You will all have to forgive me for a quick moment. I have neglected to post something very important here. I am moving. Calm down...not out of Boston. When I say I love it here, I mean it. I'm moving into a new apartment. How this all came about is just another story that could only come from an installment of "KP's corner"....
So a few weeks ago I secured a placement for one of my clients on the local television station. In the PR world, this is pretty wicked awesome. Especially since I had been at the company for like a whole 3 weeks when it happened. This particular client is a marine electronics company, so it's all about boating. The agency has been trying to get them in some mainstream media for a while, without much success. I got lucky, I guess. So right after Memorial Day I got to spend the day out on the boat for the shoot. It was great! In typical Kristin style, I started a conversation with the producer, and we immediately became friends. It doesn't hurt that she's a fellow midwesterner and a huge New Kids on the Block fan, either! When she told me that she's working on a pilot reality show for the Funky Bunch's reunion, I knew this chick was cool.
The story aired a few weeks later, and it turned out great! The client was so excited! Anyways, we kept trying to get together, and finally were able to a few weeks ago. We were gonna go to a cool local bar or something, but she got a new puppy that day, so we ordered pizza, watched a movie, and watched the 9 month old pug sniff and chew on everything in sight. I mention I'm kinda in the process of looking for a new place, due to the drama of my current situation (of course this has nothing to do with my best bud, but the guy whose room I'm renting). She just happens to be moving into a place with 2 bedrooms. And air conditioning. And in-unit laundry. I realize all of you living in the suburbs take small luxuries like this for granted. In Boston, you don't take anything for granted. She even said Ella (my puppy) can move in. YEAH!!! I swear....things just fall into place in life, huh?
I left there totally stoked. Oh yeah - this is the best part. It's in Southie (aka South Boston). I still haven't even been down there. But, the apartment is 2 blocks from the beach, and a block from the local bar, The Quencher. The best part. It's crawling with good looking men. With Boston accents. It's like a whole town of Donnie and Mark Wahlbergs. Accents. Hotties. Boston. Beach. Did I say accents!?! I have been told once I'm in Southie, I'll never want to leave.
I'm guessing if it's anything like people have said, they're absolutely right. Can you just imagine what these posts will be like!?! I'll have enough content for 2 books in just a month's time! Oh...I'm wicked stoked. Now if they open my door before they pahk the cah, I'm never leaving Bahston. Ever.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Just for Today
It's so late, and at the end of such a long week, I should be in bed. However, I am sitting here with so much energy, so excited about my day. And tomorrow. And the millions of possibilities it holds.
Let me back up a little. I am sure if you keep up with this blog that you're curious about what happened last weekend. I posted a tribute to a relationship that seems impossible to make work while one person remains in the throws of addiction. It's not him I hate, but the addiction. It's not him I've been dating - it's the addict. I went down and stayed Saturday night with him. You know, one more night of "normalcy" - one more night with someone who has consumed so much of my thoughts/time over the past year. We both deserved that. On Sunday he woke up and made me pancakes and fake sausage (yes, fake, because I don't eat the real stuff). We went to the driving range. We got in several tiffs over stupid stuff. When I left, I recommended we take some time to ourselves to think about things, about us, and about what we each need to do to be fair to each other (and ourselves, of course). There were tears. Mostly mine because I kinda knew what that meant. I drove away and sobbed. I sobbed for us. I sobbed for the "us" that could have been. I sobbed because I was walking away from someone I love who needs help, regardless of my acceptance of the fact that I cannot be the person to give that to him. That was so hard. These words don't do justice to the pain of that moment.
I made it through the week just fine. I had my moments where I wanted to get in my car and drive south to Providence. Yeah, I had plenty of those. But I kept myself busy. I helped a friend pack her kitchen. And I hung out with Bode Miller. And went to Jazz AND street funk. Anything to keep my mind off of the raw emotions of what was happening. Then something hit me last night. As I struggled with the fact that, despite having the BEST friends in the whole world, no one understands this disease. Unless someone has cried all night out of fear, wanted to break every bottle of alcohol in every liquor store within 50 miles, or held onto someone so tight because you weren't sure if it would be the last, you don't understand. No one could possibly know the fear. My best friends, who I love with all my heart and soul, see this as black and white. You walk away. And shut the door. And never look back.
