dimming rays of sunlight gently
tracing the outline of my face
turning my brown eyes hazel
before finally exhaling into a star-studded sky
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
and they always find the dead bodies...
The other day, I woke up at 5:15 in the morning (crazy, I know) so that I could squeeze in a run before spending the rest of the day glued to a computer engaged in the travails of work. I got up and headed out the door in the darkness of the morning, grabbing the trash as I jogged down the steps and over to the dumpster. After I tossed the garbage in the bin, I turned around and halted in my steps.
In the distance, at the other end of the parking lot, beside a black SUV appeared to be what looked like any one of the following:
a) a dead animal of some sort
b) a pile of laundry
c) an actual person
Damn- I knew I should've re-ordered another set of contact lenses...
I squinted, rubbed my eyes and squinted some more in an effort to see more clearly. Still unsure and being aware that precious running time was being sacrificed, I crept in between the parked cars in the parking lot, keeping a safe distance between myself and...well- whatever it was on the ground. When I got close enough, I finally realized that it was option (c). Sure enough, dead or passed out on the ground in the parking lot beside an SUV was what appeared to be a white male with a baseball cap on. Would you still believe that despite only being a few feet away I was still having trouble seeing details?
I thought I recognized this guy from somewhere...
Didn't I see him before? I could've sworn he lives on the first floor in our building...Well, he's definitely on the floor now either way.
From what I could tell (which wasn't much), it didn't look like there had been any foul play. I didn't see any blood or broken glass, beer bottles or vomit. He was somewhat well dressed for a person in their late twenties/early thirties: white baseball cap, white polo shirt, jeans and shoes. My initial feeling was to go over and poke him to see if he was alright and/or needed help. I thought better than to do this though and, instead I turned and gingerly ran back up the three flights of stairs to our apartment where I proceeded to gently wake up my boyfriend (Did I mention that he is NOT a morning person?). After discussing it briefly with him, we decided that the guy was probably drunk and had passed out. Then after attempting and failing to coax me back into bed, Chris insisted that if I was going to go running, perhaps it would be wise of me to choose a different exit route from our apartment complex- preferably one that wouldn't take me by a body. I agreed.
I felt bad at first and spent the next 12.5 miles hashing out all sorts of excuses and possible statements that I could give the cops once they magically found out that I had seen this young man laying there needing help yet I had done nothing...
Well, you see officer- I was planning on doing a long run this morning and was already running a bit late...
Well, you see officer, as a lone female out by herself in the dark, I couldn't take that sort of a risk...
It seemed hopeless.. I just hoped that he was ok- whoever he was. Chris had told me not to worry, but worrying is what I do so well! During the last mile or two of my run, I kept my ears peeled, listening for the sounds of ambulances and police sirens blaring. I was hyper vigilant, paying attention to the direction that each passing police car headed. No one seemed to be in a rush, and I didn't see or hear anything on my way back.
When I jogged into the parking lot of my apartment complex almost an hour and a half later, there was no sign of "the body" anywhere. Everyone seemed to be going about their normal day-to-day business. I tend to have pretty vivid dreams....could I have possible dreamt that I had seen the body of a young man laying on the ground in our parking lot?
I debated my own sanity as I trudged up the 28 steps back to my apartment only to be encountered by Chris who told me that while I was gone he hadn't heard anything unusual coming from outside. Oh well. I'm glad that the guy was alive and not dead. That's one less thing to feel guilty about that I can check off my list. I proceeded to get ready for work, and later, as I was driving out of that same parking lot, I noticed that a police car was pulling in.
Oh boy.
Here we go again...
In the distance, at the other end of the parking lot, beside a black SUV appeared to be what looked like any one of the following:
a) a dead animal of some sort
b) a pile of laundry
c) an actual person
Damn- I knew I should've re-ordered another set of contact lenses...
I squinted, rubbed my eyes and squinted some more in an effort to see more clearly. Still unsure and being aware that precious running time was being sacrificed, I crept in between the parked cars in the parking lot, keeping a safe distance between myself and...well- whatever it was on the ground. When I got close enough, I finally realized that it was option (c). Sure enough, dead or passed out on the ground in the parking lot beside an SUV was what appeared to be a white male with a baseball cap on. Would you still believe that despite only being a few feet away I was still having trouble seeing details?
I thought I recognized this guy from somewhere...
Didn't I see him before? I could've sworn he lives on the first floor in our building...Well, he's definitely on the floor now either way.
From what I could tell (which wasn't much), it didn't look like there had been any foul play. I didn't see any blood or broken glass, beer bottles or vomit. He was somewhat well dressed for a person in their late twenties/early thirties: white baseball cap, white polo shirt, jeans and shoes. My initial feeling was to go over and poke him to see if he was alright and/or needed help. I thought better than to do this though and, instead I turned and gingerly ran back up the three flights of stairs to our apartment where I proceeded to gently wake up my boyfriend (Did I mention that he is NOT a morning person?). After discussing it briefly with him, we decided that the guy was probably drunk and had passed out. Then after attempting and failing to coax me back into bed, Chris insisted that if I was going to go running, perhaps it would be wise of me to choose a different exit route from our apartment complex- preferably one that wouldn't take me by a body. I agreed.
