Thursday, January 27, 2011

Ten inches of love

Ok, so it's not what you think.

You see, I have a friend who's growing his hair out, and told me the reason he's doing this is for an organization called Locks of Love. I had really really long hair, so I thought I'd check out the website, just to see if it was something I'd be interested in.

An hour and a box of tissues later I was in. I mean, I was shave-me-bald in. For those of you who don't know, Locks of Love is a nonprofit organization that provides wigs and hairpieces to children who've lost their hair because of sickness. Check it out here... please. Have tissues handy when you do though.

Yes folks, I was bawling. I guess maybe I do have a little maternal instinct after all, because all I could think was "Oh God, what if this was my child."

Here is their mission statement:

"Our mission is to return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to children suffering from hair loss by utilizing donated ponytails to provide the highest quality hair prosthetics to financially disadvantaged children. The children receive hair prostheses free of charge or on a sliding scale, based on financial need."

It broke my heart for these brave kids. I wanted to help. Fortunately I had a ton of hair... so I booked an appointment with Tony at my favorite Charlotte Salon, Hair Klaudt (notice the shameless plug? in case you missed it, Hair Klaudt is the BEST in Charlotte).

Ok, So the last time I had short hair was high school, and it was not good. I went to my mom's friend, and bless her, she had no idea how to style anything um... current. So what I ended up sporting was a horrifying ginger mullet. It didn't grow out gracefully either. What a mess.

So you can see why I was nervous. I had my mind made up, but holy shit was I nervous about having short hair again....

....shoving my nerves aside, I put on my big girl boots and a smile and went to my appointment. It's so nice to have a stylist you can trust. It's even better when you trust your stylist AND they give you wine.


So basically, here's what went down.

#1: Before. Check it out. I could almost pass for a Fry Kid or a ginger version of Cousin It. Also, note the sparkly big girl boots.

#2: Measure, measure. So the minimum for a donation is ten inches of hair..... had to bust out a measuring tape because no man on this planet has any concept of what ten inches actually looks like.

#3: Snip snip, baby. This is the part where we cut off 10" ponytails... eek! But hey, a little wine was making me more woohoo than oh no, so all was good.

I even got to cut the last one off myself... and I'm pretty sure that is NOT the correct way to hold scissors. At least I wasn't running.

4: OMG it's gone! And then this happened:

#5: The hard part. Ok, so then Tony had to work his magic, we even did a little color wash - nothing crazy, just a little semi-permanent something to enhance my natural gingerness.

#6: Operation "sleek little bob" A little more magic, and I was done. It's a little Agent Scully I think, which makes me happy.

I was actually surprised at how much hair I had left after cutting so much off. Now all I have to do is put it in an envelope and mail it to Locks of Love. For now though, it's in a baggie in my purse, which cracks me up.

That's right, I have more hair in my purse right now than on my head.


Visit the Locks of Love website, I think you'll be really touched. I read that 80% of donations come from children wanting to help other children, which is so sweet. It shows that anyone can make a positive difference to someone who's hurting or in need, even with something like hair.

If you decide to take the short hair plunge though, go to a stylist who won't give you a mullet.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Word therapy

Today I received a package in the mail from my ex boyfriend. It contained one of the books I had loaned him when we were together, and a two page letter. The letter is now a pile of ashes in my kitchen sink.

I don't know about you, but break-ups always affect me differently. You of course know about the last one, aka the only reason this blog exists in the first place. After that ended I was very angry, hurt and disappointed. It was a sharp, explosive pain at first, but it became less and less over time. This time, the guy meant a lot to me, and still does. He was a bigger and more powerful force in my life than my last boyfriend. Strangely though, it's been a different kind of pain... it's hard to describe, I've been OK in general except for this hole in my heart that's been slowly getting bigger and bigger with each passing day. I guess you could call it a slow burn... I don't feel angry or betrayed or shot down, I just feel really really sad.

But today I got a letter...

... which brings me to the point of this post. Writing makes people feel better. It helps us cope with what we are dealing with and organize our thoughts. I just really wish more than anything that he'd considered how getting such a letter would affect me. Trust me, being on the receiving end is much less therapeutic.

