...is because I accidentally keep dying my hair strawberry blond. And by "strawberry blond", I mean orange.
As a poor college student, I refuse to fork over 150+ dollars it takes to maintain my golden locks. So I settle for the 7 dollar box of hair dye at my local Target.
For some reason--be it my cheap hair dye or lack of beautician skills--it never comes out right. EVER.
My first experience was with one of my best friends Angie. I had never dyed my hair before and I always thought people who did it looked soooo coooool. And looking back on it, they were cool because they actually dyed their hair the right color.
Anyway, on my hair's maiden voyage of being killed and bleached by terrible chemicals, my mom was like, "Tell me again why you're dying your hair? If you want highlights, I'll buy them for you. You don't have to do this." She pleaded in a drastic way like I was cutting off my arm or something. I was 19 at the time--and oh-so-wise in the ways of the world--and responded with: "Mom, please. Angie and I have to do it. This is like a right of passage. Everyone dyes their own hair at this age," in a semi-sassy tone that sounded like she should have known better. Duh, mom.
Anyway, I let Angie have free range over my hair. I sat down like a good little guinea pig that I was and let her squirt God-knows-what over my perfectly healthy hair. We were moving a little slow (since it was our first time) and by the time we got to the back of my head, the hair dye had been sitting on my roots for about 15 minutes. The box said, "When you've covered the entire head, wait 20 minutes and then rinse." So we waited another 20 minutes, thus leaving the hair dye on my roots for a grand total of 35 minutes. MISTAKE.
After I rinsed, I was so excited to see the new blond me! I got out of the shower with pure excitement....leaped over to the mirror....and looked at my reflection with horror. My roots were now a beautiful shade of copper. SHIT.
Well, maybe it'll get better once I dry it. So I blew my hair dry, straightened it, and then it was kind-of ok. At least that's what my mom and Angie said. But they were probably trying to make me feel better.
The next day, I walked into the house of the kids I babysit for. They see me and immediately say, "Your hair is orange." They obviously have not matured enough to know that sometimes you need to look people in the eye and lie through your teeth. I laughed, shrugged it off, and said, "Well, that's what you get for dying your hair for 7 dollars."
For the next two weeks, every time we went to the pool, I brought Sun-In hair highlighter and doused my hair with lemon juice hoping that the sun would bleach out my hair to the beautiful blond I wanted to be.
It kind of worked.
So anyway, I dyed my hair again the other night (this is like the 3rd or 4th time by now). And I accidentally left it on the roots for too long again. And it semi-resembles the shade of copper.
So I made my roommate promise that she will never let me dye my own hair again. I have matured (a little) and need to fork over and pay the high price that is Dallas haircare.
So please don't call me a "strawberry blond". Because it's actually copper.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Volcano
I can't believe this happened to me.
Ok, who am I kidding? Of course I can believe it happened to me.
I literally have THE WORST luck ever. I told this to one of my roommates the other day and she said, "I don't believe in bad luck. I think things just happen. And mostly people deserve what happens to them."
"WHAAAAAAAT?" I yelp. "You honestly think I deserve everything that happens to me?" She looks at me sideways, reconsiders, and goes, "Well...you are kind of unfortunate." Thanks. That's more like it?
I try so extremely hard (ask everyone I know) to avoid the puddles on rainy days, but somehow I manage to dive right into them.
I won't even begin to tell you about the first part of my evening. Instead, I'll give you a little taste of what it was like by telling you how it ended.
It was approximately 2:30 AM when we arrived home. I was wide awake (and extremely hungry) when one of my friends texted me saying that she was wide awake (and extremely hungry.) She was wondering what I was up to. "Nothing. Just watching some lame-ass movie from 1991 where Julia Roberts hasn't realized her full potential and is thus playing the character of Tinker Bell. You?"
"I. Want. Food. Pick you up in 5."
So I go outside, get in the car, and we drive to Cafe Brazil. It is now almost 3 AM and I am expecting the place to be empty. WRONG.
It is SO PACKED. We had to wait for a table. At 3 am. We look at each other like, "WTF is going on?" but then realize everyone is doing the exact same thing we are doing. They're wide awake (and extremely hungry) so they're hitting up the best breakfast place in Dallas.
We order and wait awhile for our food. It finally comes and looks delicious! The only thing is that they didn't give us any silverware. They're running pretty slow service-wise and I'm really, really hungry (forgot to eat dinner) and I see a huge pickle on my plate. I LOVE PICKLES. I get so excited because this is finger food and I don't have to wait until I get silverware! I can dig right in and enjoy my pickle while it takes 399430429 years for the waiter to get our forks.
So I take a massive bite.
But it's not a pickle.
It's a jalapeno. A big one. It's hot. My mouth is on fire. We have no water, no milk, no freaking napkins to put out the fire on my tongue. I look at my plate to see if anything will help the massive volcano erupting in my mouth but all I've got are some onion and mushroom quesadillas (with cilantro) and seasoned potatoes. I look at my friend's plate and she offers me some of her pancakes to help ease the burning sensation that has all but destroyed my tongue and taste buds. Having no silverware (remember) I rip the pancake apart like the hulk to his super-tight T-shirt and stuff part of the thing in my mouth. Then I drink a huge glass of water and hope that it feels better.
It doesn't. For the entire rest of the meal.
The rest of the evening, my friend can't stop snorting water through her nose as she says, "I can't believe you ATE A JALAPENO!!!!"
