Posts tagged ‘hair’

Thoughts, Learnings, and Ramblings of the Day

If you were hoping for a coherent, organized blog this evening, you have come to the wrong place. . . but it could still be fun!

  • I am still holding strong with the long hair.  (I’ve had it pixie-cut-short before, and now it’s the longest it has been since grade school.)  I finally drove out to my favorite stylist’s house and got some more layers put into it.  It’s awesome, long and shaggy, and makes me feel beautiful and romantic — until I attempt to run my fingers through it.  I kid you not, once I leave the house, my hair becomes a rat’s nest.  I think it happens as soon as I step over the threshold, really.  I hope it doesn’t LOOK like a rat’s nest, but I can feel at least 3 huge knots in it when I check.  And how romantic is that?  Picture this: there I am, looking lovingly into the eyes of my beloved; he’s holding my chin with one hand; he brushes back my hair with the other hand, going in for the kiss — and his hand gets stuck. Yes, that’s how the movie of my life.  😛
  • What is with the (seemingly unhealthy) obsession with PlayStation4?  I have now heard 3 stories from different people about how “broke” people have gone out and bought the system for themselves.  (Actually, in one case, a boyfriend asked his struggling girlfriend to buy it for him for Christmas.)  What is going on?  I realize gaming is exciting, but have we lost some perspective here?  My parents made me save up for my Nintendo (the first and last system I ever bought and played to DEATH), and I don’t remember struggling with the wait. That is all.  I’m just baffled.
  • There are some beautiful metaphysical posts I read from my wordpress reader.  Some things weren’t labeled “metaphysical” but still magically fit right in with what I’ve been reading/studying!   (Amazing how the universe ties things together!)  I’d like to take a look at my reader more often, as long as I don’t get sucked in, like I did tonight.  This week I want to do a search for “metaphysical”/”metaphysics” and find more people to follow.
  • Facebook is still addictive and needs a leash.  I’m happy I even got this post in tonight. That is all.
  • Continuing with my emotions theme, today I pondered my fear of authority.  I know this phenomenon is not limited to myself; I see every processor in the warehouse freeze up (to different degrees) when I come by with a book, and many have spoken of their fear of their superiors.  So, is my fear connected to my place of work?  Or does it go deeper?  If it comes from my parents, I must have blocked it from my memory.  I was a goody-two-shoes in school, reprimanded only twice that I can remember, and both incidences were for forgetting homework.  Did it come from my experience with my cooperating teacher when I was a student teacher?  I probably have some repressed emotions there.  Or from a teaching position?  I did experience fear at some points there.  I’m not really sure where it comes from, but I find the fear unproductive and would like to do some exploring and healing when it comes up again.
  • It is amazing how quickly I broke out this evening after eating ice cream.  I think my breakouts were in a race against my tangling hair.  It is nearly impossible for me not to finish an already-started pint of ice cream, if I am aware that it is waiting for me in the freezer.  My Chocolate  Oreo Volcano was delicious — and I am glad it’s finished!
  • I finally got my book read!  Power vs. Force was fantastic!  I need to write about it for homework, so I may use that as my post for tomorrow.
  • I have yet to finish my collage.  I am going to start cutting out pictures as soon as I finish this post and until Brian makes me go to bed. 🙂
  • I have been cutting media out of my life but have just agreed to start watching Battlestar Galactica again, since a wonderful person who I hardly ever see hasn’t seen it and wants to watch it with us.  An excuse to spend time with people I love?  I think this could work.
  • I want to spend more time with people.  First, because people are awesome, and second, because I know hanging with people is great for my spiritual growth.  I think the only way to do this is to actually schedule things in, like my one of my friends did with her awesome vegetarian dinner get-together.  I need a goal, like visiting with at least one friend per week.  It would be great if I could make space for more than that. . .
  • Brian has not come after me yet, so I will continue: I have 3 books from the library that I keep renewing because they are at the bottom of my “To Do” list.  I am afraid I will have had them for 9 weeks without reading them, and this distresses me, because I do actually want to read them, but apparently not enough to read them instead of getting sucked into Facebook.  Priorities.  I may need to ditch Facebook someday.  There’s some useful stuff on Facebook, though: informative stuff, stuff that makes me laugh, inspiration, etc.  Plus people put events on there all the time that I don’t want to miss.  There must be a happy medium somewhere.
  • I just remembered that I was going to start cutting out pictures for my collage.  I will start this now.  Please enjoy this random, happy picture of an adorable baby (so I can squeeze a photo into this post):
    Image courtesy of Clare Bloomfield /

    Image courtesy of Clare Bloomfield /

    Or if you find babies unappealing, perhaps you will enjoy the little rubber ducklings.  If those are also repulsive to you, you may appreciate the softness of the blanket that reminds you of your favorite Linus-like blankie.  If you don’t like babies or ducklings or soft blankets, may I draw your attention to the blank purity of the background?  And if you don’t like babies or cute duckies or blankets or stillness, I’m honestly not  sure why you’re still reading this blog.