I felt bad at first and spent the next 12.5 miles hashing out all sorts of excuses and possible statements that I could give the cops once they magically found out that I had seen this young man laying there needing help yet I had done nothing...
Well, you see officer- I was planning on doing a long run this morning and was already running a bit late...
Well, you see officer, as a lone female out by herself in the dark, I couldn't take that sort of a risk...
It seemed hopeless.. I just hoped that he was ok- whoever he was. Chris had told me not to worry, but worrying is what I do so well! During the last mile or two of my run, I kept my ears peeled, listening for the sounds of ambulances and police sirens blaring. I was hyper vigilant, paying attention to the direction that each passing police car headed. No one seemed to be in a rush, and I didn't see or hear anything on my way back.
When I jogged into the parking lot of my apartment complex almost an hour and a half later, there was no sign of "the body" anywhere. Everyone seemed to be going about their normal day-to-day business. I tend to have pretty vivid dreams....could I have possible dreamt that I had seen the body of a young man laying on the ground in our parking lot?
I debated my own sanity as I trudged up the 28 steps back to my apartment only to be encountered by Chris who told me that while I was gone he hadn't heard anything unusual coming from outside. Oh well. I'm glad that the guy was alive and not dead. That's one less thing to feel guilty about that I can check off my list. I proceeded to get ready for work, and later, as I was driving out of that same parking lot, I noticed that a police car was pulling in.
Oh boy.
Here we go again...
Friday, May 8, 2009
Major Blowout
Where do I begin? (infamous words)
So, I had a hair appointment this afternoon with a stylist at a high-end salon (I'm not going to name names here). The past three experiences with her have been dismal- but ever the loyal customer, I decided to give her one last try (unbeknown to her)- one last hope that she would redeem herself.
We both failed miserably.
I originally went in thinking that I would just get a trim because lately I've been hating my hair and just want my old, long hair back. However, somewhere along the line, she convinced me to cut my hair even shorter- to the absolute shortest cut it would go. To get a visual, we looked at a picture of Halle Berry (the one of her from the Oscars), and that's what it was supposed to look like. However, it looked NOTHING like the picture. Instead, it looked awful...I looked like a boy. She casually mentioned that I could get it relaxed (elsewhere because they don't do that), and then my hair would probably look more like the picture of Halle Berry's. I was shocked when she shampooed my hair, threw some gel in (which I later ended up buying) and then took my apron off.
Huh? Was that it?!
I was still befuddled five minutes later as I handed my credit card over to pay the $95 bill. $95 for someone to cut, shampoo and throw gel in my hair...not to mention the fact that I woke up at 6am this morning to flat iron my hair TO MAKE IT EASIER on her! For that, I could've gotten Christopher to do a better job...FOR FREE!
I did not make a follow-up appointment. Instead, I went back to my apartment to check on the cat, use the bathroom; and then I turned around and immediately headed for the JCPenneys salon (where I am currently sitting underneath a dryer).
My hair is the shortest it's ever been and there's no escaping it. I can only learn from this (note: optimism). Rather than wallow in the grief over a bad haircut (several, in fact), I decided to have my hair re-relaxed. My curls, unfortunately, are only tamed by chemicals-otherwise, they're unmanageable. Additionally, I now realize that if I'm going to grow my hair out again, I'll need it to be as manageable as I can get it.
The stylist who I threw myself at the mercy of is named "Ardis". She is having me do some sort of a foam wrap thing as an alternative to making my hair straight without all of the heat and pain that is typically associated with a manual blowdryer and flat iron. I have had one too many bad experiences now with my hair and with blowdryers and flat irons...so I will literally avoid them at all costs.
Perspective
It's interesting to be in my situation. Here I am with this clearly "ethnic hair". There are qualities about my hair that are caucasian, and there are qualities which mark it as being black. On the one hand, I feel like I identify with white stylists better on a personal level- perhaps the conversation is easier or something...but then I'm almost always disappointed with the end result. Then, on the other hand, I appreciate black stylists because the majority of them know almost immediately that they're dealing with a "mixed chick" and they automatically know what to do. However, sometimes I think they interpret my personality wrong, thinking that I want a more "ethnic style".
Not to sound creepy here, but there is almost something home-like and familiar about a stylist's hands running through your hair. I noticed it again today. You can feel the subtle tenseness of someone's hands as if they're in new territory and want to tread lightly versus another's hands who you feel have been there before and are running on a familiar trail.
When the stylist was washing my hair, she was quick and thorough but caring. There wasn't any hesitation. For a moment, it reminded me of a faint memory from my childhood when my mother used to wash my hair. Granted, the atmosphere at a JCPenneys salon is quite different from a high-end salon. There is no "designated receptionist" to ask you if you'd like a complimentary glass of wine, diet soda or herbal tea. There's no grand waiting area where colorful peanut M&Ms, mints and other goodies are laid out for you against the backdrop of shiny designer walls and recessed lighting...