And to be honest, I can't believe I did either. We talk until about 4:16 AM when we finally decide to call it a night. I'm still feeling my tongue to see if it's still there while she continually cackles about me biting into a jalapeno. "I've got to give you some credit, however," she says. "Most girls would have gotten all pissy and upset. But you acted like nothing happened, really."
I respond: "It's almost like I expect these kinds of things to happen. I used to get so upset and worried about these little things all the time, but I have come to accept the fact that I will always, always have problems like this and always, always do stupid stuff like this. If I get mad, that doesn't help anyone. But if I laugh, then other people get to laugh too."
And I like that.
Ok, who am I kidding? Of course I can believe it happened to me.
I literally have THE WORST luck ever. I told this to one of my roommates the other day and she said, "I don't believe in bad luck. I think things just happen. And mostly people deserve what happens to them."
"WHAAAAAAAT?" I yelp. "You honestly think I deserve everything that happens to me?" She looks at me sideways, reconsiders, and goes, "Well...you are kind of unfortunate." Thanks. That's more like it?
I try so extremely hard (ask everyone I know) to avoid the puddles on rainy days, but somehow I manage to dive right into them.
I won't even begin to tell you about the first part of my evening. Instead, I'll give you a little taste of what it was like by telling you how it ended.
It was approximately 2:30 AM when we arrived home. I was wide awake (and extremely hungry) when one of my friends texted me saying that she was wide awake (and extremely hungry.) She was wondering what I was up to. "Nothing. Just watching some lame-ass movie from 1991 where Julia Roberts hasn't realized her full potential and is thus playing the character of Tinker Bell. You?"
"I. Want. Food. Pick you up in 5."
So I go outside, get in the car, and we drive to Cafe Brazil. It is now almost 3 AM and I am expecting the place to be empty. WRONG.
It is SO PACKED. We had to wait for a table. At 3 am. We look at each other like, "WTF is going on?" but then realize everyone is doing the exact same thing we are doing. They're wide awake (and extremely hungry) so they're hitting up the best breakfast place in Dallas.
We order and wait awhile for our food. It finally comes and looks delicious! The only thing is that they didn't give us any silverware. They're running pretty slow service-wise and I'm really, really hungry (forgot to eat dinner) and I see a huge pickle on my plate. I LOVE PICKLES. I get so excited because this is finger food and I don't have to wait until I get silverware! I can dig right in and enjoy my pickle while it takes 399430429 years for the waiter to get our forks.
So I take a massive bite.
But it's not a pickle.
It's a jalapeno. A big one. It's hot. My mouth is on fire. We have no water, no milk, no freaking napkins to put out the fire on my tongue. I look at my plate to see if anything will help the massive volcano erupting in my mouth but all I've got are some onion and mushroom quesadillas (with cilantro) and seasoned potatoes. I look at my friend's plate and she offers me some of her pancakes to help ease the burning sensation that has all but destroyed my tongue and taste buds. Having no silverware (remember) I rip the pancake apart like the hulk to his super-tight T-shirt and stuff part of the thing in my mouth. Then I drink a huge glass of water and hope that it feels better.
It doesn't. For the entire rest of the meal.
The rest of the evening, my friend can't stop snorting water through her nose as she says, "I can't believe you ATE A JALAPENO!!!!"
And to be honest, I can't believe I did either. We talk until about 4:16 AM when we finally decide to call it a night. I'm still feeling my tongue to see if it's still there while she continually cackles about me biting into a jalapeno. "I've got to give you some credit, however," she says. "Most girls would have gotten all pissy and upset. But you acted like nothing happened, really."
I respond: "It's almost like I expect these kinds of things to happen. I used to get so upset and worried about these little things all the time, but I have come to accept the fact that I will always, always have problems like this and always, always do stupid stuff like this. If I get mad, that doesn't help anyone. But if I laugh, then other people get to laugh too."
And I like that.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
TAQUITOS!!!! Mmmmm...
I'm throwing you a noodle. Yeah, you were kind of drowning over there. It's my fault--I made you stay in the deep end for a little too long and you got tired.
So come back to the shallow end with me.
It's been a long week and I decided that this Saturday was going to be a lot of fun. And when I decide something, it happens. Usually.
So it all started when my apartment completely went to shit and our refrigerator broke. For the third time this year. The first time sucks and you forgive your landlord while you live out of coolers for the 2 weeks it takes to get it fixed. The second time, you're a little peeved but, eh, sometimes these things happen again. But the THIRD time it happens....AFTER you were promised a new refrigerator on the condition that you signed the lease for another year (which you did), you're downright pissed. And you call him with demands on how a ceiling in your bathroom is completely necessary so you don't die, you want that towel rack fixed already, and you don't want to throw away 200 dollars worth of food. You just keep going and going and talking and talking and...whew! You got it all out. And you're proud of finally standing up for yourself.
Until he shows up at your apartment, starts waving his hands in your face and cussing you out. So inappropriate. So you can't take anymore and retire to your room. And he follows you. Completely inappropriate. Your friend doesn't let him in and he storms off and slams the front door in your roommate's faces. Completely inappropriate.
Then he texts you an hour later saying that he has a refrigerator ordered and it will be delivered Monday, the shower people are on their way to demo AND tile the bathroom all in one day, and your ceiling will be installed immediately. Guess I did something right...
Anyway, I crack open a bottle of wine (because I deserve it) and begin healing the wounds left by my inept landlord. We go to the SMU boulevard, sweat like there's no tomorrow, then go to the game. Stay until half-time when it starts to rain.