  • Wait!  One more thing.  Writing of babies, does anyone else who is metaphysical/believes in reincarnation, etc have a fascination with babies?  Like seriously, I get all excited when I see a baby now (not like I wasn’t before, but even more so!)  I find myself trying to be all telepathic, like, “Hey, you!  What was it like there?  How awesome that you’re not corrupted by the conscious mind yet!  So, what are you thinking?  Hey, why did you choose to be here???”  And since I have not yet mastered the art of speaking telepathically with babies, we just sorta look at each other, with the same wide-eyed wonder and amazement.  And then, we share a beautiful smile. 🙂

More Crazy Dreams

"Man Hand Hanging On" courtesy of olovedog /

“Man Hand Hanging On” courtesy of olovedog /

Last night I dreamt that my hair was a bit longer, and I had grabbed it in a bunch and held it in front of my face.  It was a nasty rat’s nest — so bad that I decided to just chop it off.  I took a look at the severed hair in my hand and noticed that it looked really oily with some flecks of cheese, like the veggies I had last weekend at Ted’s Montana grill.  Then suddenly they turned into green beans.


To see hair in your dream signifies sexual virility, seduction, sensuality, vanity, and health.  It is indicative of your attitudes. If your hair is knotted or tangled, then it is symbolic of uncertainty and confusion in your life. You may be unable to think straight. If you dream that you make a drastic change to your hairstyle, then it means that you are making a drastic, new approach to some issue in your waking life.

To dream that you are cutting your hair suggests that you are experiencing a loss in strength. You may feel that someone is trying to censor you. Alternatively, you may be reshaping your thinking or ambitions and eliminating unwanted thoughts/habits.

To see vegetables in your dream signify your need for spiritual nourishment. It may also indicate that you are lacking in a particular nutrient. Look up the specific vegetable for additional interpretation.

(I could not find “green beans” on the site.)

The night before I dreamt of something like a “Leaps and Bounds” — an indoor playground/obstacle course — except in this particular play area, the ramps moved around like the staircases in Harry Potter’s dorms.  Not only that, but the drop off was far —  to who knows how far — and I’ve always had a slight fear of heights. . .

It was kind of hard to describe and find what was in my dream, so this is the best I could come up with (“heights” and “high” were not in there):

Obstacle Course
To dream that you are going through an obstacle course symbolizes the hardships and difficulties that you are experiencing in your waking life. It represents the things that you must overcome in order to reach your goals. The elements in the obstacle course is analogous to the barriers and problems in your life.

To dream that you are on a playground indicates your desires to escape from your daily responsibilities. Perhaps you need to be more carefree. You need to acknowledge your talents.

To dream that you are standing at the edge of a cliff indicates that you have reached an increased level of understanding, new awareness, and a fresh point of view. You have reached a critical point in your life and cannot risk losing control. Alternatively, it suggests that you are pondering a life-altering decision.

Monkey Bars
To see or play on the monkey bars in your dream denotes the carefree nature of childhood. Alternatively, it represents your strength, competence, determination and ability to achieve your goals. Don’t give up.

Hair (And Not the Musical; So, If That’s Why You’re Here, You Had Might As Well Find Another Page)

Image courtesy of [image creator name] /

“Hair” courtesy of Graeme Weatherston/ 

I am obsessed with my hair.

No. not to the point that I actually take super-awesome care of it, though I do take my vitamins and use natural stuff on my hair.

I touch it a lot, running my hand over the smooth surface, or running my fingers through it, and getting them caught in the tangles.  I’ve caught myself doing it in public, but hopefully I don’t do it enough to draw attention.  It’s mostly an unconscious, multi-tasking habit that I fall into at home as I work/read/write on the couch or walk up and down the stairs, looking for misplaced items, such as my glasses, phone, Christmas checks, or my sanity.

I’m trying to grow it long, longer than the last time I can remember having crazy, long hair, which I guess would be third grade, based on my parents’ school picture collage that circles around from kindergarten through my senior year of high school.  I don’t remember exactly how long it was then, but I don’t think that it was quite “Rapunzel” length yet — not that I want it to be Rapunzel-long, mind you, but hippie-long would be nice.

