friday i'm in love

Summer has been long. And it's been hot. I've found myself feeling rather oppressed on more than one occasion. I know that's silly, but I really wanted to go outside and run around and be free. But when I would try I would melt and my hair would shrivel up and my mind would get all foggy with the humidity.

I really have not known quite what to do with myself since May.

"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon," cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?"
"Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall." -Gatsby, Fitzgerald (Don't make fun. I'm re-reading it for book club, of course.)

This morning I woke up, went outside, and Fall was here. If I had walked a mile from the apartment to the car, it wouldn't have been long enough to drink in all the loveliness of Fall this morning. She had pulled out all the tricks to make me fall in love with her all over again. There was a breeze through the trees. There was a rustling of leaves. The air felt crisp--it's usual dampness hiding out to make room for Fall's debut. The clacking of my boots on the pavement reminded me of the crunching of the leaves I use to rake in our big back yard in New Jersey. And I could see all the enchanted Falls of my past. I could smell the air on those first days of Fall in Utah Valley. Fall always smells of newly formed ideas, and it sounds like the whispered promises of adventure.

And what do those whispers say?

They say picnics in the park. They say morning runs in the cool air. They say hot cocoa and apple cider and whipped cream on top of fat pumpkin pies. They say maroon is once again the new hot pink and that I can pull out the pea coats and knee-high boots and eventually my fuzzy hats. They say long walks around the university-- holding hands. They say pumpkins. The orangest, plumpest pumpkins in the land. Ripe for the carving of their faces and the scooping of their guts and the baking of their seeds. But in a pleasant way, ya know?


But mostly they say that the world is falling in love with itself all over again.

Happy first day of Fall, friends!

crushing on charlie

Last night, the Mister and I were watching Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. It stars Shia LaBeouf and Michael Douglas (who is the bad guy--of course), and I just so happen to always get him confused with Martin Sheen. Who inevitably reminds me of his son, Charlie. So, last night as I am watching, I begin to remark, "Can't you just see Charlie in his dad?" But I stopped midway through the question, realizing the error of my ways, and pretended like I wasn't just thinking about Charlie Sheen and how great he made a nasty goatee & mullet look in the 90's version of The Three Musketeers.

10 minutes later. I'm in the kitchen pouring some milk when Husband says, "Guess who's also in this movie?" I look at the screen. There's Michael Douglas and the back of some other guy's head. Well, I'd know the back of that head anywhere. 

"Hey! Charlie Sheen!"

Awkward silence. 

Husband: "That's creepy."

Me: "Well, his head has been all over the news for months. Plus, I've had a crush on him since I was 6 and saw him in Heidi. 

Another awkward silence.

Me: "Don't worry. I don't have a crush on him anymore."

Husband: "Wasn't worried."

Sure.

(It's true, though. He's not really the jealous sort-- much to my dismay when I am trying to make him jealous with talk of my past Hollywood crushes. Poor, poor me.)

In other news, I was reading a post yesterday on this cute blog about seeing Shia LaBeouf in a London double-decker bus and missing the opportunity to talk to him due to shyness. The comment was made the Shia is shorter than you'd think he'd be. So last night as I watched Shia parade around the screen in tailored suits & perfectly gelled hair, I laughed a little bit at how incredibly tall they made him look. And I wondered during the elevator shot where he towered over the woman next to him if they just purposely pick a teensy-weensy woman to stand there or if they put Shia on a crate or something-- like that one time when I saw Dashboard Confessional for the first time and couldn't stop laughing because Chris Carrabba was standing on a crate for tallness purposes.

Good times, right?

sit down and keep still

"Don't you know that four-fifths of all our troubles in this life would disappear if we would just sit down and keep still?" -Calvin Coolidge

This quote popped up on my Facebook feed today. It is simply marvelous, don't you think? See, some people are born knowing this. I am not one of those some people. I am part of the group I would like to call "tightrope talkers." This group feels the need to talk incessantly until problems are solved. Where some people would close their eyes, take a deep breath, and hurry across the proverbial tightrope, we try to talk it into the ground for fear of falling.Beating the dead horse? Yeah, that expression was created out of exasperation with a tightrope talker like myself.

The hope, of course, is that with increased verbage comes increased understanding. Well, that's generally not the case. Good communication isn't simply about knowing what to say; it's just as importantly knowing when to shut up. That's the hard part. Talking is easy. Talking fast is even easier. Shutting my mouth-- now that's a trick you can't learn in the circus. (Well, to be fair, maybe you can... Any circus people out there care to chime in?)