My roommate and I are trying to decide what to do and are sick of waiting on people to make a decision, so we decide to walk down the street for a margarita. We plan on going to Uptown later, checking out some hotties, and talking about anything and everything. But now we'll settle for a marg.
After awhile, we begin talking about why we're both single...and it gets pretty depressing until we decide that we're just too ambitious and driven for boys our own age. Thus, we give ourselves more of a reason to go to Uptown later and meet some mature 30-somethings. Just kidding, dad.
But for real, we talk and talk and talk. And decide that we're actually lamer than we thought. And our beds are sounding waaaay more appetizing than the men in Dallas. So we begin our walk home.
My day has been kind of ordinary....kind of...so I think my subconscious kicks in and decides that we need to do something interesting.
So I'm hungry. And we're walking home. And there's a Jack-in-the-Box 10 feet in front of us. I've never been to a Jack-in-the Box before--and I'm hungry--so I take an immediate left and begin walking through the drive-thru. My roommate is astounded. And kind of scared. It's cute. "Is this legal?" "Mmmm...I don't know. But I'm hungry, so we'll find out." She's practically peeing her pants when a police car drives into the drive-thru and she almost jumps into the bushes as she cries, "We're going to get in trouble! We're going to get arrested!" I wave to the cops and have to coax her from the bushes as I try to order a burger. She's nervous. And for some reason, the people working at Jack-in-the-Box don't know I'm in the drive-thru. The censor that usually picks up a 4,000 pound car isn't picking up my little ____ pound body. Weird. (And you thought I was going to tell you my weight! HA!) I begin knocking on the drive-thru order confirmation screen trying to get their attention and order my burger (which, for some reason, didn't work either...) while my roommate is slowly creeping back into the bushes. The cops are about 20 feet away from us and I momentarily contemplate asking if I can hop in their car just to order (I'll pay my own way, I swear) but decide that I can't take care of my roommate if she has a heart attack and eat a burger at the same time, so I finally let her lead the way back out of the drive-thru.
Because we're living out of coolers, we have to stock up on ice. Therefore, carrying home a huge bag in the wee hours of the morning borders on normal for me, so I decide to buy one. And I'm still hungry. I begin eyeing the taquitos at the 7-11. I have never, ever, contemplating buying (much less EATING) one of those things, but nothing else is open and we don't have any food at home. Therefore I buy two. And a huge bag of ice. For us to carry home in the heat. I am so smart! As we leave, my roommate practically voms in disgust as she watches me take a bite of quite possibly the worst food invention of mankind.
So we resume our trek back home. I have a bag of ice in one hand, a taquito in the other hand, and a taquito in my mouth. We're talking and laughing as a man pulls up and stops next to us and says, "Hello, ladies! Need a lift?" He creepily grins and winks. I turn to face him with a taquito sticking out of my mouth and think, "Oh my gosh YES! Yes, I would like to be taken into a creepy back alley while you and all of your friends enjoy the company of my beautiful roommate and I. I'm such a dumb little girl and will take rides from ANYONE, (especially you, Mr. Fifty-year-old-baldy). You look so fun!" Then we get in the car and leave.
Just kidding.
My roommate almost pees her pants again as I mumble a taquito-muffled, "Fno Fthanmks," and we continue walking. Roommate hasn't been out in Dallas much in the past 3 years so she's shocked that someone would ask us if we want a ride home. "Really?" I say. "Yeah, you're kinda right. I've never even heard of creepy old men hitting on anyone, ever! Dallas or anywhere else." Sarcasm. It wasn't appreciated.
We finally get home, pour ice over what food we did salvage (mostly condiments and butter), and I take a much needed shower. I promptly turn on Will & Grace, watch a few episodes as I write this entry, and then retire to my bed that is the most comfortable it has been in a loooooong time.
So long, Saturday. I will miss you greatly. You are my one day of freedom in the chaos-filled week that is my life.
But then again, I'm sure we'll cause more chaos next Saturday as well.
So come back to the shallow end with me.
It's been a long week and I decided that this Saturday was going to be a lot of fun. And when I decide something, it happens. Usually.
So it all started when my apartment completely went to shit and our refrigerator broke. For the third time this year. The first time sucks and you forgive your landlord while you live out of coolers for the 2 weeks it takes to get it fixed. The second time, you're a little peeved but, eh, sometimes these things happen again. But the THIRD time it happens....AFTER you were promised a new refrigerator on the condition that you signed the lease for another year (which you did), you're downright pissed. And you call him with demands on how a ceiling in your bathroom is completely necessary so you don't die, you want that towel rack fixed already, and you don't want to throw away 200 dollars worth of food. You just keep going and going and talking and talking and...whew! You got it all out. And you're proud of finally standing up for yourself.
Until he shows up at your apartment, starts waving his hands in your face and cussing you out. So inappropriate. So you can't take anymore and retire to your room. And he follows you. Completely inappropriate. Your friend doesn't let him in and he storms off and slams the front door in your roommate's faces. Completely inappropriate.
Then he texts you an hour later saying that he has a refrigerator ordered and it will be delivered Monday, the shower people are on their way to demo AND tile the bathroom all in one day, and your ceiling will be installed immediately. Guess I did something right...
Anyway, I crack open a bottle of wine (because I deserve it) and begin healing the wounds left by my inept landlord. We go to the SMU boulevard, sweat like there's no tomorrow, then go to the game. Stay until half-time when it starts to rain.