Normally my hair’s life cycle consists of this pattern: shoulder-length —  pixie cut —  shoulder-length- back to pixie cut.  This is an abbreviation of my previous pattern: a few inches past my shoulders —  just above my shoulders — just past my shoulders — just above my shoulders — and REPEAT.

My more recent and shocking pattern was  a result of restlessness and frustration with my life, which led me to change my hair, instead of the more difficult option.  I went from a long-haired brunette to a blonde-highlighted pixie-cut.   The change was so drastic that even I was disoriented when I heard people ask about the new blonde wandering about the school.

I loved the short hair.  Showering was a breeze and blow-drying was unnecessary.  The only pain-in-the-bottom part was trying to style it, because without the gel I could definitely be mistaken for a male, whereas with the gel, my chances were 50-50.

But the reason my hair is not short at this moment and has already reached passed my shouldersis that some time ago I had a few dreams in which I had long hippie-like hair.  The dreams must have been particularly vivid and pleasant at the time, because instead of hacking the whole thing up to some symbolic party from my subconscious — as I usually do — I forewent the dream interpretation gig and determined the dream was telling me something important was going to happen when I — or by such time as  I–  had that long hair. And by golly, I was going to be ready for the universe with that long hair.  I would actually feel that wind blowing through my hair, and I would know that when I tossed my hair back over my shoulder, it would actually stay there, instead of whipping back in my face.

And I figured this could be my last chance to try such a feat.  Who knows what could happen in the future?  My hair could turn various shades of gray or simply start falling out.  Perhaps less likely, I could end up having a baby.  In this case I would be forced to chop off all of my hair again, because — let’s face it — when you have a kid, blow-drying, conditioning, or even combing your hair is the least of your daily concerns, in comparison to — let’s say — finding time to shower at all, changing diapers, prepping for feeding, feeding, getting the kid to nap, comforting and holding the kid, entertaining the kid, and getting a chance to eat and nap yourself (and I’m sure I’ve forgotten a whole bunch of things because I’ve never actually had a kid).  Yes, extensive hair care would be the first thing to go.

So, I continue struggling to find the right  amount and combination of shampoos and conditioners, spend increasing amounts of time combing and drying my hair, and try not cringe as I find more and more hairs in my sink and occasionally in my leftovers at lunch(neither of which I can get away with blaming on Brian anymore).

I knew the risks, and now all that remains is to bet on how long I will last before some early morning rat nest or 2-hour blow drying session leads me to finally snap and shave myself completely bald.  Or perhaps instead my poor hairdresser will wake one night to the frantic knocking of a crazed, frizzy-haired woman with multiple jagged chunks of broken combs hanging from her shaggy mane.

Until such time, I will keep running my hands through my semi-long tresses and nuzzling up to Brian, hoping that he will indulge me in the same.  Because. let’s face it, there is nothing better than having someone play with your hair.

And yes, I just wrote an entire post about my hair.  So there.

She dressed/He dressed

In the midst of all the oddness yesterday, I had another somewhat surreal experience. As I mentioned in my previous post, R.I.F. — R.I.P Jobs, yesterday was something of a rollercoaster day, and at 5PM last night, my life was still doing some little flips and turns.  Trying to set the craziness of the day aside for a moment, I attempted to find something to wear for dinner that evening.

I knew this was a charity event that would include silent auctions and a very nice banquet hall, so I figured I had to pump up the dress code a bit.  Part of me wanted to throw on any old thing, but another part wanted to look somewhat decent. I went upstairs to my bedroom and wandered to the closet, ready to begin the motions.

Since it had been nice this week and I’d worn most of my skirts already — and it was also still pretty hot that night — I hoped I could find a something long and swishy that would look cute and also give my legs some breeze.  I found I had one skirt left in my closet, a purple, pink, and brown patchwork piece that looked cute, but maybe not formal enough.  I added one of my few professional short-sleeved shirts — a light pink, sheer shirt, with darts and all — over my maroon camisole.  I moved to the mirror and self-assessed.  Hey. . . I looked good!  Then, what I like to think of as my “girly-girl mode” suddenly kicked in.

Missing something, though. . . jewelry!  The lavender dangling earrings and dangling necklace would be a perfect match with these colors; now adding the “garden” bracelet and matching rings. . . Great.  A little make-up?  Not too much; I’m wearing pastels.   Mascara? — Nice.  A little light blue eye shadow. . .  fitting!  Now, it’s hot, so I should put my hair up. . .  a half-ponytail?  With a pearl clasp?  Hmm. . .  A little more hair down?  No good.  Why do I always feel like I’m back in high school when I attempt the half ponytail?  Full ponytail, then.  But a simple black ponytail holder won’t do.  The chocolate leather flowered accessory with a wooden pin? . . . Oh, wait!  The creamy frappuccino encircled butterfly with same said pin?  Perfect. Can I get a bun to work?  No?  Well, good enough.  Re-assess in the mirror. . .  Great.  I definitely looked like a “teacher” with my skirt and dangling accessories, but a trendy teacher.  