I know hurting me was not the intent, but he did. Again. Because I was reminded that ultimately, his priorities were all about himself... the whole point of the letter was to make himself feel better, not prove anything to me or change things between us.


And now I need to feel better. Here is the reply I will never send...*cracks knuckles*

Dear Ex,

I know what you are going through. It's called adolescence. I went through it myself 15 years ago. Reading you make excuses for yourself and the reasons behind the end of our relationship really made me realize what a favor you did me by instigating the breakup. The saddest part? that you have no idea what your own potential is. I can say without hesitation that you are one of the most brilliant humans I have ever met in my life, and the glimpses I got of you using that brilliance truly dazzled me. That said though, out of the adult men I know, you have the least sense. I frequently wanted to punch you in the head just to see if I could knock any into you.

During our relationship, I offered endless support. I wanted to push you to see what you have to offer the world and how you can make it more beautiful just by using the raw talent and charm nature has given you. Even doing so I was afraid if you saw it, you'd find something you wanted more than me to hold on to. I realized that you were the kind of person who would need to shine, sometimes at the expense of those around you... and I don't know if constantly standing behind you would ever be something I could want.

You found this play and this theatre company and I truly hope that it leads to wonderful, fruitful things in your life. You are focusing on that now at the expense of everything else, including me, just as I suspected you would. I feel like your letter was filled with you convincing yourself that you had made the right choice in ending our relationship, all the while leaving the door open for us to reunite eventually. All the while though, I didn't find any real hope in your words, which is sad. Stop acting like a victim and truly work towards what you want. You still don't believe in yourself, and I sincerely hope you can someday. I hope this play works out better for you than I did, but you're going to have to work for it. I hope you are ready to really apply yourself and do that. If it feels like a start and a direction, go for it, because it probably is.

I also believe one of the reasons we ended was talk of me moving closer made you a bit claustrophobic, like I was threatening the freedom you've always enjoyed. I guess giving up some of that freedom is a big part of a serious relationship, and you weren't ready for it and started pulling away from me. When you started placing that distance between us, it hurt me. I felt like you didn't want me, that maybe you didn't find me attractive or something. That was such a shitty way to feel, not to feel wanted by the one person I wanted more than anything to love me.

But you didn't. I think you wanted to, but you didn't love me. In the long run, I'll be thankful for that. I wanted something more from our relationship than you were willing to give. I can't stay with someone who only takes and never gives to the relationship. I wanted to be in a partnership, but at times I just felt like a parent.

I got so much sadness out of the way while we were still together, our breakup has offered an unexpected peace. I hope you can find that serenity too, even though there is really no such thing as no regrets. For instance, I regret crying over the letter from you I got in the mail today.

I wish you success, love, and lots of happiness. I wish I could hug you one more time.



Words are powerful, but not as powerful as actions. Moving on is an action. The letter is gone, unless you count that pile of ashes in my kitchen sink. My tears are dry, and I am going to bed.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Somebody call the fashion police

I have a confession to make. Other than the Grammys, I don't watch award shows. I only watch the red carpet arrivals on E! beforehand, with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a notepad.... this way I can gain five pounds while judging people who would never give a shit about what I think anyway. It's a win-win, or so I keep telling myself.

ANYway, I have to say I was less than impressed with what I saw prancing down the red carpet this year.

All the guys really have to do is get a tux that fits, right? Well, you'd be surprised at how much of Hollywood can't even get that right, but that's not the focus of this post. I have to say, all I can think of as I watch starlet after starlet prance down the red carpet is... "these women pay people to dress them, right?"

I'm thinking some stylists should be fired. Like, don't even hesitate. FIRE them.

I think Halle Berry's stylist forgot her dress altogether or didn't get to the dry cleaners in time or something, and sent Halle out onto the red carpet in her underwear. Now Halle I love you and I think you are one of the most gorgeous women ever but next time look in a mirror and notice when something is missing... like YOUR DRESS.

I think Heidi upset Nina with this one. I really do.