I think sometimes, once I've talked myself in a circle and someone else's ear off, how much I wish I could turn back the clock and just let it be. Like that Beatles song, minus the speaking words of wisdom part. Because that's precisely the problem. When your a tightrope talker like me, generally everything that comes out of the mouth with the intent of bringing a little wisdom to a situation just ends up being redundant or ridiculous or rhinoceros (just seeing if you're still paying attention).

Calmate, a friend much wiser than me use to tell me. Just calm yourself. Things look a little clearer with a little time to close your eyes, catch your breath, and walk that rope how it is. The rope can only get thinner with worry and wear, so just let that rope be that rope. Take it in stride. Then when you have reached the other side, "sit down and keep still."

I hope someday I will get this down. For the sake of time and sanity and really thin tightropes.Ya know?

How do you keep calm in difficult situations?

dirty little secrets

 

 

 

 

Yeah, I didn't wash my hair for six days. No biggy.

Here's the thing: I have never seen how it is humanly possible not to wash one's hair on the daily. Mine is thin, blonde, and oily, so you can see EVERYTHING. I have tried shampoos for oily hair, no conditioner, conditioner only on the ends, rinsing but not shampooing, not running my fingers through my hair, and numerous bottles of dry shampoo. But my max has always been 2 days.

Wanna know the secrets I learned from my sneaky-sneaky weak of hair experimentation?

(1) Whether you are using a curler or straightener, on day 1 spend enough time on your hair to make it look really good. This way you will have a good base to start your wash-free stretch with. I decided to curl my hair one small strand at a time with a 1/2" barrel iron. I sprayed the whole thing with strong-hold hairspray and let it dry. Then I brushed it out of nice, voluminous curls. I retouched them every day, but never had to spend a lot of time on it after that first day.

(2) Baby powder is not just for baby bottoms. It's also great for absorbing oil from your scalp. And it's way cheaper and lasts way longer than regular dry shampoo. Be careful to apply sparingly. You don't want white roots!

(3) It's alright to be a tease, just this once. Tease that hair, for real! When your hair starts to look weighed down by the oil, powder, and weather, teasing it at the roots with a comb or pick is an easy way to get some volume and hide what you haven't washed away. Just spray close to the inside roots of the section of hair you'd like to voluminize, and tease away. Then smooth the top for a polished look. Just be gentle when you brush it out at night. Use a soft bristle brush to detangle that bump.

(4) Yeah, don't run your hands through your hair. Carry a brush with you instead. Brushing through the hair also adds a little bounce without adding oil and dirt from your hands.

(5) Be creative. The pictures above were predominately taken at night after I had brushed my hair out in preparation for the beauty sleep. In the daytime it was braided on the side, half-up-half-down, put in a bun... you name it. If the bangs are giving you a hard time one day, french braid them or tease them and pull them back. If the crown of your head is looking particularly oily, put a little more baby powder in, tease it up to your heart's content, and cinch it up in a little bump with some bobby pins. 

Easy peezey lemon squeezey.

I must admit, as wonderful as it is to not have to spend so much time on my hair every morning, it still feels so good to finally wash my hair again!

texas is on fire

Yep. And I have proof. Weirdo, creepy, horror-flickish proof. 

Check it.

Yeah, that yellowish fog that looks like the ushering in of the end of days is actually smoke on the I-10.

And does that one lonely, naked tree just right of center remind you at all of "The Ring" or Sleepy Hollow or that rando film version of Little Red Riding Hood that came out a little while ago? Or any bad dream you've ever had, really? 

Yeah--me, too.

The hunk-o-husband and I came upon this nastiness on our way home from the deliciously long weekend. On our way to a birthday celebration, in fact, where fun was sure to be had by all and the food would most assuredly be divine. Our road trip music was blaring, and spirits were high.

And then there was the yellow fog. Looming.

Oddly enough, it reminded me of a particular time of my life. A whole two yearsish of it, actually. It was a time when good things were ending and good things were ahead, but I was so bogged down by my own stupid mistakes that I couldn't hear the music anymore. I couldn't enjoy the journey. All I could see was the fog. All I could tell anyone when it came to telling them important things was that I was covered in smoke. Don't touch me; I'm just foggy right now. I couldn't see myself in the mirror through the haze. And I didn't want anyone to see past my haze either. I didn't give them the chance.