Because of this, I have stopped talking about a lot of my feelings, and a lot of my fear. I have stopped talking to most people about my plans, and when I'll be seeing him next. It's just easier to save myself from that discussion. But I hate being that person. I hate being alone in this. It's such a lonely disease. So, in keeping with my problem-solving personality, I decided to do something about it. I got to work this morning and searched for Al-Anon meetings in Boston. And found hundreds. It just so happened there was one in my neighborhood tonight. I wanted to drive down to Providence, but went to the meeting instead. It changed my life. The strength. The friendship. The acceptance. The non-judgment. It was amazing. I walked out of there with dozens of names and numbers of people I can call when I don't know how to deal, or when the pain gets too tough. People who told me I had so much courage to come tonight and speak. Parents. Spouses. Siblings. These people all knew the pain. The frustration. The anger. But they also know the joy. The hope. The love. I admire these people for their commitment to themselves, and their loved ones. I am grateful to them for the open arms they welcomed me with, and the inspirational words they offered me.
I walked out of there tonight with so much hope. Not necessarily hope that he will find sobriety (although this is always a hope, obviously), but a hope that I will continue to see my own strength, and find that courage even in the moments when it seems impossible. They helped me realize that if I made it this far, there's nowhere I can't go. And, thanks to my big heart, and the wonderful person I have been able to share it with, I will go to those places with so much more strength, courage, love, patience, and love than I ever thought possible.
...and that was just my first meeting!
Let me back up a little. I am sure if you keep up with this blog that you're curious about what happened last weekend. I posted a tribute to a relationship that seems impossible to make work while one person remains in the throws of addiction. It's not him I hate, but the addiction. It's not him I've been dating - it's the addict. I went down and stayed Saturday night with him. You know, one more night of "normalcy" - one more night with someone who has consumed so much of my thoughts/time over the past year. We both deserved that. On Sunday he woke up and made me pancakes and fake sausage (yes, fake, because I don't eat the real stuff). We went to the driving range. We got in several tiffs over stupid stuff. When I left, I recommended we take some time to ourselves to think about things, about us, and about what we each need to do to be fair to each other (and ourselves, of course). There were tears. Mostly mine because I kinda knew what that meant. I drove away and sobbed. I sobbed for us. I sobbed for the "us" that could have been. I sobbed because I was walking away from someone I love who needs help, regardless of my acceptance of the fact that I cannot be the person to give that to him. That was so hard. These words don't do justice to the pain of that moment.
I made it through the week just fine. I had my moments where I wanted to get in my car and drive south to Providence. Yeah, I had plenty of those. But I kept myself busy. I helped a friend pack her kitchen. And I hung out with Bode Miller. And went to Jazz AND street funk. Anything to keep my mind off of the raw emotions of what was happening. Then something hit me last night. As I struggled with the fact that, despite having the BEST friends in the whole world, no one understands this disease. Unless someone has cried all night out of fear, wanted to break every bottle of alcohol in every liquor store within 50 miles, or held onto someone so tight because you weren't sure if it would be the last, you don't understand. No one could possibly know the fear. My best friends, who I love with all my heart and soul, see this as black and white. You walk away. And shut the door. And never look back.
Because of this, I have stopped talking about a lot of my feelings, and a lot of my fear. I have stopped talking to most people about my plans, and when I'll be seeing him next. It's just easier to save myself from that discussion. But I hate being that person. I hate being alone in this. It's such a lonely disease. So, in keeping with my problem-solving personality, I decided to do something about it. I got to work this morning and searched for Al-Anon meetings in Boston. And found hundreds. It just so happened there was one in my neighborhood tonight. I wanted to drive down to Providence, but went to the meeting instead. It changed my life. The strength. The friendship. The acceptance. The non-judgment. It was amazing. I walked out of there with dozens of names and numbers of people I can call when I don't know how to deal, or when the pain gets too tough. People who told me I had so much courage to come tonight and speak. Parents. Spouses. Siblings. These people all knew the pain. The frustration. The anger. But they also know the joy. The hope. The love. I admire these people for their commitment to themselves, and their loved ones. I am grateful to them for the open arms they welcomed me with, and the inspirational words they offered me.