Michelle Williams, you are not 6 years old and it is not the 1960s. Or maybe you derived inspiration from the no-stick flowers at the bottom of your bathtub? Who the hell knows, and don't even get me started on your stupid hair.

Julianne Moore apparently thought she was going to a toga party and decided to make hers out of Superman's cape. At least it's probably bulletproof.

I'm not sure what to even say about January Jones' dress. I mostly want to just flick her on the forehead and reiterate the necessity of looking in the mirror before you agree to wear something in front of millions of people. Also I kinda want to get her a trapeze....OOOh or put her in Jabba's palace on some kind of gold leash.

Now this just makes me sad, because I really, really love Sandra Bullock. I almost feel like they gave her Gadbury Sidibe's dress by accident and didn't have time to fit her before the show... or do her hair.

Which means Gadbury Sidibe had to dress in curtains.

I think I can see... oh wait no. I'm sorry, this is just trashy and it just makes Christina Aguilera look um... large.

I guess Megan Fox decided to not only stop eating, but also to stop wearing real dresses because this is obviously made of bandages from CVS. Does anyone else think she's starting to look like Lara Flynn Boyle?

I saved the worst for last. This is Tilda Swinton. She is a fashion idiot. I can't even insult this it's so bad. Plus I think somewhere along the line someone told her mascara is poisonous.

p.s. what's with that dirty-old-man wink thing she's doing?


Now I have one that's so awesomely bad it has looped back around to being kind of spectacular. I'd be willing to bet money that Helena Bonham-Carter has no stylist, she just does whatever the hell she wants. Two different colored shoes? Hair styled with a blender? Sure why not.


Well now I have to say for the sake of balance that there were some dresses I loved. Not everyone walked out looking like they want Joan to pick them apart on Fashion Police. Hollywood has some of the most beautiful women in the world, and here are a few who dress like the glamorous beauties they are:

Anne Hathaway in Armani Prive. I love how glamorous this is, with the surprise plunging back. Plus it fits her perfectly.

I'm not a fan of Eva Longoria. To me she is a tiny irritating human. But look how gorgeous she looks in this Zac Posen.

Of all the dresses, this is the one I most want to wear. I think it's decadent and gorgeous and Catherine Zeta-Jones looks like a princess. I love this gown, by Monique Lhuillier.

Aside from that dreadful hair, Olivia Wilde rocked this sparkly Marchesa... but the best part?

The Christian Louboutin shoes. Talk about a shoegasm. I needed a cigarette after I saw those.


But who was my favorite of the night? Mila Kunis in Vera Wang. This dress is gorgeous. Enough said.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

No one wants to sing about the age of Capricorn

Some assholes just can't leave well enough alone, can they? I'll never EVER tell you that I believe the alignment of stars and whatnot control any part of my destiny, but for some reason, I'll argue with you that I'm a Leo until I run out of breath and pass out. I'll do it loudly and I'll do it proudly.

Because I'm a Leo, that's why.

Read any description of a Leo and you'll know what to expect from me, because I fully embody the strengths and weaknesses and traits outlined. Count on it. I am a fire sign ruled by the sun. I am a lion, royal and strong... and as a Leo, I don't like to be wrong, second-guessed, or criticized. Rawr.

Something I read today rocked my lioness world, and not in a good way. Apparently due to the fact that space isn't static (who knew), stars and constellations are in a constant state of gradually shifting into new positions... which means astrologers are more full of crap than we ever could have guessed. Even the birth of astrology was a little... silly. First of all, astrologers are trying to link everyones personality to stars. Second, Babylonians originally had 13 constellations, but only wanted 12 so they threw out Ophuchicus, the snake holder. Third, Libra didn't come in until the Julius Caesar era.

Confused? Annoyed? Want me to get to the point? HA. I'm not forcing you to read this. You just want to know which sign to read in Cosmo this month, so either suck it up and keep reading or ask Bing. I don't care I already got your hit.

