You're little hands wrapped around my finger
And, it's so quiet in the world tonight
You're little eyelids flutter cause you're dreaming
So, I tuck you in
Turn on your favorite night light
To you, everything's funny
You got nothing to regret
I'd give all I had, honey
If you could stay like that
I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart
And no one will desert you
Just try to never grow up, and never grow up
You're in the car on the way to the movies
And, you're mortified
You're mom's dropping you off
At, fourteen there's just so much you can't do
And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots
But, don't make her drop you off around the block
Remember that she's getting older too
And don't lose the way that you dance around in your PJ's getting ready for school
And no one's ever burned you
Nothing's ever left you scarred
And even though you want to
Just try to never grow up
Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room
Memorize what it sounded like when your dad get's home
Remember the footsteps, remember the words said
And all your little brothers favorite songs
I just realized everything I had is someday gonna be gone
So, here I am in my new apartment
In a big city, they just dropped me off
It's so much colder than I thought it would be
So, I tucked myself in and turned my night light on
Wish I'd never grown up
I wish I'd never grown up
Oh, I don't wanna grow up
Wish I'd never grown up
Could still be little
Oh, I don't wanna grow up
Wish I'd never grown up
It could still be simple
Last night, I put a request on Facebook for a copy of Taylor Swift's new album, 'Speak Now.' Within minutes, I had a text from Jane saying the pirated CD was ready for me. Brilliant, instant gratification.
I wish I could say that I didn't sob while I listened to the above song (edited for length). But I can't. I don't consider myself a crier, not in a mainstream way anyway. I can count the number of movies that have made me cry on one hand, and I'm always the only dry eye in the funeral home. But last night, as I drove through the dark fog on 79, this song struck a weird, unexpected emotional tone deep within me (side note: fog + crying... not the ideal driving situation). The last verse especially-- So, here I am in my new apartment-- that's when tremors and misty eyes turned into full on whimpering and sobs.
I look at myself and my friends-- striking out on our own, paying bills, getting married, having babies-- and I'm terrified. It seems like just last week we were being dropped off at the Albertville theater by one parent or another. Just yesterday the only person I wanted to think I was cool was my big brother, Break-ups were a weekly thing and not a life crisis, and hearts were healed quickly by a new flavor of the week. Once upon a time, my biggest worry was whether or not I made cheerleader or got into NHS.
These days, my students call me Miss Hays as I pass them at ball games and in Wal-Mart, a wait-listed class determines my graduation, and relationships seem to be forever or bust. In some ways I wish I would give anything to rewind-- play Sega Genesis with my brother, climb the tree in my grandparent's front yard, plan my life with Jonathan Taylor Thomas or Devin Sawa (takes you back, doesn't it?)...
And in many ways, I wish I could fast forward, even for just a glimpse. I love to know the ending... I read the last page of Harry Potter first, and I almost always find the plot of a movie on IMDb before I watch. It makes it easier: I know not to get attached to the character that dies, I know if there's a happy ending or a weird 'Break Up'-type ending that leaves you hanging. I can't help but think life would be less stressful if I knew not to get attached to a guest star but only invest in recurring characters, if I knew what the next chapter held...
Life would be so simple.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
wait-listed.
It had to happen one way or another.
I needed to be online and waiting to register at 6:58 am-- vying with 12 classmates for a 5-spot class-- so obviously I knew that there was no way I would actually be online at 6:58 am... or 7 am, for that matter.
I imagined it going something like this... turning over, groggy-eyed, checking the time on my phone: 10:12 am, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. So, of course, I woke up every 35 minutes last night to double-check the time.
What I did not expect was to be woken up at 3:45 by my dad and Maggie bumbling around the basement, flashlight in hand. Apparently, nature was doing it's part in sabotaging my registration since my internal clock was keeping me from screwing it up myself. Tornado sirens drove Mom, Dad, and the pets into the basement in the wee hours of the morning, and with that my fate was sealed. I knew then, over three hours in advance, there wasn't a chance the Internet would be up and working at 7.
Silly, naive, hopeful Me. At 6:55, I held my breath, opened the Mac, and pulled up Safari. And the Internet loaded... and loaded... and loaded... to no avail. I sent desperate text messages to my two best friends in the program. Ashley did her best, but she could only get me into two classes... the 5-person class had closed by 7:01.
So I've been wait-listed along with several of my classmates. According to our accreditation organization, this particular class-- our first step in supervised counseling-- requires one instructor for every five students. So, with at least five people on the wait list, the matter will be brought up and voted on in a faculty meeting, giving me a glimmer of hope that another section will open up.
