Snip Snip Snip

I hate my haircut. Yes, I hated how my hair looked before but that doesn't mean that I love my haircut.

I think sometimes I expect my haircuts to change how I look. Like getting my haircut will automatically make my head look normal-sized, my nose smaller, and my checks less chipmunk-y (from the side). Sadly, my haircuts often tend to emphasize these points. It happens every time I get my hair cut. I wish I could make the vicious cycle stop. I'm going to have to endure a week of compliments on my hair with a forced smile and a 'thanks'. Yes, I'm an ungrateful girl. But it can 't be helped sometimes.

I had a boyfriend who was so good at complimenting me on when I got my haircut-and he always waited a few days after-that sometimes he would compliment me on my hair even when I hadn't had it cut.

It probably doesn't help that my back itches with the invisible hairs freed by the shears.

And it kills me that I keep getting my hair cut. It's probably because I like to look at the inches of hair fall during the cut. This time especially I'm disappointed because my hair wasn't long enough for the style I wanted. I mean, it's shaped that way but not as dramatic as I had wished for because of length issues.

Ask me again next about how I feel about my hair and my answer might have changed.

Say Anything Recap

So everything I feared about the Say Anything concert, I was right to fear. It took me over 2.5 hours to reach my destination. Several calls were made to my friend that I was meeting-she was at the bookstore flirting with cops and not too pleased to answer my pissy phone calls. Once I was off the highway, I stayed on the phone with my friend and she helped direct me to where she parked. Stood in line between some stupid high schoolers-no one is ever smart during that time, no matter if they think they are-who proceeded to bitch about the $1 cover charge if you were under 21. I'm pretty sure that's standard. And the club definitely could have made it over 21 only and still had a packed house.

While the first and second bands played, we got drinks and food. Saw my hs boyfriend walk in with his friends and made sure I didn't make eye contact. Even though we dated in high school and hadn't had any contact since my freshman year of college (different story), I really did not feel like dealing with that kind of thing that night. I was not in a pleasant mood at that point.

When Say Anything came on, my friend and I were able to work our way up to the front of the crowd. From there, we were manhandled beyond belief. We both found bruises the next day. The band themselves put on a great show-playing an equal amount of songs from all 3 albums. We left during the encore -too dehydrated and beat up to stay any longer. I've seen them before so it wasn't a huge deal leaving early. Normally I'll stay until the crew starts taking down the set.

While I'm glad that I was able to see them live, it made me realize how much I like my space to be able to dance during the sets. The Pietasters are an excellent example of this.

Sometimes when I get nervous, I stick my hands under my armpits and I smell them

Before I have a big event or something going on, I always get nervous. I'm not quite sure why because I know that everything will work out fine. Take tonight for example, I'm leaving work early to go see one of my favorite bands, Say Anything, perform. However, they're playing at a venue that I've never been to before. So I'll be nervous about everything until they actually appear on stage.

I've pulled up directions every day for the past week. Today, before I print them out, I'll go through the turn-by-turn directions provided by Google Maps. I will fret about the traffic beforehand and will most likely be unable to concentrate on anything fully today because of it. Once I'm driving, I will check the directions every five minutes or so, just to make sure that I'm going the correct way, though I know that I am-I know the general direction to go. Once I arrive at my destination I will become jittery unless I am able to find parking that does not involve street parking/parallel parking almost immediately. Chances are, I'll be on the phone with my friend who is meeting me there as I try to find parking. Once there, I'll try to make sure I'm in the correct line and will be able to pass along my extra tickets okay. I hate being late, so if I get stuck in traffic, I'll start to panic.

After the concert, I'll be nervous because of all the traffic leaving the area at the same time. I'm spending the night at my friend's place so somehow I'll have to leave the area and follow her/my directions at the same time. My hands will remain clenched on the steering wheel until I'm on a road that I recognize will lead me in the right direction. Because my friend also lives in a rural area, I will have my eyes glued to the road, music on low, driving well below the speeding limit in case of deer. Normally I wouldn't be be such a cautious driver but I know someone who recently got into a bit of a fight with a buck. And my car is a lot smaller than his. I'm not sure if that's a plus or a minus and I'd rather not find out.

However, tomorrow leaving my friend's place, I'll be fine. I've done the drive enough not to need directions even though I'll print them out just in case. If I hit traffic, it won't bother me too much because I'm going home and I don't have to be home at a specific time-just a time period.

I will say that I'm proud of myself because I no longer stress out what to wear. Years ago, planning an outfit to go to a concert was a huge deal. I would agonize over it for days and try on several items before finding one one that was able to convey exactly how I felt. Now, I realize that I will be a sweat machine by the end of the show so I aim to dress comfortably. It probably helps that I don't buy anything that doesn't relate to who I am as a being.

Baby steps.

RunRunRan

So I ran the half marathon up in Pittsburgh yesterday. Holy crap am I sore today-though not as much as I would have expected. But I loved it. I'm definitely signing myself up for a full marathon and will continue running the longer distances.