My roommate and I are trying to decide what to do and are sick of waiting on people to make a decision, so we decide to walk down the street for a margarita. We plan on going to Uptown later, checking out some hotties, and talking about anything and everything. But now we'll settle for a marg.
After awhile, we begin talking about why we're both single...and it gets pretty depressing until we decide that we're just too ambitious and driven for boys our own age. Thus, we give ourselves more of a reason to go to Uptown later and meet some mature 30-somethings. Just kidding, dad.
But for real, we talk and talk and talk. And decide that we're actually lamer than we thought. And our beds are sounding waaaay more appetizing than the men in Dallas. So we begin our walk home.
My day has been kind of ordinary....kind of...so I think my subconscious kicks in and decides that we need to do something interesting.
So I'm hungry. And we're walking home. And there's a Jack-in-the-Box 10 feet in front of us. I've never been to a Jack-in-the Box before--and I'm hungry--so I take an immediate left and begin walking through the drive-thru. My roommate is astounded. And kind of scared. It's cute. "Is this legal?" "Mmmm...I don't know. But I'm hungry, so we'll find out." She's practically peeing her pants when a police car drives into the drive-thru and she almost jumps into the bushes as she cries, "We're going to get in trouble! We're going to get arrested!" I wave to the cops and have to coax her from the bushes as I try to order a burger. She's nervous. And for some reason, the people working at Jack-in-the-Box don't know I'm in the drive-thru. The censor that usually picks up a 4,000 pound car isn't picking up my little ____ pound body. Weird. (And you thought I was going to tell you my weight! HA!) I begin knocking on the drive-thru order confirmation screen trying to get their attention and order my burger (which, for some reason, didn't work either...) while my roommate is slowly creeping back into the bushes. The cops are about 20 feet away from us and I momentarily contemplate asking if I can hop in their car just to order (I'll pay my own way, I swear) but decide that I can't take care of my roommate if she has a heart attack and eat a burger at the same time, so I finally let her lead the way back out of the drive-thru.
Because we're living out of coolers, we have to stock up on ice. Therefore, carrying home a huge bag in the wee hours of the morning borders on normal for me, so I decide to buy one. And I'm still hungry. I begin eyeing the taquitos at the 7-11. I have never, ever, contemplating buying (much less EATING) one of those things, but nothing else is open and we don't have any food at home. Therefore I buy two. And a huge bag of ice. For us to carry home in the heat. I am so smart! As we leave, my roommate practically voms in disgust as she watches me take a bite of quite possibly the worst food invention of mankind.
So we resume our trek back home. I have a bag of ice in one hand, a taquito in the other hand, and a taquito in my mouth. We're talking and laughing as a man pulls up and stops next to us and says, "Hello, ladies! Need a lift?" He creepily grins and winks. I turn to face him with a taquito sticking out of my mouth and think, "Oh my gosh YES! Yes, I would like to be taken into a creepy back alley while you and all of your friends enjoy the company of my beautiful roommate and I. I'm such a dumb little girl and will take rides from ANYONE, (especially you, Mr. Fifty-year-old-baldy). You look so fun!" Then we get in the car and leave.
Just kidding.
My roommate almost pees her pants again as I mumble a taquito-muffled, "Fno Fthanmks," and we continue walking. Roommate hasn't been out in Dallas much in the past 3 years so she's shocked that someone would ask us if we want a ride home. "Really?" I say. "Yeah, you're kinda right. I've never even heard of creepy old men hitting on anyone, ever! Dallas or anywhere else." Sarcasm. It wasn't appreciated.
We finally get home, pour ice over what food we did salvage (mostly condiments and butter), and I take a much needed shower. I promptly turn on Will & Grace, watch a few episodes as I write this entry, and then retire to my bed that is the most comfortable it has been in a loooooong time.
So long, Saturday. I will miss you greatly. You are my one day of freedom in the chaos-filled week that is my life.
But then again, I'm sure we'll cause more chaos next Saturday as well.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Just Let Go
So amidst my two-a-day practices Monday-Wednesday-Friday, schoolwork, babysitting schedule, internship, board position on SAAC and newly appointed board position on the Athletic Council of SMU Athletics (thank you, thank you), I have decided to take up yoga twice a week. On my only afternoons off. Call me crazy for working out two times a day every day of the week, but I don't really consider yoga a workout. Yes, I'm sweating balls and the instructor is trying to bend me in places that don't bend, but it's relaxing. It's soothing. And I learn a lot about myself in that hour that I devote totally to me. No one else is allowed to creep in and occupy my thoughts.
Everything else I'm involved in concerns someone else. I'm working for my team, for the school, for the parents and kids, for my teachers and grades. But during yoga, I'm working for myself. I stop for that one little hour twice a week and....just....breathe.
I was completely stressed all day today. About my bathroom. About my looming Accounting test and Marketing quiz. About the fact that I'm extremely sleep deprived. About those last ten pounds that I just want to lose already!!! But I made myself go to yoga.
And I'm so glad I did. I went with two of my really good friends and it was good to get to see them in the middle of all this craziness.
We were nearing the end of our practice for the day when the instructor led us to the tree pose. This is the pose where you're supposed to stand on one leg like a flamingo while the foot on your other leg is against your inner thigh and you're balancing all peaceful-like with your arms folded against your heart, your eyes closed, and you're quietly "ohhmmm-ing" while thinking about nature and flowing streams.
Not me.
I'm in the back corner flailing like a pigeon with ADD. I can barely balance with my foot on my inner ankle (a.k.a. right next to the floor) and it somehow makes sense that moving your arms all over the place will help you balance. I know, right?