For now, I wait... on the wait list. I'm not sure how long I wait, but I'm not anticipating much sleep in the coming days. I'm just praying for peace. I have a gift for melt downs.
"Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!"
Psalm 27:14
I needed to be online and waiting to register at 6:58 am-- vying with 12 classmates for a 5-spot class-- so obviously I knew that there was no way I would actually be online at 6:58 am... or 7 am, for that matter.
I imagined it going something like this... turning over, groggy-eyed, checking the time on my phone: 10:12 am, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. So, of course, I woke up every 35 minutes last night to double-check the time.
What I did not expect was to be woken up at 3:45 by my dad and Maggie bumbling around the basement, flashlight in hand. Apparently, nature was doing it's part in sabotaging my registration since my internal clock was keeping me from screwing it up myself. Tornado sirens drove Mom, Dad, and the pets into the basement in the wee hours of the morning, and with that my fate was sealed. I knew then, over three hours in advance, there wasn't a chance the Internet would be up and working at 7.
Silly, naive, hopeful Me. At 6:55, I held my breath, opened the Mac, and pulled up Safari. And the Internet loaded... and loaded... and loaded... to no avail. I sent desperate text messages to my two best friends in the program. Ashley did her best, but she could only get me into two classes... the 5-person class had closed by 7:01.
So I've been wait-listed along with several of my classmates. According to our accreditation organization, this particular class-- our first step in supervised counseling-- requires one instructor for every five students. So, with at least five people on the wait list, the matter will be brought up and voted on in a faculty meeting, giving me a glimmer of hope that another section will open up.
For now, I wait... on the wait list. I'm not sure how long I wait, but I'm not anticipating much sleep in the coming days. I'm just praying for peace. I have a gift for melt downs.
"Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!"
Psalm 27:14
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Weekend Update
If you haven't noticed, I'm running with this 'Weekend Update' thing. At first it was a clever (can I call myself clever?) reference to a long-running SNL skit... but now it's just my corny way to tell anyone willing to listen (read) what I did this weekend, in every unnecessary detail.
Friday, I drove home early for an appointment with the chiropractor. This is, weirdly, one of my life's joy. There's something wonderful about the chiropractor cradling my chin and forehead in his hands and talking calmly to me about the Auburn Tigers just before he yanks my chin behind my left shoulder, cracking my neck in all the right places and leaving me wondering for a brief second if I just died. It's kind of amazing how the chiropractor can put a finger on a random spot on my spine and ask, "Tender right there, isn't it?" Oh my gosh, YES! I never realized it until this very moment, but that spot is INCREDIBLY tender. HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! It's like magic. Spine-cracking, neck-whipping magic.
Friday night we ate at-- drumroll, please-- Mama's. Normally, Mama's is mine and Erica's special place. We order a pineapple and ham pizza and split a slice of one of Mama's fabulous cakes (we're making our way through the list). Lately, though, we've allowed outsiders to join us our favorite pizza joint. So Friday I went out on a limb- I had rigatoni and split bread pudding (HOLY COW, SO DELICIOUS) with Chasley. Italian food and my very best friends... perfection.
Entirely too full, Chasley, David, and I went to support our Wildcats. Still full hours later, we came back home to play guitars and games with dear old Mom and Dad. David and I demolished Dad in Trivial Pursuit (now hear this: WE BEAT HIM IN TRIVIAL PURSUIT; the previously impossible is now just another check on my list). After David went home, Chasley and I stayed up going through my old yearbooks and revisiting my high school years. It should be noted here that I didn't realize until Friday that I, in fact, did not take a single decent year book photo in my 4-year tenure at GHS. Woof.
Saturday morning, I sprung out of bed bright and early. Why? Why be so excited about getting up early on a Saturday morning?
HAIRCUT!!! This was like Christmas. Seriously, I texted several friends just so they could rejoice with me in saying Sionara! to my one-inch roots. It was glorious. (and yes, I resisted the urge to chop my hair off. Look out, Jennifer Aniston, I am on your glamorous hair tail!)
I spent Saturday doing two of my favorite things: laughing with my family and watching my Auburn Tigers win (All we do is win; have you heard?). I got to hold Mally all day, eat ice cream and brownies, and spend time with the people I love most in the world. Oh yeah, and I'm killing my uncle in Words with Friends (my latest obsession). You'll get there one day, Uncle Lance.
