know, it's a first world problem, but to me, it is a problem, what with my anxiety over haircuts and all.
I've been growing it out, and because I like being able to braid again, I think I'll keep the length, and have my bangs trimmed. I don't know what to do about the color. As I type this, I'm thinking, "No one really gives two milkshakes about my hair," but I do, so it helps to talk (type) it out. I just want to wake up with Catherine Deneuve hair tomorrow morning.
Simple and manageable has been my mantra for today, so I think I'll apply that to the haircut decision as well. This time. My fall haircut will be a bit edgier. Something like this (only I imagine this looks better on a dude than on me):
Carolyn Hax's advice column in the Washington Post is one of my favorite reads (mostly because of her writing style), and when I have downtime, I sift through the C. Hax archives.
Yesterday, I was clicking around in the archives, year 2010, and I landed on a column about a young girl having a tough time in high school. This poor girl is making the assumption that she is obligated to be perfect (ugh, like most high school students, myself included) or she would be a major letter-downer (I just made that up, or at least I think I did), and a portion of Carolyn's advice to this young woman made me smile, so I decided to quote her words here:
"...our imperfections not only make us lovable — and approachable — but
also, ironically, bring out our best. To know and admit our shortcomings
is the only way to master them."
I mean, who wants to hang out with someone perfect? Too much pressure!
I hope everyone has a pressure-free, fine weekend (yes, the weekend is finally here).
This may be one of those tl;dr posts, but I designated tonight a "writing night" so I had pressure to produce. This was an essay I wrote a few years ago based on an old journal entry of mine from 1997. Oh, and just to be clear, I'm glad it didn't work out with my friend back then, or I wouldn't have met my Poseidon.
Here it is: The red crayon.
I had the greatest best friend in
the world for a while in my mid-twenties.
He was a co-worker I met when I moved to Philadelphia
from Raleigh and we became instant best pals. We
were inseparable. Max (that is what I’ll
call him) and I loved the city and made it our duty to try every restaurant and
bar in Philadelphia,
and I think we actually did. We were
such good friends that I even helped him paint the outside of his house (I’d
never painted a house before, and I can promise you, I won’t
ever do it again) when he was trying to sell it. The temperature was in the upper 90s with
heavy humidity, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I got a terrible case of poison
ivy by pulling weeds away from the house to keep them from getting into the wet
paint. I needed 2 shots of cortisone from
my dermatologist to get rid of it.
Why did I put myself through that
agony? Because he was my best friend and
he needed help. Max had gotten divorced
three years before and he felt he needed to move on by selling his house and
starting over. The weekend after we
painted his house, I had a great idea on how I could help him move on. I told him we should have a yard sale and
sell everything in his house. At first, he wanted
nothing to do with my plan, but reluctantly agreed to let me have the yard sale
as long has he didn’t have to do anything. I took charge and put
up signs and I believe I even ran an ad in the paper. The night before the yard sale, I stayed over
at his house and we went through everything he owned, deciding what was junk,
what we could sell, and what he would keep.
The next morning, we got up around 6
am and started carrying furniture outside, followed by clothes, dishes, games,
junk, books, records, television sets, knick knacks and things I can’t even
put into a specific category. I asked
him to help me price things, and he said he didn’t care what we charged, so I
priced everything to sell! I’m not
joking. I put a $10 price tag on an
antique dresser. He wanted rid of
everything. We had a steady stream of
bargain hunters starting around 7 am.
One of the shoppers wanted to buy all of the old board games we had
outside, including the original Mousetrap.
This shopper was a little odd because while money was changing hands, he
began telling us that he was buying the board games for his son. He was trying to gain custody of his son, but
his past mental health records were being brought into the mix. Strangers and the stuff they feel compelled to share.
By mid-afternoon, I had sold all of
Max’s belongings and memories for a grand total of $155.25. He shook his head at the sadness of the fact
that his entire household was worth less than $200.00. We decided to take the money and go out to
dinner and a concert. We had a
blast. That was one of the best nights I
had ever had. Little did I know that this
friendship would not last.