Anyway, I finally found my balance with my foot on my ankle and was looking at myself in the mirror trying to focus on not falling over. I was trying so incredibly hard. The instructor was doing all this crazy Cirque-de-Solei stuff at the front and I was like, "Is this yoga? Or the prerequisite to an Orgy? Or....both?" when she told us to close our eyes. I was a little incredulous, but blindly followed anyway.
And I was still balancing!
This is when she told us to push past our center of gravity a little bit, find that sweet spot where you feel like you're just-about-to-fall-over, and then just........let........go. "Let go of your muscles and mind and body and let yourself fall. Let yourself come undone. You'll be ok, I promise."
And no matter how many times I told myself that it would be ok to let myself go, no matter how many times I told myself that the worst that could happen was that I fall on my mat and catch myself with my hands, no matter how many times I told myself that no one else is watching because they're too concerned about themselves, I just couldn't let myself fall. I repeated it in my mind: "Just fall. Just let go. Just come undone. It's ok. You have your friends here to help you if anything happens. Just let go. Everyone else is doing it. The instructor said it is ok. Just fall. Just fall. Just lean. A little. Bit. More...."
"Nope, can't do it. Can't let myself fall. Can't let myself go."
I learned a lot about myself today. I learned that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time. And I get upset and worried when I'm not perfect. But it's a fact of life that I will never ever be perfect. And even though I know this, I can't accept it yet. I know that tomorrow I will be striving for perfection in everything I do. And I'll get upset when I don't reach it. Someday I'll come to terms with this. But for now, at least I've taken a baby step and acknowledged this fact.
So even though I basically got my butt kicked at yoga today and found out that I'll never be perfect, I came home completely relaxed with a huge smile on my face. My body is completely stretched out and my mind is at ease.
And I'll do the best I can in everything I do, knowing that I'll never be perfect. And that's perfectly acceptable.
For you, my dears:
Everything else I'm involved in concerns someone else. I'm working for my team, for the school, for the parents and kids, for my teachers and grades. But during yoga, I'm working for myself. I stop for that one little hour twice a week and....just....breathe.
I was completely stressed all day today. About my bathroom. About my looming Accounting test and Marketing quiz. About the fact that I'm extremely sleep deprived. About those last ten pounds that I just want to lose already!!! But I made myself go to yoga.
And I'm so glad I did. I went with two of my really good friends and it was good to get to see them in the middle of all this craziness.
We were nearing the end of our practice for the day when the instructor led us to the tree pose. This is the pose where you're supposed to stand on one leg like a flamingo while the foot on your other leg is against your inner thigh and you're balancing all peaceful-like with your arms folded against your heart, your eyes closed, and you're quietly "ohhmmm-ing" while thinking about nature and flowing streams.
Not me.
I'm in the back corner flailing like a pigeon with ADD. I can barely balance with my foot on my inner ankle (a.k.a. right next to the floor) and it somehow makes sense that moving your arms all over the place will help you balance. I know, right?
Anyway, I finally found my balance with my foot on my ankle and was looking at myself in the mirror trying to focus on not falling over. I was trying so incredibly hard. The instructor was doing all this crazy Cirque-de-Solei stuff at the front and I was like, "Is this yoga? Or the prerequisite to an Orgy? Or....both?" when she told us to close our eyes. I was a little incredulous, but blindly followed anyway.
And I was still balancing!
This is when she told us to push past our center of gravity a little bit, find that sweet spot where you feel like you're just-about-to-fall-over, and then just........let........go. "Let go of your muscles and mind and body and let yourself fall. Let yourself come undone. You'll be ok, I promise."
And no matter how many times I told myself that it would be ok to let myself go, no matter how many times I told myself that the worst that could happen was that I fall on my mat and catch myself with my hands, no matter how many times I told myself that no one else is watching because they're too concerned about themselves, I just couldn't let myself fall. I repeated it in my mind: "Just fall. Just let go. Just come undone. It's ok. You have your friends here to help you if anything happens. Just let go. Everyone else is doing it. The instructor said it is ok. Just fall. Just fall. Just lean. A little. Bit. More...."
"Nope, can't do it. Can't let myself fall. Can't let myself go."
I learned a lot about myself today. I learned that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time. And I get upset and worried when I'm not perfect. But it's a fact of life that I will never ever be perfect. And even though I know this, I can't accept it yet. I know that tomorrow I will be striving for perfection in everything I do. And I'll get upset when I don't reach it. Someday I'll come to terms with this. But for now, at least I've taken a baby step and acknowledged this fact.
So even though I basically got my butt kicked at yoga today and found out that I'll never be perfect, I came home completely relaxed with a huge smile on my face. My body is completely stretched out and my mind is at ease.
And I'll do the best I can in everything I do, knowing that I'll never be perfect. And that's perfectly acceptable.
For you, my dears:
Monday, September 6, 2010
Bathroom from Hell
I'll paint you a nice little picture.
You walk in and immediately see the ceiling of Frankenstein's laboratory. There's different wires hanging all over, tin foil trying to cover up the sad excuse for an air conditioner and silver tubes running the length of the shower. The tubes are beginning to dip lower and lower so that every time you DO brave the shower, you are afraid you might get electrocuted while washing your hair.