Side note: I don't know when I became so competitive. It's a sickness... and the only cure is more WINNING.
Saturday night I watched the Bama game (yawn) at Wade's... and when I say "watched the Bama game" I mean I stood in the kitchen having girl talk and cheese dip with Claire for hours. That's the best way to watch Bama ball, I think.
Today, I sang with Dad and Mini Me at church. We sang "Redeemed," and I've spent much of the day thinking about the lyrics of that beautiful hymn (possibly a future blog). "I sing for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song!"
After a "brief" nap-- for me, anything less than 3 hours on a Sunday is brief, say what you will-- I interviewed a friend of mine from Mexico for the first part of my multicultural interview assignment. I loved getting a glimpse into the immigrant experience and so many Mexican traditions, and I even got to use some- very rusty- Spanish. It really revived two needs in my life: to travel and to learn another language. It's so cool that my friend didn't speak English at all when she moved here, and today she sat and talked with me for an hour and a half!
Now I'm about to go to bed because at 7 tomorrow morning I register for classes. Specifically, I register for Practicum I. At 7 am, 12 of my classmates will also sign on to register for Prac I, a class that only has 5 slots. Big deal, take it in the summer, you say? Oh no, it won't be offered again until next fall, effectively postponing my graduation an entire year. I'm sure I'll sleep well and undisturbed tonight...
Friday, I drove home early for an appointment with the chiropractor. This is, weirdly, one of my life's joy. There's something wonderful about the chiropractor cradling my chin and forehead in his hands and talking calmly to me about the Auburn Tigers just before he yanks my chin behind my left shoulder, cracking my neck in all the right places and leaving me wondering for a brief second if I just died. It's kind of amazing how the chiropractor can put a finger on a random spot on my spine and ask, "Tender right there, isn't it?" Oh my gosh, YES! I never realized it until this very moment, but that spot is INCREDIBLY tender. HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! It's like magic. Spine-cracking, neck-whipping magic.
Friday night we ate at-- drumroll, please-- Mama's. Normally, Mama's is mine and Erica's special place. We order a pineapple and ham pizza and split a slice of one of Mama's fabulous cakes (we're making our way through the list). Lately, though, we've allowed outsiders to join us our favorite pizza joint. So Friday I went out on a limb- I had rigatoni and split bread pudding (HOLY COW, SO DELICIOUS) with Chasley. Italian food and my very best friends... perfection.
Entirely too full, Chasley, David, and I went to support our Wildcats. Still full hours later, we came back home to play guitars and games with dear old Mom and Dad. David and I demolished Dad in Trivial Pursuit (now hear this: WE BEAT HIM IN TRIVIAL PURSUIT; the previously impossible is now just another check on my list). After David went home, Chasley and I stayed up going through my old yearbooks and revisiting my high school years. It should be noted here that I didn't realize until Friday that I, in fact, did not take a single decent year book photo in my 4-year tenure at GHS. Woof.
Saturday morning, I sprung out of bed bright and early. Why? Why be so excited about getting up early on a Saturday morning?
HAIRCUT!!! This was like Christmas. Seriously, I texted several friends just so they could rejoice with me in saying Sionara! to my one-inch roots. It was glorious. (and yes, I resisted the urge to chop my hair off. Look out, Jennifer Aniston, I am on your glamorous hair tail!)
I spent Saturday doing two of my favorite things: laughing with my family and watching my Auburn Tigers win (All we do is win; have you heard?). I got to hold Mally all day, eat ice cream and brownies, and spend time with the people I love most in the world. Oh yeah, and I'm killing my uncle in Words with Friends (my latest obsession). You'll get there one day, Uncle Lance.
Side note: I don't know when I became so competitive. It's a sickness... and the only cure is more WINNING.
Saturday night I watched the Bama game (yawn) at Wade's... and when I say "watched the Bama game" I mean I stood in the kitchen having girl talk and cheese dip with Claire for hours. That's the best way to watch Bama ball, I think.
Today, I sang with Dad and Mini Me at church. We sang "Redeemed," and I've spent much of the day thinking about the lyrics of that beautiful hymn (possibly a future blog). "I sing for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song!"
After a "brief" nap-- for me, anything less than 3 hours on a Sunday is brief, say what you will-- I interviewed a friend of mine from Mexico for the first part of my multicultural interview assignment. I loved getting a glimpse into the immigrant experience and so many Mexican traditions, and I even got to use some- very rusty- Spanish. It really revived two needs in my life: to travel and to learn another language. It's so cool that my friend didn't speak English at all when she moved here, and today she sat and talked with me for an hour and a half!
