Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Furrowed brows.

Recently I made a quick visit back to my hometown in Wisconsin. The trip was fabulous - full of cheese runs, visits with friends and family, and lazy afternoons. Because moving is expensive and I'm not exactly flush, I thought I would get my haircut while I was home - and at the last minute, sprung for an eyebrow wax. I patted myself on the back for being so clever - saving twenty dollars? Done!

This... as it turns out, was a bit of a mistake. I walked into the perm-drenched salon and was greeted by a woman with wildly blond hairsprayed hair . Her eyebrows were penciled in, and her makeup screamed, "HELLO! WOULD YOU LIKE A JELLO SHOT?" I think her name was Tiffany. Trying to not be judgmental (hey, we all have our own looks, right?), I proceeded to the chair.

To make a long story short, I went into the salon with eyebrows and left looking like a surprised hooker. Afterwards, Tiffany handed me the mirror and I audibly gasped. "Oh my god... they're really THIN!" I think I managed to say. Tiffany looked crestfallen. "You don't like them?" I looked at her face, and then I looked again at mine. "Um... well, uh, oh they're just... thinner than they've ever been. Ever. Uh... oh my god."

I was then escorted to the chair for my haircut where I gripped the armrests. I considered faking an illness to avoid the cut entirely. What was going to happen to my hair? I not-so-casually kept saying to Tiffany things like "Oh, you know, just a tiny, tiny trim. Just follow the layers already there. Just... oh, I just need BARELY a cut." I think Tiffany caught my drift because once she started, we both sat in silence, with her looking overly concentrated for a 20 dollar cut and me fearing the absolute worst.

The cut ended up being fine - and the eyebrows, well, I've only burst into tears twice because of them. When I got back to Missouri, people didn't seem to notice them unless I pointed them out. I gradually began to forget all about my hooker brows, unless I spend too much time in front of a mirror. And, thanks to my German and Italian roots, they're already beginning to grow back.

Today's joie de vivre is that most things aren't permanent. Things will come back, grow back, get back to normal. Homeostasis is inevitable. So, yes, I have an awkward period of growth ahead of me - with my eyebrows, with my new job, with making new friends. But things level out; they always do.

So in the meantime, I'll just try to be patient. And try not to look in the mirror too much.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Joie de Photo


joie de vivre: Atticus Finch.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

I'm not the type of person who handles change with any amount of aplomb. When it comes knocking at my door, I don't eagerly shake Change's hand and offer him a spot of tea. Some people welcome Change - I try my best to duck and avoid him.

I own a lot of shitty furniture. A 30 dollar couch I acquired two years ago which had been attacked my its previous owner's kitty, my parents 1970's kitchen table, a rubbermaid-drawer-turned-bedside table. Most people would shed these pieces without a sniff, and yet the idea of starting over in a new city AND starting over with new furniture is too much for me. Forget it! I know my limits.

I'm about to encounter a lot of change - change I'm excited about and ready for, but change nonetheless. I am leaving with no partner in crime, no friend waiting for my arrival. This northern fish is going to be swimming in a southern sea. I've taken to muttering mantras to myself in odd places to help me calm down about all of this - in the shower, in the car, when I'm waiting in line for my dry cleaning - I am capable of change. This will not always suck. I am moving to a city which serves a lot of guacamole.

I think people, in general, tend to be too hard on themselves. And I am not going to hard on myself for being a total basketcase these past few weeks. We all go a little crazy now and then, after all. Then we turn a corner, and poof, we return to normalcy. Today's joie de vivre is the people who hold your hand in times of change. The ones who listen to you, despite you being a one-note pony. The friends who offer to come with you to Austin to help you unload the van and welcome you to the city. The family who accepts your endless phone calls about moving options.

I do not seek out change, this is true. I would rather drag a sub par couch on a 13-hour trek than have to find a new one. But I'm proud to say that when change comes my way, I arm myself with loved ones to help cushion the blow. So thanks, friends, for producing some mighty fine padding. It does not go unnoticed.