This has been a rough year, even rougher than last, and I thought 2008 would go down in history as a bad year for me.
2009 has been the year of loss and death. No other way to put it. Too many people have died this year, and I'm not talking about Farrah or Michael. I'm talking about people I know - Lou, Joe, Uncle Ed, Sandy and now Bobby. There were also people on my "social periphery" so to speak - Patrick, Scott & my friend Margie's dad.
I'm not going to lie, Bobby's death has shaken me up, and has made realize what a gift life is, even more so than the deaths preceeding it. I glibly mentioned to a few people after Sandy passed a few weeks ago that I was too young to read the obits regularly, and not only that, but to recognize the names. Now I feel like I'm afraid to read the paper.
My recent problems seem trivial, and I'm glad for that. Life is a gift, and I don't want to squander it.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Second Verse, Same as the First
Here I go again...time to admit that I need to go back to Weight Watchers.
I don't want to.
I really don't want to.
But I need to.
Wish me luck.
I don't want to.
I really don't want to.
But I need to.
Wish me luck.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Another Open Letter
Dear Jon & Kate:
For the sake of your children, I implore both of you to please grow up. That's it, that's my simple request.
Ideally you'd both fade back into obscurity, Kate being the kind of nurse that makes people stay away from doctor's offices and hospitals despite bleeding from both eyes and ears, and Jon being the kind of IT guy that my friends and I openly mock.
But in the words of Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want.
So with that in mind, I'd like to ask that you keep your divorce proceedings, financial disputes and dalliances out of the press.
There are a lot of children of divorce out there, and I'd likely wager that the majority of them didn't have to read on the web that their parents "despise" each other, or that the other parent is acting like a teenager. I'd pretty much bet the ranch that most children of divorce aren't able to look forward to the inevitable boxed set of the dissolution of their parent's marriage that the +8 are going to have.
Marriages end, people change, couples grow apart. It happens every day in America. Regrettably in your case it happened on TV with America watching.
The past can't be changed. What can be changed is how you choose to co-parent in the future.
At the end of the day, you've brought 8 lovely children into this word who have no power and little capacity to understand what is happening around them. I hope you both prove themselves in deed that you are the loving parents you profess to be by hashing out your differences in private, and letting their children be children.
In the meantime, can you both please get the hell out of my People Magazine? Kate, your hair and Jon, your bling are giving me nightmares.
Thanks,
Beth
For the sake of your children, I implore both of you to please grow up. That's it, that's my simple request.
Ideally you'd both fade back into obscurity, Kate being the kind of nurse that makes people stay away from doctor's offices and hospitals despite bleeding from both eyes and ears, and Jon being the kind of IT guy that my friends and I openly mock.
But in the words of Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want.
So with that in mind, I'd like to ask that you keep your divorce proceedings, financial disputes and dalliances out of the press.
There are a lot of children of divorce out there, and I'd likely wager that the majority of them didn't have to read on the web that their parents "despise" each other, or that the other parent is acting like a teenager. I'd pretty much bet the ranch that most children of divorce aren't able to look forward to the inevitable boxed set of the dissolution of their parent's marriage that the +8 are going to have.
Marriages end, people change, couples grow apart. It happens every day in America. Regrettably in your case it happened on TV with America watching.
The past can't be changed. What can be changed is how you choose to co-parent in the future.
At the end of the day, you've brought 8 lovely children into this word who have no power and little capacity to understand what is happening around them. I hope you both prove themselves in deed that you are the loving parents you profess to be by hashing out your differences in private, and letting their children be children.
In the meantime, can you both please get the hell out of my People Magazine? Kate, your hair and Jon, your bling are giving me nightmares.
Thanks,
Beth
Thursday, September 10, 2009
9/11
Indulge me for a moment, while I share my 9/11 story. I still remember where I was (and actually what I was wearing - a knee length flowered dress - my weigh in dress actually since Tuesday was WW) on that day.
I had called my father around 8:15 to harass him about an email he didn't reply to, when he picked up the phone with "Yeah, I'm watching it".
"Watching what?" I asked
"A plane crashed into the World Trade Center."
"Was it an accident or..."
"Gotta go, there was an explosion at the other building" and he hung up.
I went to get on MSNBC.com and my computer went into ultra-slow mode, clearly hosed by the bandwidth. My boss, Barbara, then came around the corner to tell me she was getting on conference call and to interrupt her if a particular call came through. I told her with my father told me, and that I was trying to get more info. She paled and told me to keep her posted.
