How Would Carrie Bradshaw Do Yardwork?

When I left to get my hair cut on Saturday, I thought I looked rather fetching in a navy peasant skirt and pale blue top. And I decided to add cute shoes instead of flip-flops, opting for Sam Edelman faux snakeskin t-strap ballet flats.

After my hair cut (and color, where I got re-redded), I went to pick up the giant roll of fabric for recovering my couch. When I arrived at my house to drop it off, I found my parents in the throes of yardwork. Dad's pickup was loaded with bales of pinestraw and bags of mulch for the plant beds scattered around my front yard.

I couldn't let them toil alone. So I found myself spreading mulch in my Sam Edelmans. I imagine that was the most fashionable raking that yard had ever seen. All was well until the threat of mud arrived. And then I just had to go barefoot. Even Carrie would sacrifice a few splinters to save the shoes.

How Now Brown Wow?

Please Explain...

...Michael Phelps' facial hair in this photo.

Why So Scrunchious?

I understand that Olympic competition isn't about vanity. As noted by Nik, the swimsuits tend to make the women look, well, less than feminine. And let's face it - there's zero room for boobs at the Olympic games. But one thing I don't understand...is the scrunchy.

I know the gymnasts have to keep their hair out of their eyes. Whether for sheer aerodynamics or because a stray wisp will cost them a one one-hundredths deduction. But that's what hairspray is for. Don't have any? See the US Men's Gymnastics team.

The use of the scrunchy as an instrument of severe hairstyling doesn't even make sense. Back in fourth grade when I wore these - hey, hey, they were acceptable at the time - they were rather loose fitting and I always had to wear a rubberband under them. The scrunchy was simply for aesthetics.

And though I don't condone the millions of barrettes dotting the scalps of the competitors, I can see how these clips would keep the hair at bay. But the scrunchy - oh, odious scrunchy! Why dost thou plague the Olympians?

I find myself particularly surprised by the US athletes sporting them. Somehow, I can convince myself that in Eastern Europe, scrunchies are still partying like it's 1999. In China? Maybe it feng shui to wear a scrunchy. But in the good ol' U.S. of A.? I know it's simply not done. Low marks for the fashion faux pas.

Occurences

Haircut - On Saturday, I accompanied Anna to the salon for a haircut. It was monumental because a) she had grown her hair out for Locks of Love b) she hadn't had her hair cut since Ronnie died and c) I can't recall the last time she had anything beyond a simple trim done. But she gritted her teeth through the initial scissor slice and now she has a shoulder length 'do that's really quite fetching.

Ash - Dillon has suddenly switching from "Sha" to "Ash." On Sunday, when we arrived to keep him so that his parents could celebrate their wedding anniversary, he ran to passenger side of the van calling "Ash! Ash!" And when I left for work yesterday morning he wouldn't give me a goodbye kiss because he wanted to play "cars." Mama said he stood at the door pitifully saying "Ash?" after I left.

Floor - For the first time in almost three decades, my mother is having the floors in our living room, dining room and den replaced with hardwoods. The crummy deteriorating carpet is being toted out and replaced with gleaming blond oak beams. Already today, the living room is woodsy. And she agreed to only put the furniture back in the room that she likes as opposed to just loading back in what's always been here.

Dancing - Last night, Mom and Dad were still at Justin and Eva's babysitting, so I had the house to myself. I watched She's the Man, and when the credits rolled to "Move Along" by the All-American Rejects, I gave into a fit of spontaneous dancing in the den. The cats looked perfectly scandalized. I thought it was magnificent.

The -ings of the Last Week

* Getting my hair cut - my favorite thing - which involved talking to my stylist about the line dancing craze of the early 90s

* Attending the farewell show of The Rockstar's band at the 40 Watt. He's moving to Barcelona to pursue his music. And I am sad.

* Putting together a photo book of San Francisco on Shutterfly. It's so awesome, I can't stop looking at it.

* Meeting up with my dear Jenny Ray and her husband Nick for drinks on Friday night. She got to see the aforementioned red shoes, and we caught up on all sorts of things - like hugs!

* Winning my first account for the firm on Thursday. Hooray!

* Enjoying lunches with my parents while Dad spent the rest of the week at home recovering.

* Missing Dillon. I didn't get to see him Father's Day weekend in all the hospital madness.

* Catching up on blogs.

* Sorting through old photos - Jenn, I found some oldies, but goodies. Like your college graduation party?

* Taking many, many photographs to complete the photo game. 20 photos down and six to go.

* Shopping too much - I am enacting a moratorium on new clothing purchases.