I walked out of there tonight with so much hope. Not necessarily hope that he will find sobriety (although this is always a hope, obviously), but a hope that I will continue to see my own strength, and find that courage even in the moments when it seems impossible. They helped me realize that if I made it this far, there's nowhere I can't go. And, thanks to my big heart, and the wonderful person I have been able to share it with, I will go to those places with so much more strength, courage, love, patience, and love than I ever thought possible.
...and that was just my first meeting!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Even the best fall down sometimes
My life changed drastically 4 years ago. I remember it as though it was yesterday. I was driving my car in Michigan, on my way to turn in my sister-in-law's final exam. I was visiting for a few days while I was in between jobs - I had just left the television station where I was a reporter/anchor, and didn't start my new non-tv job for about a week, so I headed home. About a week earlier, I had received some horrible news - a friend from college had been in a terrible car accident and was in the hospital in a drug-induced coma.
I have to say something here, in order to be completely honest with myself, and you. He wasn't just a friend. I had been in love with him for years. There was something about him. About us together. Everyone saw it. Everyone commented on it. And, one time years before, something happened. And then it stopped as quickly as it began. You see, there were reasons that "we" wouldn't - couldn't - work out. Obligations and boundaries he needed to respect. Consequently, our friendship became severed and we lost touch.
I never stopped thinking about him, or wondering. If I had a nickel for everytime I said the words "what if", I'd own a house along Ocean's Drive in Newport, Rhode Island. I saw him once after college. At a friend's wedding. The same smile. The same look in his eyes. That would never fade away. That fire would never die. Just thinking about it is painful.
So I'm driving down 696 in Michigan, when I get a phone call from a friend. I comment on how I heard he was doing better, and how wonderful that was. She fell silent. "Kristin, I'm so sorry. He died." I hung up the phone and screamed. I screamed as loud as I could. I cried. I yelled. I tried to understand the words she just uttered. Dead. Dead. It didn't make any sense. How can he be dead? He can't be dead....
That was 4 years ago. I have since come to peace with what happened. A very slow peace, albeit. I have realized a few things since that awful tragedy. Always tell the people you love that you love them. Even if it scares you, and you're not sure how they'll react. Tell them anyways. At least you won't wonder what would have happened if you had. I realized that I held onto that for so long in order to realize I needed to let go of other things. For example, my marriage. I recently realized while visiting his grave that I loved the person I was when I was with him. And I want that again.
I wrote his mother a letter and dropped it in her mailbox before I moved. She called me. She told me it brought her hope. That people still remember. That people still grieve. That people still love him. That's something she never needs to worry about.
Eric, I have no doubt that somewhere, someday, somehow, you and I will collide once again. Until then, I will be missing you, and trying to find the person you showed me I could be.
I have to say something here, in order to be completely honest with myself, and you. He wasn't just a friend. I had been in love with him for years. There was something about him. About us together. Everyone saw it. Everyone commented on it. And, one time years before, something happened. And then it stopped as quickly as it began. You see, there were reasons that "we" wouldn't - couldn't - work out. Obligations and boundaries he needed to respect. Consequently, our friendship became severed and we lost touch.
I never stopped thinking about him, or wondering. If I had a nickel for everytime I said the words "what if", I'd own a house along Ocean's Drive in Newport, Rhode Island. I saw him once after college. At a friend's wedding. The same smile. The same look in his eyes. That would never fade away. That fire would never die. Just thinking about it is painful.
So I'm driving down 696 in Michigan, when I get a phone call from a friend. I comment on how I heard he was doing better, and how wonderful that was. She fell silent. "Kristin, I'm so sorry. He died." I hung up the phone and screamed. I screamed as loud as I could. I cried. I yelled. I tried to understand the words she just uttered. Dead. Dead. It didn't make any sense. How can he be dead? He can't be dead....
