I can't wait for the shoes, the style, the hair, the glamour, and big city life! My friends Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are back, ladies and gentlemen and they're ready for action!
25 September 2007
I. Am. So. Excited.
I absolutly cannot wait!
I can't wait for the shoes, the style, the hair, the glamour, and big city life! My friends Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are back, ladies and gentlemen and they're ready for action!
I can't wait for the shoes, the style, the hair, the glamour, and big city life! My friends Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are back, ladies and gentlemen and they're ready for action!
21 September 2007
My Love
The love of my life is the great state of California. (Bridge Man, of course, is the human love of my life but that’s a separate blog.) From the moment my family moved out of Cali, I’ve longed to go back. That is where my extended family lives, where my memories are, and where my heart belongs.
When I’m talking about California, I don’t necessarily mean, the state itself. What I love about Cali is something that only I know. It’s something that only I’ve experienced. Yes, the weather is nice, the ocean is beautiful, and there is always something to do but these reasons reside at the bottom of my list.
When I was little I belonged to a group of three friends who did everything together, my sister S and my aunt D. My sister is about two and a half years older than me and my aunt is just under two years older than me so I was the baby who shadowed them all day long. I know for a fact that I annoyed them because I was too young to play with the big girls. Regularly they would lock me out of D’s room so I couldn’t play Barbies with them. I would run to my grandma with crocodile tears in my eyes and she would force them to play with me. I was persistent in this way until I was old enough to fit into their little gang.
Not many people were allowed in our clique. A girl named Megan lived down the street from my grandparent’s house and she always wanted to play with us. Megan was an only child and was allowed to do a lot more than we were. The four of us would play together but eventually we would get annoyed with Megan and not want to play with her anymore. We didn’t like that her mom let her do anything; she got to wear acrylic nails, she had a bunk bed in her bedroom, and she could do a front-walk-over better than we could. So what did we do? We created a club for the three of us called “The We Hate Megan Club.” We were totally serious about the club. D was the president, S the VP, and I was the secretary. We would hold meetings once a week to discuss — well, I can’t remember. Though, I’m sure it had something to do with how much we hated poor Megan. We would turn on an Alvin and the Chipmunks tape or a Dr. Demento tape and play in the backyard until the coast was clear.
After an afternoon of ripping the lemons from my grandma’s lemon tree and throwing them in neighboring yards, doing cartwheels on my grandpa’s perfectly preened yard, and riding our bikes around the circle drive, it was time to go inside. My grandma scheduled dinners out for each day of the week; Monday was meatloaf night, Tuesday was Mexican night, Wednesday was chili night, and so on. Friday was my favorite because it was fast food night and I always, always, always got a kids meal for the free toy that usually ended up broken or missing by the end of the night. We would play Super Mario Brothers on the Nintendo with my Uncle K. He would play until he got to the coolest levels in the game and then he would let us play until we killed off Mario and he’d have to start over again. When he got sick of that he would lie on his back and hold us up in the air with his feet until we became green in the face. He was one friggin’ great uncle.
When it was bedtime, we three amigas would crowd over the sink in the bathroom to see who could make the most foam in the sink with the toothpaste while brushing our teeth. D usually won that game. I would then beg and plead with my mom to let me sleep in my Aunt B’s room because she was older and cooler than me and would let me stay up late. B had a trundle bed and I would sleep on the pullout bed from underneath. We would stay up and talk for hours. I always felt so COOL when she would let me hang out with her.
Sometimes she would let me lay out with her. We would just lie there in out teeny-bikinis and fry in the sun. Once we were good and burnt, we would go inside to soothe our burns with vinegar soaked paper towels. It was so, SO stinky but felt so, SO soothing. No one but my family has heard of this sunburn remedy so I can probably predict your reaction. Give it a try before you judge. I promise, you’ll never go back to that green aloe goo.
I've been back to California several times since my family originally moved away and each time I've felt the same excitement that can only come with the memory of playing Marco Polo in a one-foot deep plastic pool in my grandparent's backyard.
When I’m talking about California, I don’t necessarily mean, the state itself. What I love about Cali is something that only I know. It’s something that only I’ve experienced. Yes, the weather is nice, the ocean is beautiful, and there is always something to do but these reasons reside at the bottom of my list.
When I was little I belonged to a group of three friends who did everything together, my sister S and my aunt D. My sister is about two and a half years older than me and my aunt is just under two years older than me so I was the baby who shadowed them all day long. I know for a fact that I annoyed them because I was too young to play with the big girls. Regularly they would lock me out of D’s room so I couldn’t play Barbies with them. I would run to my grandma with crocodile tears in my eyes and she would force them to play with me. I was persistent in this way until I was old enough to fit into their little gang.
