Thursday, February 21, 2008

7 odd things about me...

Laura tagged me on her blog.... so here's my response...

1.  I LOVE television.  I'm not talking I watch an hour or two every night.  no, no. I plan my days around tv shows, wait with baited breath to see what has happened to my favorite characters and watch even the fluff shows (like Designing Women-- my favorite).  The awesome power of DVR has allowed me to have a somewhat normal social life, but even Luke knows not to disrupt 'my shows'.

2.  (in response to Laura's #2)  I cannot stand spicy foods.  I usually blame it on being allergic to my braces when I was in the fourth grade and having an open wound instead of a mouth for a year of my life... but really... I'm just a wuss.

3.  I have a tattoo of two 'f holes' on my back-- like Man Ray's "Violin d'Ingres".

4.  I love working with my hands.  Any excuse to get my hands dirty is a good one (almost).  As long as it is creative or constructive I enjoy it.

5.  I always wear a bra... even when I sleep.

6.  I'm really good with numbers.  I can recall long strings of numbers with relative ease.  Letters on the other hand... they always move around on me.  I can't spell and some days I can hardly read.  The entire time I was reading "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy "Gandalf" read to me as 'Gadlaf'.  I have no idea why.

7.  I love, love, love to make people laugh.  

So there ya have it!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

In Desperate Need of a Change

So recently I have found myself waiting for a big change to come along.  I just needed something to happen.  I found myself just sitting around worrying, over nothing.  It was like a new hobby I was developing, the constant need to fret.  I never had anything to direct my frustrations at, just overall dissatisfaction.  Which is even more frustrating in and of itself, because I have so much to be happy about.  I have a good job, a fantastic husband and a ridiculously adorable cat.  But even still I had nothing in particular weighing on my conscience, and it was driving me crazy.  
A few weeks ago I went to visit a friend of mine who recently gave birth to her first child.  A beautiful little girl.  I did what any good friend/photographer would do in the situation.  I took pictures.  Because of my job I wasn't able to attend any of the pre-baby activities or really spend anytime at all with my friend while she was pregnant.  So I compensated for the potentially awkwardness of the situation by doing something I'm comfortable with... hiding behind my camera.  I couldn't quite empathize with the pain or drama or life altering affect of child birth so while everyone chatted I snapped photos.  So when that was done I just sat there in awe of the situation.  I have been friends with this girl for over ten years.  She was one of my first friends when we moved from Georgia to Alabama. The first time I met her she was in the eighth grade and carrying around a baby doll.  We stayed friends throughout high school and even  though I was a year ahead of her in school we ended up going to the same college and staying friendly.  She ended up being a bridesmaid in my wedding and I in turn was one of eight attendents in her wedding (which was just a few months after mine).  And now she is a mother. Crazy.  But I digress.  
So there I am sitting there in my friends house, holding her new baby and like a git what am I doing?!  Feeling sorry for myself. 
 The promotion I was waiting for had been postponed.  And as much as I had told myself I wouldn't, I put a lot of eggs in that basket.  We moved away from Montgomery for the sake of this promotion, knowing that we didn't want to end up in Birmingham.  We were living in rental with no hope of moving out anytime soon.  And I was working in a studio that was more of a hassle than it seemed to be worth.  I just felt stagnant.
So what do I take it out on?  What is the one thing in the bounds of my immediate control?  Trivial as it may seem... it was my hair.  
As long as I can remember (at least since puberty) I have had a strange relationship with my hair.  Growing up it was straight as a board and when adolescence came along, genetics threw me a curve ball and decided it was time for it to go curly.  So for an frizzy two year period I survived taunts of the chia pet jingle and classmates sticking pencils in my ponytail without my knowledge.  So like all pre-teen girls, I found something about my body to torture my self over. In my later teens I eventually grew to appreciate my curly hair, even though I still didn't like for anyone to touch it.  Then it turned into a force to reckon with.  All the sudden the teasing had taken another turn.  Jealous friends made it seem like I was flirting with some sort of unfair advantage and it was okay to make me feel guilty for getting attention from boys.  So what did I do then?  I took my senior trip and cut all of my hair off.  I had no more than two inches of length left.  I went to college with a short do and little bit less confidence.  Then came weight gain, re-growth, a bad dye job and the cycle starting all over again.  
I started growing it out when Luke and I began dating and cut it off after the wedding.  And since then I've been kind of in between.
 As a little girl my hair was a source of comfort for me.  My mother tells me that when I started 'acting wild' she would sit me down and braid my hair.  I'm sure it was just the simple act of making me sit still that did the trick, but to this day I'm never fully relaxed until my hair is pulled away from my face.  
So as I sat there wallowing for no good reason I made a decision.  The hair had to go.  It was weighing me down.  Along with my sister and another friend we planned a trip to a salon that accepted walk-ins and was open late.  Forty minutes later, I came out a new woman.  My outlook on life has actually changed since I've had my hair cut!  I feel refreshed and relaxed and ready to take on the world.  It is so funny to me that something that seems so trivial to most would have such an impact on me, but what can I say?  It has.