About 10 minutes later she came out of her office, she told me that she had heard about something happening at the Pentagon and that she was off to find a TV. I hopped up and followed her. As we walked up to the conference room, she turned to me and said "Beth, we have people in there". The company I worked for at the time had around 40 people working for one client in the South Tower, 5 more for a different client in the North Tower and 15 at the Pentagon. We also had friends and colleagues who regularly flew out of Newark and Logan.
We went up to the conference room and joined others watching CNBC. The whole time I had one thought - don't cry, do not cry
Suddenly we saw the south tower collapse, and heard an anchor report that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania. I looked over and saw Kim wiping tears from her eyes, and Laura blurted out "You guys, I am so scared" and I allowed a few tears to pop out. Barbara got up, and true to her take charge attitude said she needed to start making some phone calls. I followed her to help.
She said we needed to start calling people who could get information - if Dave, who lived in Connecticut and flew out of Logan regularly, was in the office today; to find out where Dick was and if he was flying out of Newark; to get a list of people on projects in the Towers, the Pentagon and anyone who would be flying out of the airports the flights originated from.
The first call I made was to the only person I knew who lived in New York, my friend Ashia. I tried to call and got a busy signal. I kept at it and burst into tears when she finally answered. She told me she was OK but freaked out. I felt better knowing where she was and that she was safe for the moment.
My overriding thought that day was that I wanted to go home. Once I realized that Barbara and I couldn't do anything (corporate had stepped in and set up a command center to account for affected employees), I told her I wanted to leave. Not knowing if Philadelphia would be attacked, corporate center management closed all of the buildings.
I drove home listening to KYW, not wanting to believe what I was hearing, irate at the news of dancing in the streets in some countries that the US was attacked. I came home to an empty house, mom was at home with my sister and then 3 month old niece who had been home from the NICU for about 1 week, and dad was at work. Me and my dog Murphy sat watching TV, numb. I tagged along with my parents to pick out carpet (of all things) and we went for dinner at a small pub, swapping what we had heard with the waiter, not wanting to believe it was true.
It's been 8 years and it still doesn't seem real in some ways. I feel odd scheduling things - hearing, "ok, so we're set for 10:00 on 9/11" come out of my mouth when confirming a meeting. The day feels sacred to me.
I know tomorrow will be a different day - no, I didn't lose anyone. Fortunately all of our employees survived. But our country lost something - our innocence. Our sense of security. That it couldn't happen here.
But we also gained something I think. We all united that day and the days after. I practically rolled around and wrapped myself in the American flag - and a part of me is nostalgic for the days that we all seemed a little kinder to each other. When hearing the Star Spangled Banner or America the Beautiful would stop people in their tracks.
Let's take a few moments tomorrow to remember those who died that day, those who died defending our country and those who now serve our country.
God Bless America
I had called my father around 8:15 to harass him about an email he didn't reply to, when he picked up the phone with "Yeah, I'm watching it".
"Watching what?" I asked
"A plane crashed into the World Trade Center."
"Was it an accident or..."
"Gotta go, there was an explosion at the other building" and he hung up.
I went to get on MSNBC.com and my computer went into ultra-slow mode, clearly hosed by the bandwidth. My boss, Barbara, then came around the corner to tell me she was getting on conference call and to interrupt her if a particular call came through. I told her with my father told me, and that I was trying to get more info. She paled and told me to keep her posted.
About 10 minutes later she came out of her office, she told me that she had heard about something happening at the Pentagon and that she was off to find a TV. I hopped up and followed her. As we walked up to the conference room, she turned to me and said "Beth, we have people in there". The company I worked for at the time had around 40 people working for one client in the South Tower, 5 more for a different client in the North Tower and 15 at the Pentagon. We also had friends and colleagues who regularly flew out of Newark and Logan.
We went up to the conference room and joined others watching CNBC. The whole time I had one thought - don't cry, do not cry
Suddenly we saw the south tower collapse, and heard an anchor report that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania. I looked over and saw Kim wiping tears from her eyes, and Laura blurted out "You guys, I am so scared" and I allowed a few tears to pop out. Barbara got up, and true to her take charge attitude said she needed to start making some phone calls. I followed her to help.