That was 4 years ago. I have since come to peace with what happened. A very slow peace, albeit. I have realized a few things since that awful tragedy. Always tell the people you love that you love them. Even if it scares you, and you're not sure how they'll react. Tell them anyways. At least you won't wonder what would have happened if you had. I realized that I held onto that for so long in order to realize I needed to let go of other things. For example, my marriage. I recently realized while visiting his grave that I loved the person I was when I was with him. And I want that again.
I wrote his mother a letter and dropped it in her mailbox before I moved. She called me. She told me it brought her hope. That people still remember. That people still grieve. That people still love him. That's something she never needs to worry about.
Eric, I have no doubt that somewhere, someday, somehow, you and I will collide once again. Until then, I will be missing you, and trying to find the person you showed me I could be.
You've got to be kidding me....
Okay. I'm going to start this post out by saying: this type of thing could only happen to me. Seriously. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, or when a friend makes a comment about the amount of drama (or funny stories) in my life, I like to think that God (or in whatever/whomever you choose to believe) has a sense of humor, and just likes to watch me react to these situations. And, maybe more importantly, likes to see me share these stories. So, here's yet another one for the old "KP Files".
For your enjoyment, it's written like a play, so you truly get the full effect.
Scene I opens: Tuesday morning around 7:45. Kristin's bedroom.
Kristin is frantically trying to figure out what to wear to work. It's going to be warm, slightly rainy. But, she needs to lose a few pounds, so wants something that's not so revealing. A dress. Perfect. The pink one. GREAT! Oh, but she wore this exact dress the day she met Brit boy. "Come on" she says to herself. "People re-wear things each week in the office. I can handle wearing something 4 weeks later! Plus, I don't know if you remember, but Brit boy moved to Kansas City. There's no way you'll run into him wearing this dress." Kristin puts on the dress and walks out the door to get to work.
I am going to interrupt here, and say that I do realize assuming he would even remember a particular outfit I wore is giving him (i.e. a man) a lot of credit. However, it's a bright shade of pink, I wear it with white leggings - it's the sort of outfit he wouldn't be able to describe probably, but would recognize if he saw it again. Play continues.
Scene II opens: Boston, Massachusetts (this is important later), outside Kristin's office.
Kristin enters scene on cell phone with important person (the identity of whom can not be revealed here due to certain professional circumstances). She's walking back and forth. While immersed in conversation, she notices a very handsome, tan man walking towards her, on the other side of the sidewalk. White button-up shirt, khaki pants. The look is very familiar. She gasps. This can't be. I'm wearing the same dress. NOT TODAY...NOT TODAY...she panics. While trying to pay attention to the phone call, she starts to do the look-but-don't-look-like-you're-looking-look. She turns to face the other way, while continuing to walk with a bounce in her step, appearing to all passers-by as a not-bitter-very-happy-my life is going amazing, confident-young woman. He passes, smoking a cigarette. She looks. Gasps again. Starts shaking. It's him! Brit boy! And he's walking towards her office. Kristin, all the while keeping her composure, brought her focus back and finished the important conversation.
End scene.
Again, realize how important to note the location of Scene II. I had to make sure several times that, indeed, I did not unknowingly in my sleep get on a plane and end up in Kansas City. I was, in fact, still in Boston. And, so was he. Does anyone else see where I'm going with this!?!
There are several lessons learned. One - I have a sixth sense that scares the shit out of me. I knew not to wear that dress. I knew it. Two - don't trust a British man who says he's moving to Kansas City and still lives with his ex-girlfriend. No explanation needed. Three - weird, ironic, crazy shit is never going to stop happening to me. So I have to deal with it. And then write about it. Because at the end of the day, if I'm not laughing (although I usually am), someone else is.
For your enjoyment, it's written like a play, so you truly get the full effect.
Scene I opens: Tuesday morning around 7:45. Kristin's bedroom.