Now I'm about to go to bed because at 7 tomorrow morning I register for classes. Specifically, I register for Practicum I. At 7 am, 12 of my classmates will also sign on to register for Prac I, a class that only has 5 slots. Big deal, take it in the summer, you say? Oh no, it won't be offered again until next fall, effectively postponing my graduation an entire year. I'm sure I'll sleep well and undisturbed tonight...
Thursday, October 21, 2010
"Follow your heart."
That's what all the great romance novels, dramas, and movies tell you, right? So that is what I did.
It's no secret that I came to the University of Alabama because I was dating a University of Alabama boy. It is also no great secret that he and I are no longer together... but I was already a semester into grad school and about a month into a renewed one-year lease when we broke up, so... for better or for worse, here I am.
I joke sometimes that now I'm doing "hard time" for a bad decision. I had the option and opportunities aplenty to come here for undergrad, but the fact of the matter is, I didn't want to. Simple as that. I don't love this town and I don't love this football team and I don't love this university, but I did love this boy. So again... here I am.
Time and again, I've asked myself why I'm here. Time and again, I've shook fists at God and asked Him why I'm here.
Last night I found comfort in another who didn't know where he was going or why:
"By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going."
Hebrews 11:8
I don't know what I'm doing here, but I trust that if this was not where I was meant to be, God would give me a way out. As it is, I'm locked in. Literally. I have a legally binding lease and classes that don't permit me to live anywhere else. I prayed tirelessly over my grad school application, and I really believe that if I wasn't meant to be in this program, God would've slammed that door shut. In many ways, I wonder from day to day why He keeps me here, why He didn't "rescue" me from my bad decisions. Maybe I'll find out one day... or maybe I won't. Regardless, I have faith that He has me right where He wants me.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I am at this moment. And I know that He will lead me from here, if I'll only listen and obey.
"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."
Isaiah 30:21
"Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."
Psalm 143:8
It's no secret that I came to the University of Alabama because I was dating a University of Alabama boy. It is also no great secret that he and I are no longer together... but I was already a semester into grad school and about a month into a renewed one-year lease when we broke up, so... for better or for worse, here I am.
I joke sometimes that now I'm doing "hard time" for a bad decision. I had the option and opportunities aplenty to come here for undergrad, but the fact of the matter is, I didn't want to. Simple as that. I don't love this town and I don't love this football team and I don't love this university, but I did love this boy. So again... here I am.
Time and again, I've asked myself why I'm here. Time and again, I've shook fists at God and asked Him why I'm here.
Last night I found comfort in another who didn't know where he was going or why:
"By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going."
Hebrews 11:8
I don't know what I'm doing here, but I trust that if this was not where I was meant to be, God would give me a way out. As it is, I'm locked in. Literally. I have a legally binding lease and classes that don't permit me to live anywhere else. I prayed tirelessly over my grad school application, and I really believe that if I wasn't meant to be in this program, God would've slammed that door shut. In many ways, I wonder from day to day why He keeps me here, why He didn't "rescue" me from my bad decisions. Maybe I'll find out one day... or maybe I won't. Regardless, I have faith that He has me right where He wants me.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I am at this moment. And I know that He will lead me from here, if I'll only listen and obey.
"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."
Isaiah 30:21
"Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."
Psalm 143:8
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk
"...These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful to me..."
Those aren't my cravings, they're Rufus Wainwright's (and it's a really cool song), but it makes a lot of sense.
Tonight, for instance, my two classmates and I were craving frozen yogurt. This new serve-yourself fro yo phenomenon has hit Tuscaloosa hard, and one such establishment has popped up on campus. So when, after an exhausting 3-hour lecture, we see those beautiful letters shining in the distance-- T...C...B...Y-- like a beacon of comfort and yum, it's hard to resist the urge. Is frozen yogurt bad for you? Compared to ice cream and other sugary confections, not especially. Is frozen yogurt covered in hot fudge, marachino cherries, and crumbled Heath bar bad for you? Without a doubt.
Other things I'm craving this evening:
Pizza from Mama's, my favorite Italian restaurant in my hometown... possibly my favorite Italian restaurant stateside.
A trip: a road trip, a cruise, a weekend shopping trip... anything outside of my regular routine.
A House marathon. It's one of my favorite shows, and I'm a little behind... oh, and I freaking LOVE TV on DVD.