She said we needed to start calling people who could get information - if Dave, who lived in Connecticut and flew out of Logan regularly, was in the office today; to find out where Dick was and if he was flying out of Newark; to get a list of people on projects in the Towers, the Pentagon and anyone who would be flying out of the airports the flights originated from.
The first call I made was to the only person I knew who lived in New York, my friend Ashia. I tried to call and got a busy signal. I kept at it and burst into tears when she finally answered. She told me she was OK but freaked out. I felt better knowing where she was and that she was safe for the moment.
My overriding thought that day was that I wanted to go home. Once I realized that Barbara and I couldn't do anything (corporate had stepped in and set up a command center to account for affected employees), I told her I wanted to leave. Not knowing if Philadelphia would be attacked, corporate center management closed all of the buildings.
I drove home listening to KYW, not wanting to believe what I was hearing, irate at the news of dancing in the streets in some countries that the US was attacked. I came home to an empty house, mom was at home with my sister and then 3 month old niece who had been home from the NICU for about 1 week, and dad was at work. Me and my dog Murphy sat watching TV, numb. I tagged along with my parents to pick out carpet (of all things) and we went for dinner at a small pub, swapping what we had heard with the waiter, not wanting to believe it was true.
It's been 8 years and it still doesn't seem real in some ways. I feel odd scheduling things - hearing, "ok, so we're set for 10:00 on 9/11" come out of my mouth when confirming a meeting. The day feels sacred to me.
I know tomorrow will be a different day - no, I didn't lose anyone. Fortunately all of our employees survived. But our country lost something - our innocence. Our sense of security. That it couldn't happen here.
But we also gained something I think. We all united that day and the days after. I practically rolled around and wrapped myself in the American flag - and a part of me is nostalgic for the days that we all seemed a little kinder to each other. When hearing the Star Spangled Banner or America the Beautiful would stop people in their tracks.
Let's take a few moments tomorrow to remember those who died that day, those who died defending our country and those who now serve our country.
God Bless America
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wired for Sound
I had a sleep study last night. Let me start off by saying, in my semi-delirious state, that I think it's funny that they call it a "sleep" study, since that's the last thing I felt like doing.
Let me get back to be beginning. For the past few years, much like a 9 month old, I've had problems sleeping through the night. Falling asleep (eventually) isn't the problem, but come 2:00 am, it's me and the clock having a face-off. Also, I've joined the ranks of the snorers in the family, that is if you believe my sister and my father, the two people who rattle the windows when they sleep.
I mentioned it to my doctor the last time I went in, and sure enough, she suggested a sleep study. I snarkily told her that I suspected it would confirm I can't sleep with crap hooked up to me, but she insisted.
To be fair, the folks at the Center for Sleep Medicine in Lafayette Hill kick ass, even if they didn't let me finish watching the 10:00 episode of Law & Order SVU on USA. Michelle made me feel like I was just checking into a spartan hotel, and Mark definitely took the weirdness out of being plugged in to go to sleep.
The getting "put to bed" part took roughly 30 minutes. Let me paint you a picture...
I started by shoving wires down the shorts of my PJs, then I had a band put around my chest, another around my abdomen. Then I had sensors put on my chest and abdomen. We went into another room from which I emerged looking like something from a sci-fi movie. I had more wires attached to me then I ever imagined possible. Here's what I can recall from the top of my head (literally)- one behind each of my ears, another under my jaw. Two at my temples, one under each of my eyes, and then three on various parts of my head. Add in the two mics put in my nose, and the pluse/ox monitor on my index finger, and I was, literally, wired for sound.
I was then escorted to my bed where I was plugged into a PC, and then put through a bizarre version of the hokey pokey to calibrate the machines - look left, look right, flex your left foot, flex your fight, blink five times, etc. I eventually fell asleep and for the first time in my life, I was actually happy I woke up in the middle of the night. A part of me felt validated in my sleep issues despite having to lay in a strange bed, in a strange room with an infra-red camera pointed at me, trying to go back to sleep.
7:30 came way too soon, when I was rousted from bed, disconnected and sent on my way. I made it back home, got through both my full time and part time jobs, and instead of going to bed like a normal person, I'm updating my blog and wishing I had the foresight to have had my cell phone closer to my bed so I could have taken a picture for posterity.
I should know in a week or so what exactly the deal is - my money is on sleep apnea and general insomnia.
Until then...sweet dreams.