Kristin is frantically trying to figure out what to wear to work. It's going to be warm, slightly rainy. But, she needs to lose a few pounds, so wants something that's not so revealing. A dress. Perfect. The pink one. GREAT! Oh, but she wore this exact dress the day she met Brit boy. "Come on" she says to herself. "People re-wear things each week in the office. I can handle wearing something 4 weeks later! Plus, I don't know if you remember, but Brit boy moved to Kansas City. There's no way you'll run into him wearing this dress." Kristin puts on the dress and walks out the door to get to work.
I am going to interrupt here, and say that I do realize assuming he would even remember a particular outfit I wore is giving him (i.e. a man) a lot of credit. However, it's a bright shade of pink, I wear it with white leggings - it's the sort of outfit he wouldn't be able to describe probably, but would recognize if he saw it again. Play continues.
Scene II opens: Boston, Massachusetts (this is important later), outside Kristin's office.
Kristin enters scene on cell phone with important person (the identity of whom can not be revealed here due to certain professional circumstances). She's walking back and forth. While immersed in conversation, she notices a very handsome, tan man walking towards her, on the other side of the sidewalk. White button-up shirt, khaki pants. The look is very familiar. She gasps. This can't be. I'm wearing the same dress. NOT TODAY...NOT TODAY...she panics. While trying to pay attention to the phone call, she starts to do the look-but-don't-look-like-you're-looking-look. She turns to face the other way, while continuing to walk with a bounce in her step, appearing to all passers-by as a not-bitter-very-happy-my life is going amazing, confident-young woman. He passes, smoking a cigarette. She looks. Gasps again. Starts shaking. It's him! Brit boy! And he's walking towards her office. Kristin, all the while keeping her composure, brought her focus back and finished the important conversation.
End scene.
Again, realize how important to note the location of Scene II. I had to make sure several times that, indeed, I did not unknowingly in my sleep get on a plane and end up in Kansas City. I was, in fact, still in Boston. And, so was he. Does anyone else see where I'm going with this!?!
There are several lessons learned. One - I have a sixth sense that scares the shit out of me. I knew not to wear that dress. I knew it. Two - don't trust a British man who says he's moving to Kansas City and still lives with his ex-girlfriend. No explanation needed. Three - weird, ironic, crazy shit is never going to stop happening to me. So I have to deal with it. And then write about it. Because at the end of the day, if I'm not laughing (although I usually am), someone else is.
Friday, June 20, 2008
My very own fairytale
Warning: this post is going to be deep. Proceed with caution.
You see, I'm coming to a crossroad in a relationship that has been going around some curves (to say the least) and over some bumps for a long time. Most of you already know - whether because you've had to endure hours of tears and talks or because you have read previous posts and know I have been involved with someone who isn't really capable of true love - about this particular individual and relationship. We all hear a lot about tipping points. Many of you probably use that term in a conversation once a week. I've had friends tell me "you'll let go when you're ready - when you reach your tipping point." I think I'm there. No, correction. I KNOW I'm there. I realized it was time when the pain I was feeling outweighs the joy like 100 to 1. And yet, letting go just isn't easy. It's a struggle. At times seemingly impossible.
As always, I have been thinking a lot about this, and trying to understand it. You all know I can't just make such a huge life change without reflecting on what it means, why it's happening, what I've learned, etc. And so I think. And hopefully come to conclusions. I find peace in conclusions. In closure. Without closure, my brain freaks out. See: drummer. But I realized something last night that both scared and released me. Allow me to include an excerpt from a letter I wrote to "F," the boy under discussion:
"I'll take full responsibility for creating the "us" that's in my mind...I know the reality is this is nothing more than an over-simplified fairytale my heart has created to protect itself from being alone..."
Translation: I have been living and existing for a very long time in something that I created - that doesn't even really exist. I created what I wanted to see, what I thought could be, and held the relationship to those standards. I became a martyr, doing everything without expecting anything. And I hate martyrs. Everyday I wait for the changes I know are coming. Only to be disappointed all over again. Because those changes are never coming. How can they when they're only a fictitious piece of a fairytale that doesn't exist anywhere but inside my heart. My head doesn't even believe it anymore. But, my head never did believe that a woman could live with her gazillion children in a shoe, either. It knows better. So, when exactly did I make the decision that I would be able to create something from nothing? That, my dear readers, is something I don't think I'll ever have an answer to. I think there are always questions we'll never have answers to. Actually, I think that's what life is all about. Struggling, loving, living, breathing, existing, trying to find the answers. But stumbling upon other questions along the way...