A massage; something is terribly wrong with my neck and, although I've been to the chiropractor, I'm dying for a spa day :)
Hot chocolate, apple cider, and a snow day.
Weather cool enough for sweaters, boots, scarves, and hoodies.
CHRISTMAS!
A snuggle buddy. Yeah, I said it.
I want to cook a meal, a real meal. Not a sandwich or a frozen dinner-for-one. I want to have a dinner party, or just be free enough on a weeknight that I can cook for a friend.
Ultimate frisbee. Or tennis. I run a lot, but I rarely get to play a team sport, and I'm dying.
A good play. Yes, a good play. Have you seen Wicked? It ruined me.
Holiday movies (read: HARRY POTTER)
Pasta... luckily, I'm eating at Mama's Friday night, so all this Italian food craving will come to an (temporary) end.
To do something artsy... finish a cross stitching project (yeah, I cross stitch, so what??), paint something, make a pillow...
a hair cut & color (I know I blogged about this yesterday, but I'm not exaggerating... I can barely look in the mirror. THAT bad.)
Here's something noteworthy: none of those cravings involved school. None of them even hinted at school. I didn't even list a craving to read a book because, honestly, I don't want to read anything. This is a new low for me. I'm a reader--an avid reader-- and grad school has taken that joy from my life.
I'm craving anything that would offer me a break from school, anything that would give me enough time to breathe and put my life in order... So I'll finish off with Wainwright's very appropriate closing lyrics:
"I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess..."
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful to me..."
Those aren't my cravings, they're Rufus Wainwright's (and it's a really cool song), but it makes a lot of sense.
Tonight, for instance, my two classmates and I were craving frozen yogurt. This new serve-yourself fro yo phenomenon has hit Tuscaloosa hard, and one such establishment has popped up on campus. So when, after an exhausting 3-hour lecture, we see those beautiful letters shining in the distance-- T...C...B...Y-- like a beacon of comfort and yum, it's hard to resist the urge. Is frozen yogurt bad for you? Compared to ice cream and other sugary confections, not especially. Is frozen yogurt covered in hot fudge, marachino cherries, and crumbled Heath bar bad for you? Without a doubt.
Other things I'm craving this evening:
Pizza from Mama's, my favorite Italian restaurant in my hometown... possibly my favorite Italian restaurant stateside.
A trip: a road trip, a cruise, a weekend shopping trip... anything outside of my regular routine.
A House marathon. It's one of my favorite shows, and I'm a little behind... oh, and I freaking LOVE TV on DVD.
A massage; something is terribly wrong with my neck and, although I've been to the chiropractor, I'm dying for a spa day :)
Hot chocolate, apple cider, and a snow day.
Weather cool enough for sweaters, boots, scarves, and hoodies.
CHRISTMAS!
A snuggle buddy. Yeah, I said it.
I want to cook a meal, a real meal. Not a sandwich or a frozen dinner-for-one. I want to have a dinner party, or just be free enough on a weeknight that I can cook for a friend.
Ultimate frisbee. Or tennis. I run a lot, but I rarely get to play a team sport, and I'm dying.
A good play. Yes, a good play. Have you seen Wicked? It ruined me.
Holiday movies (read: HARRY POTTER)
Pasta... luckily, I'm eating at Mama's Friday night, so all this Italian food craving will come to an (temporary) end.
To do something artsy... finish a cross stitching project (yeah, I cross stitch, so what??), paint something, make a pillow...
a hair cut & color (I know I blogged about this yesterday, but I'm not exaggerating... I can barely look in the mirror. THAT bad.)
Here's something noteworthy: none of those cravings involved school. None of them even hinted at school. I didn't even list a craving to read a book because, honestly, I don't want to read anything. This is a new low for me. I'm a reader--an avid reader-- and grad school has taken that joy from my life.
I'm craving anything that would offer me a break from school, anything that would give me enough time to breathe and put my life in order... So I'll finish off with Wainwright's very appropriate closing lyrics:
"I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess..."
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
haircut hiatus.
I've been on one for nearly 8 weeks. That's two full months for my lovely locks to grow wild and free. As it turns out, the end result of this organic freedom is... not so lovely.
This may come as a shock, so brace yourself: I'm not naturally blonde. Sure, there was a time in my life when my hair was light and fair and untouched by harsh chemicals, but those low-maintenance days live in yesteryear with training bras and Giga Pets. I got my first highlight in sixth grade (a tactic my mother and hair dresser used to distract me from my fantasy perm), and since then my hair has been chemically enhanced on a regular basis. From bombshell blonde to chocolatey brunette to an ill-advised jaunt with red, my scalp has endured them all.