Let me get back to be beginning. For the past few years, much like a 9 month old, I've had problems sleeping through the night. Falling asleep (eventually) isn't the problem, but come 2:00 am, it's me and the clock having a face-off. Also, I've joined the ranks of the snorers in the family, that is if you believe my sister and my father, the two people who rattle the windows when they sleep.
I mentioned it to my doctor the last time I went in, and sure enough, she suggested a sleep study. I snarkily told her that I suspected it would confirm I can't sleep with crap hooked up to me, but she insisted.
To be fair, the folks at the Center for Sleep Medicine in Lafayette Hill kick ass, even if they didn't let me finish watching the 10:00 episode of Law & Order SVU on USA. Michelle made me feel like I was just checking into a spartan hotel, and Mark definitely took the weirdness out of being plugged in to go to sleep.
The getting "put to bed" part took roughly 30 minutes. Let me paint you a picture...
I started by shoving wires down the shorts of my PJs, then I had a band put around my chest, another around my abdomen. Then I had sensors put on my chest and abdomen. We went into another room from which I emerged looking like something from a sci-fi movie. I had more wires attached to me then I ever imagined possible. Here's what I can recall from the top of my head (literally)- one behind each of my ears, another under my jaw. Two at my temples, one under each of my eyes, and then three on various parts of my head. Add in the two mics put in my nose, and the pluse/ox monitor on my index finger, and I was, literally, wired for sound.
I was then escorted to my bed where I was plugged into a PC, and then put through a bizarre version of the hokey pokey to calibrate the machines - look left, look right, flex your left foot, flex your fight, blink five times, etc. I eventually fell asleep and for the first time in my life, I was actually happy I woke up in the middle of the night. A part of me felt validated in my sleep issues despite having to lay in a strange bed, in a strange room with an infra-red camera pointed at me, trying to go back to sleep.
7:30 came way too soon, when I was rousted from bed, disconnected and sent on my way. I made it back home, got through both my full time and part time jobs, and instead of going to bed like a normal person, I'm updating my blog and wishing I had the foresight to have had my cell phone closer to my bed so I could have taken a picture for posterity.
I should know in a week or so what exactly the deal is - my money is on sleep apnea and general insomnia.
Until then...sweet dreams.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Who's in the Dog House?
Anger, shock, disgust and sadness are some of the things I felt last night when I read that Michael Vick was signed to the Philadelphia Eagles.
I'm all for second chances, but so far, Michael Vick hasn't walked the walk. I read Wayne Parcel's blog about how he met with Vick on more than one occasion since his departure from prison with great interest. So far, I'm not impressed. Maybe Vick (and I leave out "mister" intentionally) is genuinely contrite for having been involved with a dog fighting ring. Maybe he is just sorry that he got caught.
I wanted to vomit when word first broke of the activities at Bad Newz Kennels, and I am a person that is not a pit bull fan. Certain breeds of dogs immediately strike fear into me and pit bulls are one of them. But hearing about Georgia, the dog who had her teeth surgically removed, theoretically to make her more breedable, made my heart weep. Cherry, the dog who couldn't walk on a leash, probably because he never went for a normal dog walk, broke my heart.
I wanted to adopt a pit bull. Specifically, I wanted to adopt a "Vick" pit pull.
Needless to say my mother was not happy.
I'm glad to hear that with the exception of the two dogs who were euthanized, most of Vick's victims are living in safe environments. They are now able to be dogs, not fighting machines.
Vick and his co-conspirators went through the justice system, and did their time as the law stipulates. But does that mean that Vick gets to make seven figures in the NFL? In my mind, I think not. At least without doing some hard time working with the very creatures he victimized.
I think it's ironic that he's been signed to a team in the same city as Chase Utley, one of the heroes of the 2008 World Series. He and his wife Jenn are well known in Philadelphia as animal lovers, and paid the veterinary bills of a puppy who was beaten and tortured by her former owners. I read today that Jenn Utley was protesting outside of the press conference announcing Vick's signing with the Eagles. I wanted to give her a virtual high-five.
I really hope that Vick makes amends - and not with his words. I hope he reaches out to Mr. and Mrs. Utley and actively works to improve the lot of animals in the city of Philadelphia. I guess what I want is for Vick to lead by example. I want him to see the reality of dog fighting. Make him comfort an abused animal, who doesn't know how to communicate their fear, their pain.
I hope I'm not disappointed in Vick, or in Eagles Coach Andy Reid, Quarterback Donovan McNabb (who vouched for Vick) and Tony Dungee.