Before you step into the shower, however, you have to shut the door. Well you might as well forget about that because after the first...second...third...fourth...fifteenth time of trying to slam the door shut with all of your weight impaled on it, it promptly shoots open. Today, after about the 11th time, my roommate yelled, "SHUT IT AND THEN while you're holding it shut, put all of your weight into the door. But act like you're going to open it and then jiggle the handle a few times so the little thing inside the handle comes unstuck!!!!!" So after I did that and turned my underwear inside out and did a little rain dance to the Egyptian gods all while saying the 'Our Father'.....the door swung open.
Not like it's anything new; I've been taking a shower with the door open all week. There's a curtain after all. And I live with two other girls who I am 100% certain are into guys, so I'm not really worried. The only thing that really bothers me is when I have to use the toilet that is RIGHT IN FRONT OF the door. So every time I'm sitting there, I'm super paranoid that someone is going to turn the corner and that it's about to get awkward. We've tried to avoid this unpleasant confrontation by announcing that we're using the restroom every time we have to go...which is also super awkward when you have company over. But it's not as bad as when they have to use the restroom...hahaa.
Also, the towel rack is coming off of the wall. We've strategically placed the nail that is (failing) to stay in the wall at such an angle that the towel rack is balancing by just a thread. So every time we throw a towel on it and forget that we actually can't use our towel rack, the whole thing comes undone and falls into our toilet. Thus prompting us to strategically fix our unusable towel rack again. I forget why we go through all this trouble.
Back to the shower:
We've completely ignored the whole every-time-you-take-a-shower-the-water-level-immediately-rises-to-mid-calf issue because our landlord said our hair was clogging the drain and we just needed some Draino. Well we've poured bottle after bottle of Draino down that freaking drain and NOTHING has happened. So when we were lucky enough to have some plumbers in the apartment fixing the other shower, (don't get me started) we had them look at the drain in this one and--ta da!--it has the completely wrong parts. AKA nothing is our fault and there's nothing that Draino can fix. Oh, Lord.
So our landlord said he's going to get our shower all fixed up as soon as he can...or as soon as he can come up with the money...which he said is hard to come by these days because of the economy. And we were like all sympathetic and what-not.
Until yesterday when my roommate was taking a shower while dealing with the possibility of being electrocuted and the tub full of water up to her ankles when I hear a loud BOOM come from the bathroom. I sigh and wonder, "What could possibly be left in the bathroom to go wrong??" Welllllllll, the soap tray that is tiled to the wall fell off. So now our wall is completely exposed, there's a rotted soap tray laying on the floor, and there's debris from the wall floating around in our tub. It's. Just. Gross.
I call my landlord and he sends my call to voicemail after two rings. So I text my roommate, "Stephen just rejected my phone call UGH!" and promptly get a text back that says, "I did not reject your call, it somehow went to voicemail. I will return your call later." Realizing I texted my landlord and NOT my roommate, I fall back on my bed, close my eyes, and come to terms with the fact that my bathroom will never be the same again.
I had a little thought today during my shower as I reached up to condition my hair (for what I feared might be the last time) that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I had a little shock. Maybe there's some money to be made out of this huge inconvenience. But I'm not brave enough to shock myself and I don't want to die sooooooooo we'll see about that.
You walk in and immediately see the ceiling of Frankenstein's laboratory. There's different wires hanging all over, tin foil trying to cover up the sad excuse for an air conditioner and silver tubes running the length of the shower. The tubes are beginning to dip lower and lower so that every time you DO brave the shower, you are afraid you might get electrocuted while washing your hair.
Before you step into the shower, however, you have to shut the door. Well you might as well forget about that because after the first...second...third...fourth...fifteenth time of trying to slam the door shut with all of your weight impaled on it, it promptly shoots open. Today, after about the 11th time, my roommate yelled, "SHUT IT AND THEN while you're holding it shut, put all of your weight into the door. But act like you're going to open it and then jiggle the handle a few times so the little thing inside the handle comes unstuck!!!!!" So after I did that and turned my underwear inside out and did a little rain dance to the Egyptian gods all while saying the 'Our Father'.....the door swung open.
Not like it's anything new; I've been taking a shower with the door open all week. There's a curtain after all. And I live with two other girls who I am 100% certain are into guys, so I'm not really worried. The only thing that really bothers me is when I have to use the toilet that is RIGHT IN FRONT OF the door. So every time I'm sitting there, I'm super paranoid that someone is going to turn the corner and that it's about to get awkward. We've tried to avoid this unpleasant confrontation by announcing that we're using the restroom every time we have to go...which is also super awkward when you have company over. But it's not as bad as when they have to use the restroom...hahaa.
Also, the towel rack is coming off of the wall. We've strategically placed the nail that is (failing) to stay in the wall at such an angle that the towel rack is balancing by just a thread. So every time we throw a towel on it and forget that we actually can't use our towel rack, the whole thing comes undone and falls into our toilet. Thus prompting us to strategically fix our unusable towel rack again. I forget why we go through all this trouble.
Back to the shower:
We've completely ignored the whole every-time-you-take-a-shower-the-water-level-immediately-rises-to-mid-calf issue because our landlord said our hair was clogging the drain and we just needed some Draino. Well we've poured bottle after bottle of Draino down that freaking drain and NOTHING has happened. So when we were lucky enough to have some plumbers in the apartment fixing the other shower, (don't get me started) we had them look at the drain in this one and--ta da!--it has the completely wrong parts. AKA nothing is our fault and there's nothing that Draino can fix. Oh, Lord.
So our landlord said he's going to get our shower all fixed up as soon as he can...or as soon as he can come up with the money...which he said is hard to come by these days because of the economy. And we were like all sympathetic and what-not.