Between miles 4 and 5, I tripped over a pothole grabbing a cup of water, scraping my hands and knees but my spandex remained intact. Around mile 11, I started to hit a wall. Physically, behind my knees was killing me and the rest of my body just ached. Mentally, I started to question myself and all that I could think of was a glass of Jameson, neat, to drink after finishing. That, and the idea that my friend that I ran it with, to pick someone and to slowly pass them to help us keep moving at pace. It worked. Coming down that last bridge, right in front of the mile13 marker, I just took off. I was at the point where my training and the adrenaline had come together, allowing me to churn on autopilot. As I crossed the finish line, I was elated. I had managed to beat my ideal score of 2:15 by five minutes. As this was my first half marathon-the longest distance that I had ever run at once, I was not expecting a time of 2:10:26.

I plan on taking this week off from running and eating well. However, this will not be a complete pig-out because I'm pretty sure that that would make me sick. I also plan to do some yoga to help ease some of my soreness.

My next run is a Thanksgiving 10k. This will take place in my neighborhood so I'm familiar with the route. My goal is to get a time under 55 minutes. I believe this is doable because when I ran a 10k several months ago, my time was 55:40 and I've only improved since then.

I know a lot of people think that I'm crazy because I enjoy running. Sometimes when I think about it, I'm agree with them. Because who in their right mind would run 13.1 miles? This girl. It gives me a confidence that I haven't received from past experiences. And it makes me want to stick with and to see how much better I can become.

RunRunRun

So I'm running a half-marathon with a friend in a week. It's close enough to actually become a reality where I'm studying the course map since I won't actually see the course until I'm running it. The race is up in Pittsburgh while I'm down here in Northern VA. I'm not looking forward to the drive home-the same day as the race. However, I just discovered that 1 November is the same day as moving the clocks backwards one hour. This extra hour of sleep will come in handy when I have to be up ridiculously early-the race starts at 7:30 am.

I've come to realize that I really enjoy the training. As much as I hate it, I like knowing that my body can run 12 miles and not die immediately. While I might not always enjoy the way that my body looks, I can appreciate what it can do. It gives me confidence.

End of an Era

So I officially cancelled my match.com subscription. While I clearly was not having any great luck with it, it also got to the point where it was too much of a hassle. It is really hard to be witty and funny and cute all of the time, especially when you're not like that normally. I'm sarcastic, short, and blunt. And sometimes it is okay to have a silence between two people and to be able to enjoy it as opposed to feeling the pressure to continue whatever inane conversation was occurring at that time.

It's been about a week since and I feel so much freer. I'm not constantly checking my email to see if I have any new notifications because I know that I don't. There's no hemming and hawing over replies to people that I'm not completely excited about based on whatever they decided to post on their profile. It's amazing, you're given a word limit to write about yourself and somehow you have to invent yourself to sound different but not too different from everyone else out there because after a while, everyone sounds the same and individuality is gone. But at the same time, you can't have a profile that is too different because then no one will talk to you. It's almost like being back in high school, but online.

I thought that I would miss the attention but I haven't. I've got too much going on in my real life to factor in an online life. Work takes up about 12 hours of my day if you factor in my commute. I'm training for a half-marathon that will take place in less than a month so its rare that I have a work-out that takes less than an hour. And then there are all the little things like laundry and watching my TV shows that need to get done. And honestly, sometimes after a long day at work, the last thing I want to do it is meet someone.

At this point in my life I can honestly say that maybe a relationship isn't in the books for me. I'm glad that I have no prospects because I wouldn't be able to give it my all and I'm not the type of person who half-asses relationships because those are called f-buddies. In a month or two I might feel differently-I'm sure I'd like someone to massage my legs and feet for me after the half marathon.

Chain Emails

So remember years ago when the internet was first becoming popular? I was in middle/high school and would spend almost every night on AIM talking to friends. I would easily have four or five conversations going on at once. There was something so impersonal about talking to someone online that made you able to spill some of your darkest, deepest secrets. Of course this usually meant who you like liked and who you couldn't stand and what embarassing thing happened to you that particular day in school.

At this same time, chain emails were going around. You know, the ones were if you didn't pass it on you would have horrible luck, your crush wouldn't like you back, or your wildest dreams would come true. Slowly, it seemed like those died out. Or maybe I wasn't popular enough to receive them after a certain time. Regardless, it now seems like they're making a comeback. But this time around, I kind of like it. Not because it makes me feel popular, but because I'm about to appreciate them in a different light. This time, I take the time to read the story and appreciate what is being said. I actually save the funny emails and will occasionally read them later on when I need a pick-me-up.

I think that one of the reasons why I enjoy them so much is because they are based on a true circumstance. Here's one of the more recent ones I received:

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch.. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR !) down with your pants and assume 'The Stance'.In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The Stance.'To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would haveKNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don'tKNOW what kind of diseases you could get'.

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDEDit?)

You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your bag hanging around your neck?

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.

I don't know any female who has had to use a public restroom and has had a pleasant experience everytime. The worst are the bars late at night though by that point you're in and out of that bathroom so much it doesn't matter. But this email is great example of who someone was able to take a horrible experience and turn it into something funny,something that women can laugh at because they've been there.