Not many people were allowed in our clique. A girl named Megan lived down the street from my grandparent’s house and she always wanted to play with us. Megan was an only child and was allowed to do a lot more than we were. The four of us would play together but eventually we would get annoyed with Megan and not want to play with her anymore. We didn’t like that her mom let her do anything; she got to wear acrylic nails, she had a bunk bed in her bedroom, and she could do a front-walk-over better than we could. So what did we do? We created a club for the three of us called “The We Hate Megan Club.” We were totally serious about the club. D was the president, S the VP, and I was the secretary. We would hold meetings once a week to discuss — well, I can’t remember. Though, I’m sure it had something to do with how much we hated poor Megan. We would turn on an Alvin and the Chipmunks tape or a Dr. Demento tape and play in the backyard until the coast was clear.
After an afternoon of ripping the lemons from my grandma’s lemon tree and throwing them in neighboring yards, doing cartwheels on my grandpa’s perfectly preened yard, and riding our bikes around the circle drive, it was time to go inside. My grandma scheduled dinners out for each day of the week; Monday was meatloaf night, Tuesday was Mexican night, Wednesday was chili night, and so on. Friday was my favorite because it was fast food night and I always, always, always got a kids meal for the free toy that usually ended up broken or missing by the end of the night. We would play Super Mario Brothers on the Nintendo with my Uncle K. He would play until he got to the coolest levels in the game and then he would let us play until we killed off Mario and he’d have to start over again. When he got sick of that he would lie on his back and hold us up in the air with his feet until we became green in the face. He was one friggin’ great uncle.
When it was bedtime, we three amigas would crowd over the sink in the bathroom to see who could make the most foam in the sink with the toothpaste while brushing our teeth. D usually won that game. I would then beg and plead with my mom to let me sleep in my Aunt B’s room because she was older and cooler than me and would let me stay up late. B had a trundle bed and I would sleep on the pullout bed from underneath. We would stay up and talk for hours. I always felt so COOL when she would let me hang out with her.
Sometimes she would let me lay out with her. We would just lie there in out teeny-bikinis and fry in the sun. Once we were good and burnt, we would go inside to soothe our burns with vinegar soaked paper towels. It was so, SO stinky but felt so, SO soothing. No one but my family has heard of this sunburn remedy so I can probably predict your reaction. Give it a try before you judge. I promise, you’ll never go back to that green aloe goo.
I've been back to California several times since my family originally moved away and each time I've felt the same excitement that can only come with the memory of playing Marco Polo in a one-foot deep plastic pool in my grandparent's backyard.
17 September 2007
A Van Down By The River
For the last two hours of class on Saturday we cosmo girls (and two guys who could probably pass for girls) were lucky enough to sit through the witty repartee of the motivational speaker, Doug Cox. Before the rodeo Santa Clause (no joke) showed up, the girls were thoroughly annoyed that this man would be infringing on the last two hours of an eight-hour makeover. I, on the other hand, was absolutely gleeful that I would get 120 wonderful minutes at the end of the day to sit in the back row and sleep. (65-hour workweeks have helped me to build a staggering amount of sleep debt. I takes it where I gets it, mmmm-k.)
Off the track:
About a year ago, I was waiting for my ride home after a long day of work and class outside the student center and fell asleep on public bench for what had to be about 40 minutes. I woke up to two guys pointing and snickering, most likely at the spot of drool on my chin. Mortifying, yes, but sadly enough it was not the first time.
Back on track:
Unfortunately, I was quickly ushered to a seat in the second row because I showed up late by two lousy minutes. The entire exhibition ended up being very involved. We were standing up, sitting down, hugging, holding hands, and singing “Kum By Ya.” (OK, OK, I made those last few things up.) Nevertheless, audience participation was a requirement and sleep was not an option.
Rodeo Santa talked about how to be successful in your life whether it‘s personally, financially, emotionally, physically, or spiritually. He guaranteed that if we followed his plan, we too would be successful. He did, after all, motivate Donald Trump to be the real estate mogul he is today.
To start off, he made us promise that we would be all ooey-gooey-lovey-dovey toward our selves.
Repeat after me:
I promise myself that I am beautiful. I promise that I will embrace my emotions and I will be an emotional person.
Right about now, I was kind of wishing Chris Farley would bounce into the room and give his rendition of Matt Foley, Motivational Speaker to break up all the unbearable mush.
Next he talked finances and we continued to make promises to ourselves:
Ahem. I promise to make my money work for me. I promise to buy only what I need. And I promise to buy things that accrue value.
The first two promises seem to make sense. The third, however, is not as easy as it may sound. Rodeo Santa used the example of cars, they do not become more valuable, therefore, do not purchase a car.