Tonight my heart bleeds for all those who went before me, and all those who will go after. Those who have to walk away, into the unknown, in search of true happiness and true love. Comfort is often easier than not knowing. I have chosen comfort for far too long. Now it's time to take the plunge. Into true singledom. Into what will become Saturdays and Target trips alone. Waking up and going to sleep alone. Thinking only of my own happiness, and what I will do/did that day to achieve that. Kind of invigorating, huh?
Before I sign off, I need to say something. I love him. I always will. That's not something that will ever change. I wish him nothing but happiness and peace. I learned so much about myself through him. I saw generosity and patience in myself that amazed me; and weaknesses that infuriated me. I've seen the person I want to be. And for that, I am truly grateful. I will forever be grateful. I am letting go of the rest. The pain will slowly fade. And I will wake up each day a little easier, and sleep a little sounder each night. We meet people and fall in love with people for a reason. And with each one we leave a piece of ourselves behind. Or several pieces. Pieces we will never get back. Some people think that's a bad thing. I think it's amazing. Knowing I am made up of not just me, but all those people who have come and gone, and those who have stayed around to see how it all will end. I read a quote the other day that sums up my existence: "I left parts of myself everywhere... the way absent-minded people leave...Gloves and Umbrellas"
Thank you, "F", for taking a piece of me, and for leaving a piece of yourself. Not such a bad ending to our fairytale.
You see, I'm coming to a crossroad in a relationship that has been going around some curves (to say the least) and over some bumps for a long time. Most of you already know - whether because you've had to endure hours of tears and talks or because you have read previous posts and know I have been involved with someone who isn't really capable of true love - about this particular individual and relationship. We all hear a lot about tipping points. Many of you probably use that term in a conversation once a week. I've had friends tell me "you'll let go when you're ready - when you reach your tipping point." I think I'm there. No, correction. I KNOW I'm there. I realized it was time when the pain I was feeling outweighs the joy like 100 to 1. And yet, letting go just isn't easy. It's a struggle. At times seemingly impossible.
As always, I have been thinking a lot about this, and trying to understand it. You all know I can't just make such a huge life change without reflecting on what it means, why it's happening, what I've learned, etc. And so I think. And hopefully come to conclusions. I find peace in conclusions. In closure. Without closure, my brain freaks out. See: drummer. But I realized something last night that both scared and released me. Allow me to include an excerpt from a letter I wrote to "F," the boy under discussion:
"I'll take full responsibility for creating the "us" that's in my mind...I know the reality is this is nothing more than an over-simplified fairytale my heart has created to protect itself from being alone..."
Translation: I have been living and existing for a very long time in something that I created - that doesn't even really exist. I created what I wanted to see, what I thought could be, and held the relationship to those standards. I became a martyr, doing everything without expecting anything. And I hate martyrs. Everyday I wait for the changes I know are coming. Only to be disappointed all over again. Because those changes are never coming. How can they when they're only a fictitious piece of a fairytale that doesn't exist anywhere but inside my heart. My head doesn't even believe it anymore. But, my head never did believe that a woman could live with her gazillion children in a shoe, either. It knows better. So, when exactly did I make the decision that I would be able to create something from nothing? That, my dear readers, is something I don't think I'll ever have an answer to. I think there are always questions we'll never have answers to. Actually, I think that's what life is all about. Struggling, loving, living, breathing, existing, trying to find the answers. But stumbling upon other questions along the way...
Tonight my heart bleeds for all those who went before me, and all those who will go after. Those who have to walk away, into the unknown, in search of true happiness and true love. Comfort is often easier than not knowing. I have chosen comfort for far too long. Now it's time to take the plunge. Into true singledom. Into what will become Saturdays and Target trips alone. Waking up and going to sleep alone. Thinking only of my own happiness, and what I will do/did that day to achieve that. Kind of invigorating, huh?