I'm all for second chances, but so far, Michael Vick hasn't walked the walk. I read Wayne Parcel's blog about how he met with Vick on more than one occasion since his departure from prison with great interest. So far, I'm not impressed. Maybe Vick (and I leave out "mister" intentionally) is genuinely contrite for having been involved with a dog fighting ring. Maybe he is just sorry that he got caught.
I wanted to vomit when word first broke of the activities at Bad Newz Kennels, and I am a person that is not a pit bull fan. Certain breeds of dogs immediately strike fear into me and pit bulls are one of them. But hearing about Georgia, the dog who had her teeth surgically removed, theoretically to make her more breedable, made my heart weep. Cherry, the dog who couldn't walk on a leash, probably because he never went for a normal dog walk, broke my heart.
I wanted to adopt a pit bull. Specifically, I wanted to adopt a "Vick" pit pull.
Needless to say my mother was not happy.
I'm glad to hear that with the exception of the two dogs who were euthanized, most of Vick's victims are living in safe environments. They are now able to be dogs, not fighting machines.
Vick and his co-conspirators went through the justice system, and did their time as the law stipulates. But does that mean that Vick gets to make seven figures in the NFL? In my mind, I think not. At least without doing some hard time working with the very creatures he victimized.
I think it's ironic that he's been signed to a team in the same city as Chase Utley, one of the heroes of the 2008 World Series. He and his wife Jenn are well known in Philadelphia as animal lovers, and paid the veterinary bills of a puppy who was beaten and tortured by her former owners. I read today that Jenn Utley was protesting outside of the press conference announcing Vick's signing with the Eagles. I wanted to give her a virtual high-five.
I really hope that Vick makes amends - and not with his words. I hope he reaches out to Mr. and Mrs. Utley and actively works to improve the lot of animals in the city of Philadelphia. I guess what I want is for Vick to lead by example. I want him to see the reality of dog fighting. Make him comfort an abused animal, who doesn't know how to communicate their fear, their pain.
I hope I'm not disappointed in Vick, or in Eagles Coach Andy Reid, Quarterback Donovan McNabb (who vouched for Vick) and Tony Dungee.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
How Not To React
It's no secret I really want to be nominated to be on TLC's What Not To Wear.
I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be a problem with getting good footage of me. I think it's perfectly acceptable to run out to the supermarket in ratty shorts and a t-shirt, no make up, hair in a sloppy ponytail and cheap sneakers. Would I like to dress better? Sure. Do I want to spend my own money on fabulous clothes when I refuse to believe that being a size 20 is a permanent state? No.
Yes, Stacy and Clinton can be over the top while trying to make their point. But that's their job. I look at them like guerrilla stylists. I love the passion they bring to the show and how they make their "victims" feel great about their bodies no matter their size.
The part of the show that grates on my last nerve is the hair makeover part. No, it's not Nick Arrojo. I think he's great. I'd like to pick him up and put him in my pocket so I can have him with me at all times. What bothers me is the way some of the subjects react to the concept of hair change.
I'm admittedly behind on my DVR watching. I'm watching an episode of WNTW that aired in mid-June featuring a single woman from Texas in her fifties. To say she had quintessential Southern hair is an understatement. You know the saying "The higher the hair the closer to God"? Well this woman should have been canonized in her bedazzled leopard print.
She took to the rules about clothing from Stacy and Clinton better than I thought she would. I was on her side - I really wanted to see the reveal.
Then she sat down in Nick's chair. He explained to her that he wanted to tone down the brassy hair and make her 'do sleeker. When he was done I thought she looked great. She cried for the balance of the show because her hair was shorter and that men wouldn't like it. Seriously - that was her main concern - a man's reaction to her hair.
Huh?
I dumped a guy because he kept at me to grow my hair out from a chin length bob. I explained to him that if he liked long hair so much he could feel free to grow his out, but that I wasn't at a point in my life where I wanted to spend 45 minutes a day washing and drying my hair. He didn't let up. I suspect he is still living in Johnstown, PA, now with a Crystal Gayle look alike.
Getting back to the show, Carmandi, the makeup artist, had to get someone else to restyle the woman's hair and she was still bitching, again citing that men wouldn't find her attractive. Mind you, she didn't get a Sinead O'Connor circa 1989 buzz cut, but an age appropriate chin length do.