Do not purchase a car? Do not purchase a car!? Well, my apologies, but a majority of the population does not live in down town NYC and have public transportation available to them round the clock. AND, spending money on public transportation doesn’t do you any good financially either. If you have to take the bus twice a day and bus fare is $2 per trip, that’s $1,460 you could have applied to something else, like – I don’t know – a piece-o-crap car! A car that you would only have to buy once. Taking the bus year after year would be like buying the same $1,460 piece-o-crap every year.
(*Stepping off my soap box*)
More promises:
I promise to use my memories and not be used by them.
This one really resonated for me. My life made a one-eighty almost 3 years ago and I have, and still am letting the events leading up to this turn effect every aspect of my being. Maybe it’s because the ripples from these happenings are still very strong. I often find myself struggling to keep my head above water. I know it is cliché but easier said than done, Mr. Rodeo Santa, easier said than done.
The last promise we made to ourselves:
I promise to be a little better today than I was yesterday.
This is when Rodeo Santa (I don’t know why I keep calling him that, his name is Doug) broke out in a (surprisingly good) rendition of Martin Luther King’s most infamous speech, “I Have A Dream.” He would shout out, “I have a dream!” and the audience of wannabe stylists would repeat the words with enough zeal to mimic that of Dr. King himself. You’d better stand up ladies and gentlemen, because we’re gonna have church in here tonight! I have a dream!
We wrote out our dreams on a 3”x5” note card we creatively titled, “My Dreams.”
- to travel all over the world
- to open my own salon and be successful
- to give back
- to be a good person
We were told that if we hold on to our dream sheet we will be successful. No bones about it, Rodeo Santa promised us success. Let it be known, I still have my dream sheet.
Have I motivated you yet? Can you make these promises to yourself?
Off the track:
About a year ago, I was waiting for my ride home after a long day of work and class outside the student center and fell asleep on public bench for what had to be about 40 minutes. I woke up to two guys pointing and snickering, most likely at the spot of drool on my chin. Mortifying, yes, but sadly enough it was not the first time.
Back on track:
Unfortunately, I was quickly ushered to a seat in the second row because I showed up late by two lousy minutes. The entire exhibition ended up being very involved. We were standing up, sitting down, hugging, holding hands, and singing “Kum By Ya.” (OK, OK, I made those last few things up.) Nevertheless, audience participation was a requirement and sleep was not an option.
Rodeo Santa talked about how to be successful in your life whether it‘s personally, financially, emotionally, physically, or spiritually. He guaranteed that if we followed his plan, we too would be successful. He did, after all, motivate Donald Trump to be the real estate mogul he is today.
To start off, he made us promise that we would be all ooey-gooey-lovey-dovey toward our selves.
Repeat after me:
I promise myself that I am beautiful. I promise that I will embrace my emotions and I will be an emotional person.
Right about now, I was kind of wishing Chris Farley would bounce into the room and give his rendition of Matt Foley, Motivational Speaker to break up all the unbearable mush.
Next he talked finances and we continued to make promises to ourselves:
Ahem. I promise to make my money work for me. I promise to buy only what I need. And I promise to buy things that accrue value.
The first two promises seem to make sense. The third, however, is not as easy as it may sound. Rodeo Santa used the example of cars, they do not become more valuable, therefore, do not purchase a car.
Do not purchase a car? Do not purchase a car!? Well, my apologies, but a majority of the population does not live in down town NYC and have public transportation available to them round the clock. AND, spending money on public transportation doesn’t do you any good financially either. If you have to take the bus twice a day and bus fare is $2 per trip, that’s $1,460 you could have applied to something else, like – I don’t know – a piece-o-crap car! A car that you would only have to buy once. Taking the bus year after year would be like buying the same $1,460 piece-o-crap every year.
(*Stepping off my soap box*)
More promises:
I promise to use my memories and not be used by them.
This one really resonated for me. My life made a one-eighty almost 3 years ago and I have, and still am letting the events leading up to this turn effect every aspect of my being. Maybe it’s because the ripples from these happenings are still very strong. I often find myself struggling to keep my head above water. I know it is cliché but easier said than done, Mr. Rodeo Santa, easier said than done.
The last promise we made to ourselves:
I promise to be a little better today than I was yesterday.
This is when Rodeo Santa (I don’t know why I keep calling him that, his name is Doug) broke out in a (surprisingly good) rendition of Martin Luther King’s most infamous speech, “I Have A Dream.” He would shout out, “I have a dream!” and the audience of wannabe stylists would repeat the words with enough zeal to mimic that of Dr. King himself. You’d better stand up ladies and gentlemen, because we’re gonna have church in here tonight! I have a dream!