Until yesterday when my roommate was taking a shower while dealing with the possibility of being electrocuted and the tub full of water up to her ankles when I hear a loud BOOM come from the bathroom. I sigh and wonder, "What could possibly be left in the bathroom to go wrong??" Welllllllll, the soap tray that is tiled to the wall fell off. So now our wall is completely exposed, there's a rotted soap tray laying on the floor, and there's debris from the wall floating around in our tub. It's. Just. Gross.
I call my landlord and he sends my call to voicemail after two rings. So I text my roommate, "Stephen just rejected my phone call UGH!" and promptly get a text back that says, "I did not reject your call, it somehow went to voicemail. I will return your call later." Realizing I texted my landlord and NOT my roommate, I fall back on my bed, close my eyes, and come to terms with the fact that my bathroom will never be the same again.
I had a little thought today during my shower as I reached up to condition my hair (for what I feared might be the last time) that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I had a little shock. Maybe there's some money to be made out of this huge inconvenience. But I'm not brave enough to shock myself and I don't want to die sooooooooo we'll see about that.
Friday, September 3, 2010
If there's anything I've learned it's...
DO IT RIGHT NOW.
I don't care what it is. Need to read your e-mail? DO IT. Need to pay your bills? "But-ohh-they're-not-due-for-a-few-days." DO IT. Change your cat's litter box? (trust me, DO IT.) Need to catch up with an old friend? DO IT.
I just spent the last forty-five minutes walking home with a guy friend telling him about how he should have told the girl he liked that he liked her. And trying to help him "live in the moment."
All of this happened after I was at a party earlier and saw that one of my best friends called me. "But, oh, she called me a long time after I called her. And at 9:30 on a Friday night. So she's probably 'out' like me and busy and I'll call her tomorrow. No big deal. She won't answer anyway...just like she didn't answer earlier..."
If only I'd have called her back just then. Or answered.
Because had I stepped into the bathroom I was standing right next to and listened to the voicemail she had just left, then I would have known that she had a 3 and a 1/2 hour drive to St. Louis, Missouri ahead of her. And she was driving by herself. And she wished she'd had left earlier with other people. And I can hear it in her voice (even though it's 5 hours later) that she's really stressed. And she wants someone else to talk to. And I could have been that someone else had I not ignored the voicemail.
And IF ONLY I had answered the M***** F****ing phone. Or heard it ring.
Because that's the exact reason I called her in the first place. Not to hear about how 'great' college is. Or how much she absolutely loves her sorority.
No.
It was to see what is really going on. How she's really feeling. What she's really doing (besides all of the absurd themed fraternity parties). I really do care about her and I want to be there for her. And our schedules are so messed up that it's virtually impossible to get ahold of eachother. Obviously...damn.
But I feel like I failed again. Even though I was trying so hard. And I wish I would have returned that voicemail. Because I would have gotten to hear her voice. And maybe make her feel better. Damn. It would have been better had I answered that phone call. Or heard my phone ring.
Because I would have known what was going on. And talked to her. And spent the last three hours making sure she was ok instead of dancing to the latest Usher song.
I feel like I failed. By not returning her call right then and there, I feel like I failed. But how could I have known? Perhaps it was just a mistake. And maybe (hopefully) something I'll learn from.
Live in the moment. Answer it right then and there. Never put it off.
Damn, this is gonna be hard to live up to.
I don't care what it is. Need to read your e-mail? DO IT. Need to pay your bills? "But-ohh-they're-not-due-for-a-few-days." DO IT. Change your cat's litter box? (trust me, DO IT.) Need to catch up with an old friend? DO IT.
I just spent the last forty-five minutes walking home with a guy friend telling him about how he should have told the girl he liked that he liked her. And trying to help him "live in the moment."
All of this happened after I was at a party earlier and saw that one of my best friends called me. "But, oh, she called me a long time after I called her. And at 9:30 on a Friday night. So she's probably 'out' like me and busy and I'll call her tomorrow. No big deal. She won't answer anyway...just like she didn't answer earlier..."
If only I'd have called her back just then. Or answered.
Because had I stepped into the bathroom I was standing right next to and listened to the voicemail she had just left, then I would have known that she had a 3 and a 1/2 hour drive to St. Louis, Missouri ahead of her. And she was driving by herself. And she wished she'd had left earlier with other people. And I can hear it in her voice (even though it's 5 hours later) that she's really stressed. And she wants someone else to talk to. And I could have been that someone else had I not ignored the voicemail.
And IF ONLY I had answered the M***** F****ing phone. Or heard it ring.
Because that's the exact reason I called her in the first place. Not to hear about how 'great' college is. Or how much she absolutely loves her sorority.
No.
It was to see what is really going on. How she's really feeling. What she's really doing (besides all of the absurd themed fraternity parties). I really do care about her and I want to be there for her. And our schedules are so messed up that it's virtually impossible to get ahold of eachother. Obviously...damn.
But I feel like I failed again. Even though I was trying so hard. And I wish I would have returned that voicemail. Because I would have gotten to hear her voice. And maybe make her feel better. Damn. It would have been better had I answered that phone call. Or heard my phone ring.
Because I would have known what was going on. And talked to her. And spent the last three hours making sure she was ok instead of dancing to the latest Usher song.
I feel like I failed. By not returning her call right then and there, I feel like I failed. But how could I have known? Perhaps it was just a mistake. And maybe (hopefully) something I'll learn from.
