I finally applied the “flamboyant red” soy dye this morning all over the black, the roots and the fading lavender streaks with very mixed results. My bangs are brassy, almost a strawberry blond, blushing to a deep coppery red where it used to be lavender. The strands that had faded to nearly white either stayed that way or went blond. My roots took the color to heart, which means my natural color turned a bitter sweet cherry color that I like immensely.

Although I’m unhappy with the unevenness of it, The Frenchman is totally mesmerized by every shade of the red. What is it with men and red hair? I had no idea he was under the spell of red locks. Maybe just red locks on me.

Anyway, last night I received the contracts from Thomas Roche for the ErosZine.com article, which he said was “very fun” and he liked a lot. I had a lot of fun with it, so I’m glad he’s pleased. Part I should appear Tuesday. And today I finished reading 1/9th of the homicide manual. It’s totally absorbing. I keep picturing all those blue uniforms in Mystic River swarming through the park as they search for whoever left so much blood. I was worried that The Bodyjacker turns into a police procedural halfway through the story, and now I see where it should begin as such, quietly at first then crescendoing with details.

I also got a wonderful surprise yesterday evening. The Frenchman and I were invited for galette du roi, also known as Kings Cake for Epiphany, at the house of our landlords next door. I won’t get into the marvelous details of their gorgeous Provencale-style home, with their figurines, red tile floors and tapestry drapes. However, as we chatted, Monsieur M began to recount the story of the person killed here in our part of the farm house. Recall that the fourth night I spent here in the mas, I sensed a woman in her 40s standing by the bed. However, The Frenchman had told me that 1) the person killed was a man on the property and 2) the man was shot by someone from one of the windows.

As it turns out, according to Monsieur M, it was a woman who was killed in our bedroom between the window and our bed. She was shot by someone from the outside.

In 1945.

I told Monsieur and Madame M about my ghostly encounter. Madame M was very excited, especially as I explained that Christophe had told me something totally different. I told her about the younger woman, too, whom I thought for some reason was the daughter. They didn’t seem to know anything about the family, just that the older woman was shot through our bedroom window.

So, I eagerly await the Amazing Randi to come to France with his petri dish and see if he can’t scrape a bit of ghost jizz off of me for whatever experiments he’d like to conduct. I’m psyched! Let’s dooooo it!