We wrote out our dreams on a 3”x5” note card we creatively titled, “My Dreams.”
- to travel all over the world
- to open my own salon and be successful
- to give back
- to be a good person
We were told that if we hold on to our dream sheet we will be successful. No bones about it, Rodeo Santa promised us success. Let it be known, I still have my dream sheet.
Have I motivated you yet? Can you make these promises to yourself?
11 September 2007
Dear Nephew,
In the beginning there was the diaper. There’s nothing like a clean diaper to free up some time in your day to sufficiently eat, sleep, and drool. But there comes a point when you want to rid yourself of the plastic, crinkly sponge on your bottom in lieu of some fancy-pants Underoos.
The idea of being a “big boy” permeates your brain and you find yourself randomly shouting “Poops, Mommy! I poops!” The room fills with excitement as family members cheer you on from the sidelines while you and mommy race toward the potty only to find out that you’ve already soiled your new Elmo Underoos. There are encouraging words from mommy, “It’s ok. You’ll get it next time, sweetie.”
After so many failed attempts, something changes in your head. “Why should I use the big boy potty when Mommy does such a fabulous job changing my dirty diapers for me?”
Unfortunately, mommy doesn’t get this concept. She insists on making you wear your big boy underwear and making you use the big boy potty. Who says you even want to be a big boy?
From then on, the words ‘big-boy,’ ‘potty,’ and ‘Underoos’ make you want to flush those screenprinted Elmo undies down that stinking toilet. Each time mommy makes you use the – the, uh, P-word - you throw a tantrum that supersedes the last. She can’t make you go if you arch your back to make it nearly impossible to pick you up or if you flail your arms and legs to make the most painful and precise contact or if you wail like James Brown in a bear trap. It works every time.
And so, my dear nephew, I write you this letter to simply say, more power to you. Stand your ground! Who needs the potty anyway?
Love,
Aunt Xteener
07 September 2007
Blog By Numbers
1. The job hunt has begun in full force this last week. Big Boss Man made sure to reiterate in a particularly nerve-wracking meeting this week that she just can’t muster up the time for me, “If I’m spending my time with you, then my work is not getting done.” (This is where I begin banging my head against the wall and mumbling something about a stapler.) Anyway, I’ve updated my resume, references, and cover letter and the hunt is officially on!
2. Bridge Man and I are going to St. Louis this weekend for a trip to the zoo. I’m excited because it will be the first time I’ve ever been to a zoo, believe it or not. I’m also a little nervous because I tend to get a little PETA around caged animals. By the end of the weekend the Show Me State might be taken over by a literal zoo of newly freed animals.
3. My little brother (who just happens to be 6’4 and over 200lbs) has recently become a quasi celebrity in my little hometown. It’s a little surreal for me. The high school football season has commenced and suddenly everyone knows his name. Old men who’ve followed redbird football since 1776 will stop him at the local grocery store to tell him exactly how to perfect his screen pass. He’s only a freshman, people!
4. My mom finally got a new oncologist. Finally! I haven't taken the time to blog about this in the past because it will take me at least two full weeks and many mojitos to completely detail the saga. Maybe this will come in a future post or maybe I’ll give you bits and pieces here and there. We’ll see. Let’s just say, her first oncologist kept her well in the dark about her treatments and what was going on inside her body. Her new doc took the time to answer all of her questions and, so far, seems very helpful. This, I like.
5. I went to a wedding this last weekend and what do you know...
One of these things is just like everything else. The black and white flowery dresses must have been on sale that week.
2. Bridge Man and I are going to St. Louis this weekend for a trip to the zoo. I’m excited because it will be the first time I’ve ever been to a zoo, believe it or not. I’m also a little nervous because I tend to get a little PETA around caged animals. By the end of the weekend the Show Me State might be taken over by a literal zoo of newly freed animals.
3. My little brother (who just happens to be 6’4 and over 200lbs) has recently become a quasi celebrity in my little hometown. It’s a little surreal for me. The high school football season has commenced and suddenly everyone knows his name. Old men who’ve followed redbird football since 1776 will stop him at the local grocery store to tell him exactly how to perfect his screen pass. He’s only a freshman, people!
4. My mom finally got a new oncologist. Finally! I haven't taken the time to blog about this in the past because it will take me at least two full weeks and many mojitos to completely detail the saga. Maybe this will come in a future post or maybe I’ll give you bits and pieces here and there. We’ll see. Let’s just say, her first oncologist kept her well in the dark about her treatments and what was going on inside her body. Her new doc took the time to answer all of her questions and, so far, seems very helpful. This, I like.
5. I went to a wedding this last weekend and what do you know...
One of these things is just like everything else. The black and white flowery dresses must have been on sale that week.
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