Before I sign off, I need to say something. I love him. I always will. That's not something that will ever change. I wish him nothing but happiness and peace. I learned so much about myself through him. I saw generosity and patience in myself that amazed me; and weaknesses that infuriated me. I've seen the person I want to be. And for that, I am truly grateful. I will forever be grateful. I am letting go of the rest. The pain will slowly fade. And I will wake up each day a little easier, and sleep a little sounder each night. We meet people and fall in love with people for a reason. And with each one we leave a piece of ourselves behind. Or several pieces. Pieces we will never get back. Some people think that's a bad thing. I think it's amazing. Knowing I am made up of not just me, but all those people who have come and gone, and those who have stayed around to see how it all will end. I read a quote the other day that sums up my existence: "I left parts of myself everywhere... the way absent-minded people leave...Gloves and Umbrellas"
Thank you, "F", for taking a piece of me, and for leaving a piece of yourself. Not such a bad ending to our fairytale.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
"It's because of the hair"
Okay, so I know it's been forever since I last wrote. I have had people emailing and calling me to make sure I'm alright. Thank you for the thoughts and for checking in. I am fine. A little hectic. A little crazy. A little scarred. But, still fabulous. And still waking up smiling every morning in this amazing city.
So, for my first blog in a very long time, let's focus on something exciting, that will have you on the edge of your seat, hanging on every word: my hair. Hehe....that's right. I did it. For the first time in a VERY long time, I took the plunge and decided to trust someone else with my hair. Anyone who knows me at all, just gasped in complete shock. And got a little nervous. And, probably, for a slit second, reached for their cell phone to call me to make sure I'm okay after such an experience. But, intelligent as all my friends are, you each decide to wait to finish reading this entry, knowing I would never leave you hanging with something as important as this.
Here's the back story (you know I ALWAYS have a back story). I drive down a few weeks ago to Providence (and all of you who tell me to stay away from Providence, RELAX...I was going to pick a friend up from the airport). My friend and I went to eat at a really awesome restaurant right down the street from you-know-who's condo, called LF's. The food is good, but the atmosphere and ambiance is what makes this place. Everything is so intricate and delicate - it's great to just sit there and take it in. So, naturally, I thought it a great place to take my friend. Our waitress comes over, takes our drink order, and walks away. I turn to "C" (friend) and say: "Oh my God. I need to know where she gets her hair done. I have to ask her." Yolanda (of course I learned her name) says: "I'm so sorry, but I don't get it done here." Great, I think. Another person so obsessed with great hair care that they drive 600 miles just to get it done. What are the chances!?! She continues, "I get it done in Boston." Well, I just about jumped out of my chair. "I LIVE IN BOSTON!!!!" This is amazing. Tell me where. Tell me who. Tell me EVERYTHING. She just so happens (this is no joke) to have the woman's business card and gives it to me. I have hit the jackpot.
Fast forward a few weeks. I hold onto the card, still not sure how I feel about going to someone else. After all, I haven't had the best experiences in the past. However, even the best hair stylist can't keep a cut from growing. And mine did. Fast. I couldn't put it off any longer. I had to take the plunge. Believe me. This took me some time to come to grips with. I canceled the first appointment. I just wasn't ready. I mean, I'm starting over. I have a million opportunities ahead of me. I'm making new friends. Meeting new boys. (Well, that's been put on hold slightly. But that's another blog - or 10 - in itself!) I simply cannot risk a bad hair cut. But I was desperate. I spend the last few days convincing myself that it'll be okay. I will be fine. It's only hair. (Anyone who knows me knows that was only something I told myself to get through this first time. I don't really believe that.)