* Thinking. A lot. About life and love and the pursuit of happiness.

* Gaining perspective on the here and now.

5-7-5: John Mayer Wants a Haiku About His Hair

My dear friend Jenny Ray sent me this People.com article about how John Mayer wants a haiku about his hair. Fresh from a new (no doubt) ultra-expensive cut, Mayer thinks his finger-touchable coif is poetically inspiring. To that, I say, I didn't get an MFA for nothing. I hope John finds one of these fetching enough to rep his new 'do.

Volume is amped up
In rock star guitar riff waves
Lookin' good, Johnny

As Jonathan says
It's all about great har, man
Put some Dirt in it

In a fine feather
Just like Farah Fawcett
In a red swimsuit

Cutting Loose

This weekend held two anomalies: one, I cut my hair, and two, I went to the bar - twice.

The first had to do with nearing a year away from Wilmywood (next Monday) and feeling like my long hair was strangely tied to the hardships of the last twelve months: Booker dying, the panic attacks, the second thoughts, the loneliness, Ronnie's death. About two weeks ago, I decided it was time to cut it. Time to let those inches go - and let the things associated with my longer locks go as well. So yesterday, I went to Corey and told him to cut it - really cut it - and that I trusted him to do what he thought best. The result: a fabulous, fabulous new style. And a slightly refreshed outlook on life. It's amazing what exposing your neck will do for you. Photos soon...

The second - bar trips two nights in a row - had to do with Justin being in town for his MBA class reunion. He and Eva told me I'd spent too many Friday nights watching "What Not to Wear" and that it was time to find something to wear and hit the town. So I did. I spent Friday and Saturday evening in the international company of Justin's friends from grad school: a Portuguese, a German, two Indians, an Israeli, and a couple of Americans for good measure.

And last night, standing in the bar between the German and the Portuguese and trying to explain the phrase "junk in the trunk" while bouncing a little to the bar music, sipping a Cosmo and rocking my new haircut, a night out turned into a step forward - a refreshed look, physically and mentally. A few moments that seemed normal in a hopelessly abnormal time in life. A sense of confidence about where I am and where I'm going, when it was easy to laugh and easy to walk down the street on the way back to the car, and feel that good in my own skin.

You Don't Even Have to Give Me a Penny

* Another 4:45 wake up call tomorrow

* Kudzu, and how he seems to know right now that I need him, so he's hanging out with me on the couch

* That John Mayer's latest blog entry further convinces me that we would be really good friends

* Feeling really good about going paperless on my Chase credit card statements because they gave $5 to the World Wildlife Fund because I made the switch

* What's going to happen with Miranda and that devilish rake Jack in the book I'm reading

* My six-month review at work which was unbelievably good...maybe I can do my job

* Friends...far away and across the table tonight. It's good to have 'em.

* The Olympics protesting...I can't quite decide what I think is the best course of action. Read the article unearthed by HAT for an interesting perspective

* Whether to wear pantyhose or go bare-legged to the meeting with the law firm tomorrow. My legs look dreadful.

* Haircut plans. It is time. I am scheming.

Dillon: 14 1/2 months

Makes: Animal noises: chicken = bok, duck = ack, and monkey = ooh ooh (accompanied by shoulder motions); refusal to speak of what a kitty or doggy says

Says: please, outside, more, again, ball (pronounced "baaawllll")

Wears: Size 5 shoes, big boy pants, most of his meals

Walks: Leading with the belly, arms unpredictable

Watches: Baby Einstein's Animals in the Neighborhood (except for the part with the cat mobile), Mickey Mouse Club, Curious George, and The Wonder Pets Save the Unicorn (possibly the most bizarre children's show I have seen yet...)

Grows: Teeth - an even dozen - 12 teeth!!, a thatch of baby-fine white blonde hair

Eats: Nana Bread (otherwise known as Mom's homemade sourdough bread), dried apples, and yogurt

Firsts: Haircut, Easter basket

Dances: To the banjo music on the Leapfrog magnetic barn and the marching band version of "The B-I-B-L-E."

Learned: How to give Anna's dogs treats, blow kisses, open markers (uh-oh)

Continues: To be a delightful and hilarious little boy, to make us smile, to remind us of innocence, to steal my heart

A Few of my Favorite Things

* Earlobes

* Hairstylists

* Worn-in jeans

* Simmering cinnamon and cloves

* Stray cats

* Email

* Eyelash curlers

* Dandelions

* 5 o'clock shadow

* Cream cheese

* Words

*Sneezing

TomCut

Tom Cruise's hair cut makes me irrationally angry with its dangerously close approach to an early '90s bowl cut and sweeping feathered bangs. I can't get over it - I mean, I posted a comment on Daisy's blog weeks ago, and anyone I've talked to in the last few days will attest that I'm still extraordinarily bothered by it. I will even lecture you on how it diminishes any ounce of hotness he still possessed after...well, he went crazy. It's just enraging. Seriously. Flames on the side of my face.