I love a good hair cut and color. From the moment I lay my head back into that big black sink to the moment the hair dresser spins me around and introduces me to my new 'do, I love the entire process. And the best part about hair: it grows back. No matter what color or cut, it'll grow out... eventually. When I need to express myself, I change up my hair; a tattoo is forever, a haircut is for 6 weeks max.
Right now, I'm in the process of growing my hair out. My hair is deceptively thin, so I've kept it pretty short my entire life. My hair is currently at it's most troublesome length, the length at which I usually cut it off after a spur-of-the-moment decision in the salon chair. It grazes my collarbones in a way that keeps me constantly aware of its presence. So I run my fingers through it. Constantly. The touch factor makes the ends stringier than they really are, so at the end of the day I see hair that's not nearly as cute as it was hours before. And that inspires me to just hack it off. Once hacked off, I can't curl my hair or throw it up in a ponytail, so I decide to grow it out once again. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
Knowing myself like I do, I go for a preventive strategy: just don't go to the salon. For the sake of growth, this is a brilliant plan. But let's get back to my color issue. I mentioned that my hair's not naturally blonde; it's safe to say that my natural hair color is far from blonde. In 8 weeks, my hair grows a little over an inch. Lengthwise, it's a small victory. Color-wise, not so much. One inch of dark brown roots at the top of my heads is not my idea of glamorous (I don't care what you say, Lauren Conrad; it's not cute), and don't get me started on how time yellows highlights.
Recent comments:
Just as a simple greeting, "Hey Lindsey, your hair's turning black."
And when saying that, as the only blonde at the table, I was the minority member a friend gently reminded me, "Well, you're really only about 90% blonde."
So it's a trade-off. My growth strategy is working brilliantly, and I'm even training myself to stop messing with the ends that touch my shoulders. In the color department, though... it's getting a little gross. This weekend, that comes to an end. Saturday morning, I'm going to relax under a heater while dangerous chemicals and sheets of aluminum foil toast and bleach my hair within an inch of its life... and then I'll resist the urge (I must resist the urge, I must resist the urge....) to cut it off.
Then, a few months from now when you least expect it, I'll chop it off on a whim and dye it brown. Just whenever the mood strikes me.
Dark + Long
Blondish-Brown + Long
Blonde + Long
And that's as long as it gets before...
But before you know it...
I omitted pictures of red-headed Lindsey because it's not a road I want to go down again. But you get the point. I have hair Turrets. But this is my public declaration, so hold me to it: I'm going to grow out my hair and stay blonde at least until Christmas.
And I'm going to become a runner...
And I'm going to give up chocolate...
And I'm going to finish homework in advance, not the day of...
And I'm going to lose 10 pounds...
And I'm going to learn how to play the guitar and harmonize...
This may come as a shock, so brace yourself: I'm not naturally blonde. Sure, there was a time in my life when my hair was light and fair and untouched by harsh chemicals, but those low-maintenance days live in yesteryear with training bras and Giga Pets. I got my first highlight in sixth grade (a tactic my mother and hair dresser used to distract me from my fantasy perm), and since then my hair has been chemically enhanced on a regular basis. From bombshell blonde to chocolatey brunette to an ill-advised jaunt with red, my scalp has endured them all.
I love a good hair cut and color. From the moment I lay my head back into that big black sink to the moment the hair dresser spins me around and introduces me to my new 'do, I love the entire process. And the best part about hair: it grows back. No matter what color or cut, it'll grow out... eventually. When I need to express myself, I change up my hair; a tattoo is forever, a haircut is for 6 weeks max.
Right now, I'm in the process of growing my hair out. My hair is deceptively thin, so I've kept it pretty short my entire life. My hair is currently at it's most troublesome length, the length at which I usually cut it off after a spur-of-the-moment decision in the salon chair. It grazes my collarbones in a way that keeps me constantly aware of its presence. So I run my fingers through it. Constantly. The touch factor makes the ends stringier than they really are, so at the end of the day I see hair that's not nearly as cute as it was hours before. And that inspires me to just hack it off. Once hacked off, I can't curl my hair or throw it up in a ponytail, so I decide to grow it out once again. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
Knowing myself like I do, I go for a preventive strategy: just don't go to the salon. For the sake of growth, this is a brilliant plan. But let's get back to my color issue. I mentioned that my hair's not naturally blonde; it's safe to say that my natural hair color is far from blonde. In 8 weeks, my hair grows a little over an inch. Lengthwise, it's a small victory. Color-wise, not so much. One inch of dark brown roots at the top of my heads is not my idea of glamorous (I don't care what you say, Lauren Conrad; it's not cute), and don't get me started on how time yellows highlights.