So here are the signs and dates as we've always known them:

Aries • March 21-April 19

Taurus • April 20-May 20

Gemini • May 21-June 20

Cancer • June 21-July 22

Leo • July 23-August 22

Virgo • August 23-September 22

Libra • September 23-October 22

Scorpio • October 23-November 21

Sagittarius • November 22-December 21

Capricorn • December 22 - January 19

Aquarius • January 20 - February 18

Pisces • February 19-March 20

Here are the new dates, with Ophiuchus added back in:

Capricorn • Jan. 20-Feb. 16
Aquarius • Feb. 16-March 11
Pisces • March 11-April 18
Aries • April 18-May 13
Taurus • May 13-June 21
Gemini • June 21-July 20
Cancer • July 20-Aug. 10
Leo • Aug. 10-Sept. 16
Virgo • Sept. 16-Oct. 30
Libra • Oct. 30-Nov. 23
Scorpio • Nov. 23-Nov. 29
Ophiuchus • Nov. 29-Dec. 17 (oh yeah, good luck pronouncing this one)
Sagittarius • Dec. 17-Jan. 20

So apparently I went from being the king of the jungle to something you eat wearing a bib in Maryland. I bet if you tell Mick Jagger he's no longer a Leo he'll cut you with one of his elbows.... because that's now we rock stars roll. I read the description of Cancer and can't say I identify with much of it. I'm no moody, emotional shrinking violet! I'm a fucking Leo and I make an impression on every room I walk into. I mean, would a Cancer wear these boots?

I think not. (This was my one post-breakup retail therapy purchase. Fabulous, right?)

Bottom line, you can't trust the stars in the sky to tell you who you are. Read whichever damn horoscope you want, and embrace the traits you like most in yourself.... fire, water, sun, or moon. Make it yours. Enough of this bullshit.

Did I mention I'm still a Leo? Because that's what me and my new boots are embracing.

Monday, January 3, 2011

The reset button

You know, I've really struggled with a New Year's post this year. It seems like every time I get to another New Years Eve, I'm hoping that the year has taught me something that will propel me forward. Something that will enable me to make the coming year better.

It's January 3, and I'm not sure where to start. Am I older? Yep. Thinner? You betcha. Wiser? Well, I hope so. I'm also just a little worn out. It seems like the older I get, the less likely I am to end a year on a winning note. I feel like I'm constantly hitting a "reset" button on New Years Day and it's not something I really want to keep doing. Yep, you could say I've been one grouchy ginger the last few days.

On December 30, 2010 I got dumped. On December 31, 2010 I cried all day. I went to work with a face that looked like a wet, lumpy tomato. On New Years Eve when the clock struck 12 and everyone raised their glasses, I raised my middle finger. Fuck you, reset button. Fuck you, new year. I shouldn't be living a life that needs to be constantly reset, or turned on its ear because the Earth had a birthday. Why does getting dumped right before New Years sting more than getting dumped at any other time of the year?

Because a new year means the end of something and the beginning of something else... something good. Somehow it feels like if I'm sad on January 1 I'm going to be sad for the whole year. It's a very bleak way to think.

So I made one very important New Years resolution.

I am going to find peace with these things I can't control, and I am going to use them to make myself better.

Now, I'm sure there are more lumpy tomato-face days in my future, but those low points help show me how good the highs are. Those moments and those feelings teach me about myself and about the people I've chosen to surround myself with. I discovered that when this one man broke me down into a tearful mess, I was almost instantly lifted up by a network of friends and family in a way that completely overwhelmed and touched me. Having the people in my life that I have and realizing how they can help me in low moments by just being there is one of the things that will keep me positive in this new year.

Oh, how fantastically mushy. If it made your brain vomit even a little, stop reading now because there's more.

I pull strength from a lot of places. I can use this experience to grow. I have people I can trust, confide in and lean on. I am smart enough to know (most of the time - and yes, retrospect counts) when something is for the best. Like a breakup. I can learn from it, and use everything I remember, feel and even gave to the relationship to make me better for the next one. So though my 2011 starts with sadness, it does not start with any regrets from 2010. I start this year stronger, smarter, and ready to face the challenges, triumphs and possibly heartbreaks it holds. I'm not afraid, because I know the people who love me will not let me fall. I'm not going to reset. I'm simply going to move on.

Happy New Year everybody. Let's move forward.