And then I turned to my date.  I realized pretty quickly that I had given him absolutely no instructions about what he should wear.  I had mumbled something about the dinner a few times in the past month, and he had immediately put it in his calendar.  However, when I’d rambled of the long name of the benefit, had he caught the implication of “charity dinner“?   Apparently not.

So, after I’d finished the above primping and moved downstairs in search of my shoes (shoe and purse decisions to follow soon), I bumped into Brian.  Oh yeah. . . my date.  He took one look at me and said “Oh crap. You’re going to make me look like a slob.”  I turned and paused in the middle of my process and assessed him.  “Wait.  . . . You’re not going to wear that, are you?”  It was what we wore out on most evenings: jeans and a casual striped tee.  But this was not most evenings, AND I was not myself anymore. I was a trendy, hot-looking teacher who now wanted to look good in front of a lot of important district and town people.  I realized afterward that I may also have a bit of my mom, shaking her head at my dad’s brown suits.    And. . . maybe a bit of Brian’s mom. . .  wanting to pick out his clothes for him.  (Yikes!)

For the next fifteen to twenty minutes I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.  Like the spirit of wives past and prissy fashion know-it-alls had taken over me and was now spreading its venomous disdain through snobbish hints, hoity body language, and dismissive gestures.

As I returned up the stairs with my shoes,  Brian re-emerged from the bedroom, clean shaven,  nicely combed — and wearing a blue polo tee with khakis and black dress shoes.  I gave him a once over, paused, and swiveled toward the guest room in search of more shoes.  “What was that?” he demanded, following behind me.  I mumbled something and feigned ignorance.  I was already struggling internally at this point.  One part of me — the normal part of me — was also asking “What was that?”  And the other part of me was wondering what the heck he was thinking.  “I don’t like the shoes,” he said, glancing self-consciously at his feet.  “Oh, I like the shoes,” I responded, imagining them matched up with his nice royal blue shirt and the gorgeous black suit that melts me  into a puddle of drool.  But he didn’t get it.   “No, I think they’re too dressy.  I’ll find something to match.”  I sighed and continued my own struggle with shoes.  (I’ll leave the details of my shoe woes to another post about my clothes-to-body-matching woes.)  A summary of my shoe experience: my normal black babydoll shoes didn’t look right with the outfit, so I changed to my brown shoes.  Then. . . I couldn’t use the black purse.  So, I took a look at my two brown purses.  I tried them both on in front of the mirror.  The huge purse from my aunt’s wedding always somehow looks awesome, even though it takes up half of my body.  So, now I was ready to go.

Fight ensues.   I don’t remember exactly how it went.  I was possessed, remember?  This is how I remember it:

Me, hands on my hips and skirt swished up to the side: “I don’t think I’m making myself clear, here.  Let me explain how this works — ”

Brian: “Forget it.” storming off

As the hairs on the back of our necks prickled, Brian stormed off to his closet, pulling through clothes, and then he was on the floor on his hands and knees under the bed, looking for something to appease my crazy fashion-demon.  As he searched fruitlessly for solutions, my normal self began to recover.  I hadn’t given him sufficient warning about the clothes.  His nice clothes were dirty.  I hadn’t expressed the formalness of this event.  And it was hot.  Why wear a long-sleeved shirt and jacket?  Hadn’t I picked a light blouse and skirt?  And put my hair up?  And what did I care if we stuck out?  Wasn’t I rebellious?  Seriously, where were these expectations coming from?  Who was saying these things??

Defeatedly, the last of my dreams of mini-stardom and popularity dissipating, I say: “You’re going to be the most under-dressed person there.  Does that bother you?” “No. (pause) Does it bother you?”  “Maybe.”  And I turned and walked out to the garage and got in the car.

As we drove, I tried lighten the situation.  I may even have apologized.  But, I know at some point I asked him: “If I’d given you enough warning, would you have gotten your clothes cleaned and been ready for tonight?’  He said he would have.  I didn’t know if I believed him or not, but I didn’t know if I really cared anymore.

Would you know it, he was not the most under-dressed person there.  There was one other young man in corduroy pants with a lavender polo and brown shoes.  And that was enough for me.

Image: luigi diamanti /

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