Our fun ended because Max felt we
should date. He wasn’t satisfied being
just my best friend anymore. I told him
it wouldn’t work. We were meant to be
great friends, and nothing more. We went
along as if we had not had the dating discussion, and it seemed to be fine, at
least to me. I put his ideas of dating
and love out of my head and thought he had done the same, but he secretly
carried a torch for me and brought it up a few more times. I really didn’t think much about it anymore
until one day he told me he found someone he was interested in dating. I was so happy for him! Finally, we could still be good friends and I
wouldn’t have to worry that I was hurting him.
The irony here is that I was the one who began hurting. I started out being excited for him, but
within days, things didn’t seem so cut and dry.
I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if I finally realized that maybe
I did have feelings for him, or if I felt like I was now going to lose my best
friend to another woman. Of course, it was the latter.
I was very depressed for a while
after he began dating his new love because she of course replaced me. I tried to be happy for him
and remain cheerful, and we made plans to hang out a few times, but it never
happened, and I saw Max no more.
One beautiful Sunday morning,
during my deepest depression after my ‘break up’ with Max, I walked around Old City
to enjoy the day and do some people watching.
As I walked down 2nd
Street, something caught my eye. I saw a new, never-before-used red
crayon. As soon as I saw it, looking so perfect,
lying in the crack in the sidewalk, I felt happy. Maybe I felt happy because spring was coming,
making the air calm and beautiful. I
don’t know. I only know that perfect red
crayon took my soul to a new place, a wonderful place. I plucked the crayon from its hiding spot and
took it home. Its newness became a
symbol of spring and health to me. I
think that crayon saved my life. Who
knew that one silly little red beacon of hope could help me move on? I still have the crayon today, tucked safely
in my jewelry box and every time I see it, I get such a warm deep feeling in my
soul and a smile on my face that cannot be contained.
I'm fond of all of my coworkers, but one in particular puts a wide smile on my face. He is so pleasant and funny, and he is real. He often uses this phrase: "Oh, my soul." With his deep southern accent though, it sounds more like, "Ole, mah sole!" I love it. I can't recall having ever heard this phrase used before I met him.
As sparkly as "Oh my soul" is, and as giggly as it makes me, it was outdone by this gem (used by another coworker last week when describing an annoying relative): "She looks like death sucking a sponge." I had to cover my mouth to keep from spitting my water on her, and even then, some of that water leaked through my fingers.
Hold your horses - Who hasn't heard or used that old dull phrase, right? Well, I worked with a guy from Russia who used to say to me, "Calm down your horses" when I would get all panicky about project deadlines. I like his translation better, and it's so much funnier hearing it with a Russian accent.
Lawd love a duck! - A guy in my 5th grade class was a frequent user of this phrase (he actually said Lawd instead of Lord). Yes, 5th grade. He was an old man before his time.
My dad liked to use this one when one of us was blocking the television: "You make a better door than a window." My dad was also a fan of, "You're about as useful as a screen door on a submarine." OK, this is fun. One more. Dad also spouted this one out from time to time: "She's deader than a doornail." I never understood this saying either. First, what is a door nail? Second...do you think my dad had some strange obsession with doors?
I know very few people will care about this, and I'm only blogging about it because I'm bored, but as I was leaving the house for work this morning, the truck hauling our new shingles arrived! The truck (and his driver, of course) sat waiting for the contractors to show up. Poseidon and I will (should) have a new roof by the time we get home tonight.
Two things I wanted to blab about this:
1. As a relatively new homeowner, I just want to whine that it totally sucks to have to shell out money for something as uninteresting as a roof, but it must be done, as our current roof is now 20 years old. Eh, I can't legitimately complain because I knew how old the roof was when I first bought the house.
2. How cool is it that the roofing company installing (is that the proper term?) the new roof is James Taylor Construction? We know the new roof will see some rain, but hopefully not fire. Get it? I told you I was bored.