Leftovers

Too tired for a full post, and so you get the leftovers, a potpourri of mental miscellany that will have to satisfy for NaBloPoMo:

* a small red book

* repetitive piano music

* not one, not two, but three cups of coffee

* mistaken for 30

* grape salad for lunch

* sharp reminder regarding health that it could be worse

* demanding client, sudden deluge of deadlines

* haircut and the smell of hair product in the evening

* dark drive home

* slim white envelope, unexpected sad news

* tears and laughter because you must

* missed calls (sorry, mel!)

* kudzu, wedged between my ribcage and my spleen, warm and fuzzy

* promise of sleep (uninterrupted?) between soft dark green sheets

"I Do" Review

"I Do" Good
* The weather was perfectly beautiful with bright blue skies and golden autumn light.

* Kim looked magnificent. I've never seen her quite so radiant - and when we first got her dress on, and I took it all in, I couldn't help but cry to see her looking that regal.

* I did not lose Kim's engagement ring while wearing it for the duration of the ceremony, nor drop Ben's wedding band into the nearby lake on accident.

* The dinner music included selections from William Shatner, Ethel Merman and The Beatles - only Kim Shable (Oja!).

* Kim's mom put us all to shame on the dance floor during "Gold Digger." And that, my friends, is to be applauded.

* Kim handled snafus - like the accidental dumping of a cup of a coffee on her veil at the salon - with unbelievable aplomb.

* Managed to arrange an all Wilmywood photo - sans Penelope, HAT, and Daren. We missed you!

* I had the best up-do ever - Samantha, you rock.

"I Do" Not-So-Good
* I discovered at the rehearsal dinner that my best friend is also left-handed. How in the name of heaven did I miss this fact all these years? I am admittedly obsessed with other left handers, and I didn't know Kim is one? I cannot believe this. I demand a recount.

* After the rehearsal dinner, we all went back to the Shables for a campfire. I, after my 4 a.m. wake up call, fell asleep by the fire in a lawn chair. Like a bum.

* I was attacked by a bee during the ceremony. No, really. It approached, and I tried gently to wave it away. But it pursued me relentlessly until I was flailing arms and doing a little hop from foot to foot to get away from it. I imagine, for the crowd, it was mildly entertaining.

* I did not have time for even one "nerve-softening" drink before offering my toast - behind a very poignant and touching tribute from the best man. Out-toasted, I was.

* The woman in charge at the event site scared the bejeezes out of all of us - both with her demeanor and her aggressive blush.

* I was forced to do the Chicken Dance against my better judgment and the preservation of my dignity. Many, many thanks to Jenn, who was friend enough to not allow me to suffer alone.

"I Do" Tears
* First moment in wedding dress

* Exchange of vows

* First dance

* Goodbye

Dear Sweet Blog,

I have been as neglectful of you in the past couple of weeks as Britney on a bender in Vegas is of the poor Federspawn. What, with the pre-release Pottermania and the post-Potter come-down, I've hardly had a Potterless post this month. Then I left town, and, well, I'm back, but not for long. See, on Thursday, I've got a meeting with important people who might be willing to pay me to do work for them (but let's not call it what it is lest we jinx it), and then on Friday, I have to get my hair did - and blonde to boot. You know how I love to tend to my tresses. Saturday looks like it's going to be the family celebration for Anna's birthday. And Sunday...well, Sunday is going to be its own religious experience at the John Mayer concert.

I know, I know. You're tired of my excuses. It's really not about you, you know. It's me. I'm suddenly busy. Like, I almost have a life. But don't you worry. I'll be back soon. And we'll plan for some real quality time. Promise.

Love,
Ash

Leaving: Part Four - Going Back

The Return Trip: Observations & Experiences

* It is an entirely different trip when driving east first and west second. Either way, it is still a long, long drive.

* Coldstone Creamery's cake batter ice cream is sinfully good.

* Downtown Wilmywood is still there - I saw it, walked its streets, smelled its river.

* There is nothing like the dark theater, Coke Icees, and a good friend on either side to pass a rainy Saturday.

* I do not wish to see the movie Joshua, as the preview nearly made me cry with fear.

* Waitress is so wonderful and funny and heartbreaking that I can't stop thinking about it.