Recent comments:
Just as a simple greeting, "Hey Lindsey, your hair's turning black."
And when saying that, as the only blonde at the table, I was the minority member a friend gently reminded me, "Well, you're really only about 90% blonde."
So it's a trade-off. My growth strategy is working brilliantly, and I'm even training myself to stop messing with the ends that touch my shoulders. In the color department, though... it's getting a little gross. This weekend, that comes to an end. Saturday morning, I'm going to relax under a heater while dangerous chemicals and sheets of aluminum foil toast and bleach my hair within an inch of its life... and then I'll resist the urge (I must resist the urge, I must resist the urge....) to cut it off.
Then, a few months from now when you least expect it, I'll chop it off on a whim and dye it brown. Just whenever the mood strikes me.
Dark + Long
Blondish-Brown + Long
Blonde + Long
And that's as long as it gets before...
But before you know it...
I omitted pictures of red-headed Lindsey because it's not a road I want to go down again. But you get the point. I have hair Turrets. But this is my public declaration, so hold me to it: I'm going to grow out my hair and stay blonde at least until Christmas.
And I'm going to become a runner...
And I'm going to give up chocolate...
And I'm going to finish homework in advance, not the day of...
And I'm going to lose 10 pounds...
And I'm going to learn how to play the guitar and harmonize...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
This is my official Girls' Weekend 2010 review.
GW2k10 kicked off mid-afternoon with the arrival of my other half, Lauren. We sat around my apartment and caught up while I dried my hair and put on make-up (for obvious reasons I prioritized watching gLee mid-afternoon over a much-needed shower). It's funny how after nearly 5 years, we never skip a beat. When we went shopping around downtown, we would both disappear momentarily to put on something ridiculous, only to surprise the other wearing the exact same thing. Within hours, people were mixing up our names, and all was suddenly right in the world. The jokes were the same, the mannerisms the same, the clothes--mercifully-- still the same size (we have a time-enduring habit of wearing each other's clothes)... and that is to say that she and I are the same size, sadly not that we wear the same size we did in the "good ol' days."
Anna arrived next to the sight of Lauren and I underneath mountains of clothes. Picking out the perfect outfit for the first night of Girls' Weekend is hard work, people. Anna jumped in the mix, and by the time Alice arrived we were in the middle of a full-blown fashion show... so she, of course, then modeled all of her wardrobe options. Anna and I both rocked out cowboy boots (Anna's one wardrobe requirement), I wore a dress Lauren brought and she picked a dress out of my closet, and Alice was the only one brave enough to sport heels (although, if I had those perfect dancer's legs, I could probably make a little sacrifice as well).
Friday night, we dined at my favorite restaurant: Cypress Inn. Scallops and cheese grits and fried green tomatoes. In the words of Michelle Tanner, "Whoa, baby." And don't worry about those calories: our next stop was the dance club. We danced the night away to all our favorite trashy rap songs and arrived back at home around... 4 am. But, hey, girls' weekend only comes around once a year.
We started the day off with pancakes and Fashion Show 2.0. When we made it to campus, we met up with friends to watch the Auburn game. This was the tough part. You would think thousands of Arkansas fans had poured onto campus. I was cheering for my team in a hostile environment; although, Anna's hawk-eyes spotted another hand go up after we scored (after 60+ points, who knows which touchdown it was??), and we had a little something the Auburn family calls a "Family Reunion" right there on the strip in Tuscaloosa. It was hard to suppress a grin as we watched so many Bama fans' hopes dashed. I'm not a trash talker. Ever. Not even at the Iron Bowl. But after that experience, I will make my one trash talking statement here on my blog, where only my opinion matters:
Auburn > Kentucky > South Carolina > Alabama. You do the math.
After a very satisfactory Tiger win, we walked around campus and took in the Homecoming spectacles. We took pictures all over campus, from street signs to Homecoming floats, and finally landed in a bar to watch the Bama game. Somewhere mid-second quarter, our tired eyes were burning and our eyelids drooping. A unanimous vote decided that we could watch the rest of the game at my house, so we came home and finished our evening with snacks and pajamas and football.