Live in the moment. Answer it right then and there. Never put it off.
Damn, this is gonna be hard to live up to.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Too Many Roles
I feel like a stay-at-home mom.
Except I'm not married and I don't have kids.
You may have gone back and re-read that statement. And you still don't understand. Allow me to explain.
I have been out of class since 11:00 AM and had planned to spend the rest of the day (until practice at 4:00 PM, that is) doing homework for the classes I have lately been daydreaming through. I know nothing about what's going on in Finance, Accounting, Marketing, and Risk Management....
But I had to stall this self-tutoring in order to run to the mall to pick up a birthday present for a friend. And then run a few more errands. At the mall, I saw many a stay-at-home mom in sweatpants, t-shirts, and pony tails pushing strollers around the mall. They were giving me funny looks like, "Aren't you supposed to be in school? It's 11:30 in the morning." (Remember that I was asked multiple times this summer if I was 15 or 16. So I assume they assumed I was in high school.) Either way, I felt really out of place, even though I was very well-groomed (which is rare for a rower, mind you. We're always too exhausted to care about our appearance).
Anyway, after scurrying around the mall during "mom" hours and not "college kid" or "high schooler" hours, I had to run over to Target to pick up a few more things. It was pretty much the same thing over there--moms with babies picking up the same items I was: birthday cards, shampoo, workout clothes, make-up, etc.
Then, I came home and noticed that there were a few chores to do around the apartment. Nothing that should take too long and I could certainly leave a few for my roommates to do. That's only fair, after all. But, no. I immediately turned into a germophobe-mom-clean freak who couldn't leave one square inch of the bathroom, shower, kitchen, living room, etc, with an ounce of dirt or clutter on it. After a few hours of coming out of my self-induced neat freak coma, I realized the whole day was almost gone. And that I will just have to spend my Thursday evening studying for all of my classes.
It was then that I started to see a trend.
I'm being too responsible.
I'm taking 15 hours of course load this semester, have a Risk Management and Insurance internship, am the secretary for the Student-Athlete Advisory Committee, practice 20 hours a week for rowing, and just took on a weekly babysitting job. Like a stay-at-home mom, I have started to assume that I need to do everything by myself and that no one is qualified to help me. Which is a recipe for disaster.
By being at the mall during the day, I realized I'm beginning to lose focus on what I'm actually here to do: go to school and row. That's it. All of the extra things I've added to my life will look great on a resume, but will they help me lead a happy and healthy life? Or will I constantly be overwhelmed on a day-to-day basis by everything I've added to my schedule?
I'm supposed to just be a college kid who has fun and works hard at school. Instead, I have assumed the roles of athlete, nanny, student, business person, and board member. The problem is: I want to be all of these things. I guess I'll just have to figure out how to make them all work without digging myself into a hole.
Now, how do I get rid of this shovel?
Except I'm not married and I don't have kids.
You may have gone back and re-read that statement. And you still don't understand. Allow me to explain.
I have been out of class since 11:00 AM and had planned to spend the rest of the day (until practice at 4:00 PM, that is) doing homework for the classes I have lately been daydreaming through. I know nothing about what's going on in Finance, Accounting, Marketing, and Risk Management....
But I had to stall this self-tutoring in order to run to the mall to pick up a birthday present for a friend. And then run a few more errands. At the mall, I saw many a stay-at-home mom in sweatpants, t-shirts, and pony tails pushing strollers around the mall. They were giving me funny looks like, "Aren't you supposed to be in school? It's 11:30 in the morning." (Remember that I was asked multiple times this summer if I was 15 or 16. So I assume they assumed I was in high school.) Either way, I felt really out of place, even though I was very well-groomed (which is rare for a rower, mind you. We're always too exhausted to care about our appearance).
Anyway, after scurrying around the mall during "mom" hours and not "college kid" or "high schooler" hours, I had to run over to Target to pick up a few more things. It was pretty much the same thing over there--moms with babies picking up the same items I was: birthday cards, shampoo, workout clothes, make-up, etc.
Then, I came home and noticed that there were a few chores to do around the apartment. Nothing that should take too long and I could certainly leave a few for my roommates to do. That's only fair, after all. But, no. I immediately turned into a germophobe-mom-clean freak who couldn't leave one square inch of the bathroom, shower, kitchen, living room, etc, with an ounce of dirt or clutter on it. After a few hours of coming out of my self-induced neat freak coma, I realized the whole day was almost gone. And that I will just have to spend my Thursday evening studying for all of my classes.
It was then that I started to see a trend.
I'm being too responsible.
I'm taking 15 hours of course load this semester, have a Risk Management and Insurance internship, am the secretary for the Student-Athlete Advisory Committee, practice 20 hours a week for rowing, and just took on a weekly babysitting job. Like a stay-at-home mom, I have started to assume that I need to do everything by myself and that no one is qualified to help me. Which is a recipe for disaster.
By being at the mall during the day, I realized I'm beginning to lose focus on what I'm actually here to do: go to school and row. That's it. All of the extra things I've added to my life will look great on a resume, but will they help me lead a happy and healthy life? Or will I constantly be overwhelmed on a day-to-day basis by everything I've added to my schedule?
I'm supposed to just be a college kid who has fun and works hard at school. Instead, I have assumed the roles of athlete, nanny, student, business person, and board member. The problem is: I want to be all of these things. I guess I'll just have to figure out how to make them all work without digging myself into a hole.
Now, how do I get rid of this shovel?
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