The show ended with her going to her salon in Dallas and getting extensions (Great Lengths, which cost $3k - I once priced them out while growing out my own hair), pushing aside the reactions of her friends and family about how great she looked, including the new hair style.
Maybe I'm the strange one, but I just don't get it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've cried about my hair (and I cry about other things a lot). The last time I got overwrought about a hair cut was in 1995 and I had a style I couldn't figure out how to do - I threw the brush at the mirror in frustration. I decided then and there that it wasn't worth it. Guess what? My hair grew back.
I abuse my hair - I cut it, blow it dry, flat iron, curl and color it. I once tried to chemically straighten my heavily highlighted hair with a DIY kit. I had a pixie a week later which I am just now growing out. Did I love how my fried hair look before I got the salon, and was I happy with an uber-short cut after trying to grow my hair for a year? No on both counts. But I dealt with it and a super cute cut.
Sometimes my hair looks good, other times it doesn't, but I try not to let it define me. If I had the opportunity to have a well known stylist who charges 3 figures for a cut do my hair free of charge, you can bet I'd let him (or her) do whatever the heck they wanted.
You have that on record now. Feel free to start taping the submission reel for TLC.
I can even lend you a video recorder.
I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be a problem with getting good footage of me. I think it's perfectly acceptable to run out to the supermarket in ratty shorts and a t-shirt, no make up, hair in a sloppy ponytail and cheap sneakers. Would I like to dress better? Sure. Do I want to spend my own money on fabulous clothes when I refuse to believe that being a size 20 is a permanent state? No.
Yes, Stacy and Clinton can be over the top while trying to make their point. But that's their job. I look at them like guerrilla stylists. I love the passion they bring to the show and how they make their "victims" feel great about their bodies no matter their size.
The part of the show that grates on my last nerve is the hair makeover part. No, it's not Nick Arrojo. I think he's great. I'd like to pick him up and put him in my pocket so I can have him with me at all times. What bothers me is the way some of the subjects react to the concept of hair change.
I'm admittedly behind on my DVR watching. I'm watching an episode of WNTW that aired in mid-June featuring a single woman from Texas in her fifties. To say she had quintessential Southern hair is an understatement. You know the saying "The higher the hair the closer to God"? Well this woman should have been canonized in her bedazzled leopard print.
She took to the rules about clothing from Stacy and Clinton better than I thought she would. I was on her side - I really wanted to see the reveal.
Then she sat down in Nick's chair. He explained to her that he wanted to tone down the brassy hair and make her 'do sleeker. When he was done I thought she looked great. She cried for the balance of the show because her hair was shorter and that men wouldn't like it. Seriously - that was her main concern - a man's reaction to her hair.
Huh?
I dumped a guy because he kept at me to grow my hair out from a chin length bob. I explained to him that if he liked long hair so much he could feel free to grow his out, but that I wasn't at a point in my life where I wanted to spend 45 minutes a day washing and drying my hair. He didn't let up. I suspect he is still living in Johnstown, PA, now with a Crystal Gayle look alike.
Getting back to the show, Carmandi, the makeup artist, had to get someone else to restyle the woman's hair and she was still bitching, again citing that men wouldn't find her attractive. Mind you, she didn't get a Sinead O'Connor circa 1989 buzz cut, but an age appropriate chin length do.
The show ended with her going to her salon in Dallas and getting extensions (Great Lengths, which cost $3k - I once priced them out while growing out my own hair), pushing aside the reactions of her friends and family about how great she looked, including the new hair style.
Maybe I'm the strange one, but I just don't get it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've cried about my hair (and I cry about other things a lot). The last time I got overwrought about a hair cut was in 1995 and I had a style I couldn't figure out how to do - I threw the brush at the mirror in frustration. I decided then and there that it wasn't worth it. Guess what? My hair grew back.
I abuse my hair - I cut it, blow it dry, flat iron, curl and color it. I once tried to chemically straighten my heavily highlighted hair with a DIY kit. I had a pixie a week later which I am just now growing out. Did I love how my fried hair look before I got the salon, and was I happy with an uber-short cut after trying to grow my hair for a year? No on both counts. But I dealt with it and a super cute cut.
Sometimes my hair looks good, other times it doesn't, but I try not to let it define me. If I had the opportunity to have a well known stylist who charges 3 figures for a cut do my hair free of charge, you can bet I'd let him (or her) do whatever the heck they wanted.
You have that on record now. Feel free to start taping the submission reel for TLC.
I can even lend you a video recorder.
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