* I did not look at my office, as I know it is no longer mine. I did help myself to a complimentary Diet Coke and Skittles from the conference room table.

* The emergence of K. Lo.'s personality is extraordinarily entertaining, between the use of the Red Robin crayon box as a cell phone and her constant parade of dance moves. Bonus moment was hearing her say "yum" when fed potato soup.

* STGD's porch is a good thing with its ferns and flower boxes and the creak of the porch swing and a beer in hand and Lenny looking for lizards and the breeze and the rain. And us laughing. Always laughing.

* Weirdly, it has not rained here or there since I left. Last night, it poured both places.

* Uninterrupted girl time to discuss hair (cuts, color, and styling tips), fashion, boys, and life in general is very important to the soul.

* Mel's cat Oliver has something urgent to say. I only wish I knew what it was.

* It is a bittersweet reminder how good it is to have friends to share a meal, a movie, a magazine, a moment.

* My Southern accent is baaaack.

* Grace Street is occupied now but mine in my heart.

* Still some ghosts lurking in Wilmywood.

* Thanks to Mel, Penelope, STGD, and The Boss for kind and insightful life advice. (And to Mel for letting me crash...)

* Nothing could stop the tears as the riverfront disappeared in the sideview mirror crossing the bridge out of town.

The Dirt

By popular demand, I am posting a photo of the brown hair. Lest any of you think with the stand-alone picture that there was little change in the color of my hair, I'm posting the blonde for comparison. I will admit that while I'm not a brunette at heart, I don't hate the hair as much as I did last week. As predicted, the color has settled in my hair a bit and doesn't look so drastic. And...my mom bought Jonathan Antin's Dirt off e-Bay. It's good stuff, ladies. He really does know about great har.

Down With Brown

I must begin this post with two important disclaimers. Number one, this post is in no way meant to disrespect my readers of the brunette persuasion. Number two, this picture is not of my hair. I will post pics - I promise - but right now, the download cord for my camera is packed in a Follette textbook box somewhere in my parents' attic or my mother's van, and my laptop isn't wired into the internet at home yet.

Now. Let's get down to business. I hate my hair. Now, I have waxed poetic about Crazy J many a time, and in my heart, I still love him. How can I not when I only had to pay half price as a going-away gift? And he worked me in to cover a scheduling snafu that had me down for a cut only. He did double-time and had two girls in his chair at once. But the end result? I have to say, this is one of my least favorite hair-dids delivered by the amazing Crazy J. Even the cut is kind of bizarre, and I've tried to tell myself that it's the change in water, but I suddenly feel like my hair isn't my hair.

I can't decide if it's just because it's one more change heaped on an already-overwhelming pile. Or if it's that I really hate the hair. I've complained about it enough that my mother is offering to pay for me to get highlights put in it, but I've sworn to live with it for a week before I sink any more money into it. I feel like I should give it a fair chance. But, truly, I hate it. So much so that I've taken to wearing a hat since Friday. The outlook for the brown hair is not good.

Perhaps it's a case of not knowing where I work or live or belong, I simply needed to know who I am when I look in the mirror. Apparently, I really do only like chocolate in my mouth and not in my hair.

Holy Cow - I've Been Sixed

It seems like just about every time I've gotten my hair cut in the past six months, I've bragged about the new brown color. And every time I've had to show the proof in the pudding, people have been disappointed to find that it isn't really as brown as they thought it would be. But tonight, at my last appointment with Crazy J, he said, "How do you feel about milk chocolate?" My first response was to say I like to eat it.

Now I find that I'm walking around with it on my head. And after all the crying wolf, I'm pretty sure that none of you will believe me. Let's just say that hair color is on a scale of one to ten (this is actually true) with ten being the blondest. He's been coloring me about a 7.5. Now I'm a 6. This is brown, folks. And now I can't decide if I like chocolate on my head as much as I like it in my mouth. I'll let you know in the morning.

Sweet Cheeks

Another trip to Crazy J for me this afternoon and now I'm sporting color he considers his "best tonal match ever" on me and a cut inspired by Tara Conner, fallen Miss USA, because, well, she may be a tramp but after seeing her on Good Morning America today, Crazy J decided I needed her bangs.

As we neared the end of our visit and Crazy J was weilding the blow dryer and fingering through my hair, I noticed that I was making a funny face. And I couldn't stop. I started to laugh and told Crazy J why. "Model cheeks, honey," he said. "Ninety percent of the women whose hair I cut can't help but get the model cheeks. And it's always during the styling." He went back to blow-drying and I went back to cheeking. And when he finished, I really gave him the face and he said, "I know, girl. You look good."