It was really sad. Really. And particularly because, since the day I came out of the womb, I have been taught that I am worth every good thing. Especially forgiveness.

I guess why I'm saying this is just to tell you that I am not my mistakes. None of us are. Eventually we drive through the fog and into the sunshine and move onto the party. No need to linger longer by the naked trees.

Happy Wednesday!

labor day is for lovers

The following is based on a true story...

Saturday night, driving home from a Cougar season kick-off party:

Clint: So, what would you like to do for the rest of the night?

Me: Probably drive to New Orleans.

Clint: Okay.

2 hours later...

Clint: Looks like New Orleans is going to flood this weekend.

Me: Dang it. (Now sulking on the bed like a child.)

Clint: San Antonio?

Me: Okay!

12 hours later...

 

Isn't San Antonio enchanting?

(Yes, yes it is.)

We thought so, too.

Except that one time when it was time to stop being tourists for the day and we went to reside in our Super 8 motel, which we picked out especially for its excellent price and good customer reviews (relatively) and proximity to the Riverwalk (except it wasn't approximately by the Riverwalk, actually), and in which we found 2 mutant-huge flies, 1 spider, 1 bug of questionable nature, 4 hairs of different colors in the sheets, 0 DVD players, and 1 very drunk man named Mikey (from Pegasus) who happened to be knocking on our door at 2 a.m. and gave me nightmares for the remainder of the sleeping hours. Seriously, I shook like a leaf for a couple of hours. Couldn't tell whether it was largely due to the fact that an intoxicated gentleman of unknown origin had banged on the door for 5 minutes straight or that I'd just finished a Route 44 Diet Coke with a shot of vanilla about 30 minutes prior. But once in a while Clint would open his eyes and kiss me on my shaky little head and tell me it was going to be okay. Mikey wouldn't come back. And even if he did, he couldn't get in. I had my doubts about that considering there was a ginormous window a few feet away from our bed that could easily be broken by a thug with sinister purposes. Had I been clever enough to immediately look up what Pegasus was, instead of dreaming up all sorts of scenarios in which Pegasus was a gang name and our friend Mikey would show back up at our door with several Pegasus pals who all had tats of flying horses on their over-sized biceps, I would have realized that Mikey was there to be a lover not a fighter. Poor guy was probably wondering why his man-friend wouldn't answer the door and why he called security to kindly escort Mikey from the premises after being so friendly with him at the bar down the street.

Right?

The strangest part of the whole experience is that it is not the first time we have had holy-random-middle-of-the-night encounters.

Ortega Highway, CA: Pitch black in the AM hours. Camping under the stars. Car pulls up to the lot across the small ravine from us. Man gets out. Man proceeds to make loud noises for 15 minutes. Man then proceeds to bang on a full drum set for an hour. Man packs up drum set and drives around the campground towards the exit. Man gets to our campsite, rolls down his window and yells, "Thank you, California!!!"

I was not a happy camper.

Maui, HI: 10:30 pm. Just starting to doze off. Have to be up early to fit in all the fun stuff going on on our last day in Maui. Phone rings. "There's a tsunami coming toward the island. Gather only the things you can't lose and head for emergency shelter. Quickly." We spent the rest of the night and the next morning in a war memorial gymnasium.

Life is rough, ya know?

And that's traveling without kids. Can't wait to see what's in store for us when we have little Thurbitos trucking around with us.

Yep, that's what's up!

And in other news, I found a new dentist! And he told me I do not have a Diet Coke drinking problem, I do not grind my teeth, and I do not have 6 cavities.

I knew it couldn't be true. Thank you, Second Opinion Dentist.

sock bun curls for fashion friday

Hair is a vital part of personal fashion. I know this. But lately I am just so tired of doing mine. Looking good is sometimes sacrificed on the alter of the snooze button, unfortunately. So I welcome any chance to cut the prep time. Especially if it (a) will still look awesome, (b) allows me to shower at night and sleep on wet hair without wreaking havoc in the morning, and (c) saves my hair from the damage caused by all the curling, straightening, blow-drying, and hairspraying I do on the daily. So, if you are even a little bit like me, this may be worth a shot:

First watch this...

 

Then watch this...

Then try it at home...

 Ta-da! You're a pro!

(Try to ignore the ridiculous face I'm doing. 

My only defense is that I had 5 seconds to take this picture. 

It's so hard to take a pic in a public restroom without getting caught. 

So hard.)

Have a happy, adventurous, luxuriously long weekend!