Today we slept late. Then we laid around and gossiped before getting dressed. Alice was the first to go, and we decided mid-group hug to have annuals girls' weekend (possibly with a choreographed dance that we forgot to make up last night). Anna, Lauren, and I capped off our culinary adventures at Mugshots before Anna headed out. After lunch, I laid on my couch and looked at the ceiling while I talked to Lauren about grad school, moving to Europe, and being single. It was very Freud-like, and I know my advisor would be proud of me for noticing that.
After Lauren left, I slept. And I slept. And I slept. I missed phone calls and text messages, and I didn't clean up or do homework. I just slept and slept. And in about an hour, I'm going to sleep some more. Because that's how exhausting Girls' Weekend 2010 was... Scratch that: that's how incredibly awesome and perfectly perfect Girls' Weekend 2010 was.
Girls' Weekend 2011 planning begins... Now.
GW2k10 kicked off mid-afternoon with the arrival of my other half, Lauren. We sat around my apartment and caught up while I dried my hair and put on make-up (for obvious reasons I prioritized watching gLee mid-afternoon over a much-needed shower). It's funny how after nearly 5 years, we never skip a beat. When we went shopping around downtown, we would both disappear momentarily to put on something ridiculous, only to surprise the other wearing the exact same thing. Within hours, people were mixing up our names, and all was suddenly right in the world. The jokes were the same, the mannerisms the same, the clothes--mercifully-- still the same size (we have a time-enduring habit of wearing each other's clothes)... and that is to say that she and I are the same size, sadly not that we wear the same size we did in the "good ol' days."
Anna arrived next to the sight of Lauren and I underneath mountains of clothes. Picking out the perfect outfit for the first night of Girls' Weekend is hard work, people. Anna jumped in the mix, and by the time Alice arrived we were in the middle of a full-blown fashion show... so she, of course, then modeled all of her wardrobe options. Anna and I both rocked out cowboy boots (Anna's one wardrobe requirement), I wore a dress Lauren brought and she picked a dress out of my closet, and Alice was the only one brave enough to sport heels (although, if I had those perfect dancer's legs, I could probably make a little sacrifice as well).
Friday night, we dined at my favorite restaurant: Cypress Inn. Scallops and cheese grits and fried green tomatoes. In the words of Michelle Tanner, "Whoa, baby." And don't worry about those calories: our next stop was the dance club. We danced the night away to all our favorite trashy rap songs and arrived back at home around... 4 am. But, hey, girls' weekend only comes around once a year.
We started the day off with pancakes and Fashion Show 2.0. When we made it to campus, we met up with friends to watch the Auburn game. This was the tough part. You would think thousands of Arkansas fans had poured onto campus. I was cheering for my team in a hostile environment; although, Anna's hawk-eyes spotted another hand go up after we scored (after 60+ points, who knows which touchdown it was??), and we had a little something the Auburn family calls a "Family Reunion" right there on the strip in Tuscaloosa. It was hard to suppress a grin as we watched so many Bama fans' hopes dashed. I'm not a trash talker. Ever. Not even at the Iron Bowl. But after that experience, I will make my one trash talking statement here on my blog, where only my opinion matters:
Auburn > Kentucky > South Carolina > Alabama. You do the math.
After a very satisfactory Tiger win, we walked around campus and took in the Homecoming spectacles. We took pictures all over campus, from street signs to Homecoming floats, and finally landed in a bar to watch the Bama game. Somewhere mid-second quarter, our tired eyes were burning and our eyelids drooping. A unanimous vote decided that we could watch the rest of the game at my house, so we came home and finished our evening with snacks and pajamas and football.
Today we slept late. Then we laid around and gossiped before getting dressed. Alice was the first to go, and we decided mid-group hug to have annuals girls' weekend (possibly with a choreographed dance that we forgot to make up last night). Anna, Lauren, and I capped off our culinary adventures at Mugshots before Anna headed out. After lunch, I laid on my couch and looked at the ceiling while I talked to Lauren about grad school, moving to Europe, and being single. It was very Freud-like, and I know my advisor would be proud of me for noticing that.
After Lauren left, I slept. And I slept. And I slept. I missed phone calls and text messages, and I didn't clean up or do homework. I just slept and slept. And in about an hour, I'm going to sleep some more. Because that's how exhausting Girls' Weekend 2010 was... Scratch that: that's how incredibly awesome and perfectly perfect Girls' Weekend 2010 was.
Girls' Weekend 2011 planning begins... Now.
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