I left work later than I should have, and arrived late to my appointment. Probably my subconscious telling me something. But, I made it. I meet Kathleen, who shuffles me into a smock, and whisks me away (making sure to comment, of course, how we are now short on time). I get my hair washed by some poor girl who wants to be a hair stylist, I'm sure, but for now is stuck washing and massaging people's heads all day (which did not go unappreciated, by the way). Kathleen comes, basically tells me I need new "life" to my hair. I got somewhat defensive, sensing she was putting down Annie. And I don't let anyone talk that way about Annie! She starts chopping. Not the nicest or chattiest person in the world, but to be fair, my standards are set pretty high in this category. After a few snips on wet hair, many once it was dry, and $115 (the most expensive hair cut I've ever had, thank you), she's finished. I was covered in hair - inside of my shirt, my face (this includes eyes, nose, and mouth) - everywhere. But, my hair looked wonderful. I feel human again. Like I can walk down the street, and when people look at me (probably only because my outfit looks like something out of an 80s rock video or I have something in my teeth), I can once again sigh and say: "it's because of the hair."
So, for my first blog in a very long time, let's focus on something exciting, that will have you on the edge of your seat, hanging on every word: my hair. Hehe....that's right. I did it. For the first time in a VERY long time, I took the plunge and decided to trust someone else with my hair. Anyone who knows me at all, just gasped in complete shock. And got a little nervous. And, probably, for a slit second, reached for their cell phone to call me to make sure I'm okay after such an experience. But, intelligent as all my friends are, you each decide to wait to finish reading this entry, knowing I would never leave you hanging with something as important as this.
Here's the back story (you know I ALWAYS have a back story). I drive down a few weeks ago to Providence (and all of you who tell me to stay away from Providence, RELAX...I was going to pick a friend up from the airport). My friend and I went to eat at a really awesome restaurant right down the street from you-know-who's condo, called LF's. The food is good, but the atmosphere and ambiance is what makes this place. Everything is so intricate and delicate - it's great to just sit there and take it in. So, naturally, I thought it a great place to take my friend. Our waitress comes over, takes our drink order, and walks away. I turn to "C" (friend) and say: "Oh my God. I need to know where she gets her hair done. I have to ask her." Yolanda (of course I learned her name) says: "I'm so sorry, but I don't get it done here." Great, I think. Another person so obsessed with great hair care that they drive 600 miles just to get it done. What are the chances!?! She continues, "I get it done in Boston." Well, I just about jumped out of my chair. "I LIVE IN BOSTON!!!!" This is amazing. Tell me where. Tell me who. Tell me EVERYTHING. She just so happens (this is no joke) to have the woman's business card and gives it to me. I have hit the jackpot.
Fast forward a few weeks. I hold onto the card, still not sure how I feel about going to someone else. After all, I haven't had the best experiences in the past. However, even the best hair stylist can't keep a cut from growing. And mine did. Fast. I couldn't put it off any longer. I had to take the plunge. Believe me. This took me some time to come to grips with. I canceled the first appointment. I just wasn't ready. I mean, I'm starting over. I have a million opportunities ahead of me. I'm making new friends. Meeting new boys. (Well, that's been put on hold slightly. But that's another blog - or 10 - in itself!) I simply cannot risk a bad hair cut. But I was desperate. I spend the last few days convincing myself that it'll be okay. I will be fine. It's only hair. (Anyone who knows me knows that was only something I told myself to get through this first time. I don't really believe that.)
I left work later than I should have, and arrived late to my appointment. Probably my subconscious telling me something. But, I made it. I meet Kathleen, who shuffles me into a smock, and whisks me away (making sure to comment, of course, how we are now short on time). I get my hair washed by some poor girl who wants to be a hair stylist, I'm sure, but for now is stuck washing and massaging people's heads all day (which did not go unappreciated, by the way). Kathleen comes, basically tells me I need new "life" to my hair. I got somewhat defensive, sensing she was putting down Annie. And I don't let anyone talk that way about Annie! She starts chopping. Not the nicest or chattiest person in the world, but to be fair, my standards are set pretty high in this category. After a few snips on wet hair, many once it was dry, and $115 (the most expensive hair cut I've ever had, thank you), she's finished. I was covered in hair - inside of my shirt, my face (this includes eyes, nose, and mouth) - everywhere. But, my hair looked wonderful. I feel human again. Like I can walk down the street, and when people look at me (probably only because my outfit looks like something out of an 80s rock video or I have something in my teeth), I can once again sigh and say: "it's because of the hair."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)