agree regarding who sucks bad ass and who has the voice of an angel. Lord knows, I've often thought my husband was tone-deaf...he actually enjoys Miley Cyrus, God forgive him. I've yet to convert him over to the dark side and force him to watch Golden Girls with me...a show she and I could watch all day long and not tire of, ever.  Sure, he'll watch Dexter with me, but he splits his time between his phone and the TV, not really focused on the important scenes that require discussion later. She and I can be found watching Dexter with the intense focus of someone studying an actual crime scene. A little respect for the Dark Passenger, please!

Oh sure, I could sit and watch old home movies my myself...like a crazy old woman with 50 or so cats. But wouldn't it make more sense to watch them with someone who not only shares an interest in the past but welcomes the narration I can provide because half the time it was too many years ago for her to remember the details...like a stuffed animal named Squinchwee that was won at Circus Circus in Las Vegas? Photo albums cause the same issue. I could peruse them alone, but what fun would that be? Laughing aloud with no one to point out certain photos to and describe the moments they were taken...borderline pathetic and definitely sad. I am neither pathetic nor sad, so that's out. Digging through old stuff that I've saved over the years, things that belonged to my mom, my grandparents, my great-grandparents holds no joy without someone to share the findings with, someone to whom I can recount the stories. As though a part of me will now be tucked away, untouched and unimportant.

Oddball conversations will now cease and be replaced by Skype calls, frantically catching up the news of the day or week. Laughing maniacally at my hatred for the Wendy's girl or musings about why the cancer kids don't get a fucking Blizzard from DQ will be silenced...no one else gets it. By myself, I'd look psychotic and provoke the neighbors to call the sheriff's department for a house visit to check on the lunatic next door. But when it's the two of us, the giggles and snorts and peals of laughter sound not only normal, but are welcomed by all who hear it...the sound of a mother and daughter enjoying each other's company is never offensive or something to question. The inner workings of my mind, understood by so few, and appreciated by even fewer...will now be hushed, restrained, hidden away and left without audience. Oh, I still have all of you to listen to my rants and rages, but it really isn't the same. You may think you share the same sense of humor, but I assure you, I've only given my DNA to one other person on this planet.

Who will make the pesto? No, really, who will make the goddamn pesto? That's her job and has been for a few years. I don't want it back. Hell, now that she has learned the fine art of making sauce and meatballs, I was thinking I could pass that task on to her, as well. But nope. Not now. Maybe over breaks and holidays. Meanwhile, it all falls back to me. It's not as much fun alone, trust me. Things that are supposed to be passed down from Italian mother to daughter:  cooking, love of wine and song...are being carried on, just not in my house. No, they will be carried on two and a half hours north of my house and shared with five roommates who just won't get it. Will they appreciate the need to listen to Frankie or Dino while eating pasta? Doubt it. Will they be able to assist her in the kitchen, knowing by smell when the meatballs are ready to be rolled? Hell, no! This is the world I am releasing her into...a sea of clueless boobs who just don't get it!

This is brand-new territory for me and I'm not sure I like it. The inhabitants aren't that friendly and I'm pretty certain they think I'm weird. Not that I care what they think, but it doesn't help matters. Weird doesn't get welcomed. Weird doesn't get invited to go to Walgreens or Starbucks. Weird doesn't get help with coloring her hair. No, weird gets told to cough up the fucking cash and go have it done professionally. To which Weird says, "Suck my ass." Weird doesn't have someone to laugh at the rest of the world with and not be judged for her offbeat opinions. Weird wants her little weird around a little longer. Are you friggin kidding me right now???