Nope.
Instead, the receptionist is often whichever stylist happens not to be busy at the moment. If you want something to eat or drink, you'd better bring it with you or take care of it ahead of time. The salon setup is simple. A few salon photos hang somewhat awkwardly against off-white/pinkish walls while fluorescent lights beam down on customers who are anxiously waiting to have their hair done while on the their lunch breaks or in between shopping.
While it's not quite as glorious to step down from an estate to a 2-bedroom ranch, you sometimes have to step back from the picture and weigh your options: The estate, while it may have all the perks of "finer living," may only leave you with an empty feeling at the end of the day while the ranch may leave you feeling more complete and at home.
At the end of the day, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I was paying a higher price because I like the atmosphere and the conversation- all the while failing to wholly realize that my hair was the real issue not being dealt with properly. The way I now see it, making my hair the priority, it doesn't matter where I get it done, as long as it comes out looking fabulous.
*(taken from a journal entry)
So, I had a hair appointment this afternoon with a stylist at a high-end salon (I'm not going to name names here). The past three experiences with her have been dismal- but ever the loyal customer, I decided to give her one last try (unbeknown to her)- one last hope that she would redeem herself.
We both failed miserably.
I originally went in thinking that I would just get a trim because lately I've been hating my hair and just want my old, long hair back. However, somewhere along the line, she convinced me to cut my hair even shorter- to the absolute shortest cut it would go. To get a visual, we looked at a picture of Halle Berry (the one of her from the Oscars), and that's what it was supposed to look like. However, it looked NOTHING like the picture. Instead, it looked awful...I looked like a boy. She casually mentioned that I could get it relaxed (elsewhere because they don't do that), and then my hair would probably look more like the picture of Halle Berry's. I was shocked when she shampooed my hair, threw some gel in (which I later ended up buying) and then took my apron off.
Huh? Was that it?!
I was still befuddled five minutes later as I handed my credit card over to pay the $95 bill. $95 for someone to cut, shampoo and throw gel in my hair...not to mention the fact that I woke up at 6am this morning to flat iron my hair TO MAKE IT EASIER on her! For that, I could've gotten Christopher to do a better job...FOR FREE!
I did not make a follow-up appointment. Instead, I went back to my apartment to check on the cat, use the bathroom; and then I turned around and immediately headed for the JCPenneys salon (where I am currently sitting underneath a dryer).
My hair is the shortest it's ever been and there's no escaping it. I can only learn from this (note: optimism). Rather than wallow in the grief over a bad haircut (several, in fact), I decided to have my hair re-relaxed. My curls, unfortunately, are only tamed by chemicals-otherwise, they're unmanageable. Additionally, I now realize that if I'm going to grow my hair out again, I'll need it to be as manageable as I can get it.
The stylist who I threw myself at the mercy of is named "Ardis". She is having me do some sort of a foam wrap thing as an alternative to making my hair straight without all of the heat and pain that is typically associated with a manual blowdryer and flat iron. I have had one too many bad experiences now with my hair and with blowdryers and flat irons...so I will literally avoid them at all costs.
Perspective
It's interesting to be in my situation. Here I am with this clearly "ethnic hair". There are qualities about my hair that are caucasian, and there are qualities which mark it as being black. On the one hand, I feel like I identify with white stylists better on a personal level- perhaps the conversation is easier or something...but then I'm almost always disappointed with the end result. Then, on the other hand, I appreciate black stylists because the majority of them know almost immediately that they're dealing with a "mixed chick" and they automatically know what to do. However, sometimes I think they interpret my personality wrong, thinking that I want a more "ethnic style".
Not to sound creepy here, but there is almost something home-like and familiar about a stylist's hands running through your hair. I noticed it again today. You can feel the subtle tenseness of someone's hands as if they're in new territory and want to tread lightly versus another's hands who you feel have been there before and are running on a familiar trail.
When the stylist was washing my hair, she was quick and thorough but caring. There wasn't any hesitation. For a moment, it reminded me of a faint memory from my childhood when my mother used to wash my hair. Granted, the atmosphere at a JCPenneys salon is quite different from a high-end salon. There is no "designated receptionist" to ask you if you'd like a complimentary glass of wine, diet soda or herbal tea. There's no grand waiting area where colorful peanut M&Ms, mints and other goodies are laid out for you against the backdrop of shiny designer walls and recessed lighting...
Nope.
Instead, the receptionist is often whichever stylist happens not to be busy at the moment. If you want something to eat or drink, you'd better bring it with you or take care of it ahead of time. The salon setup is simple. A few salon photos hang somewhat awkwardly against off-white/pinkish walls while fluorescent lights beam down on customers who are anxiously waiting to have their hair done while on the their lunch breaks or in between shopping.
While it's not quite as glorious to step down from an estate to a 2-bedroom ranch, you sometimes have to step back from the picture and weigh your options: The estate, while it may have all the perks of "finer living," may only leave you with an empty feeling at the end of the day while the ranch may leave you feeling more complete and at home.
At the end of the day, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I was paying a higher price because I like the atmosphere and the conversation- all the while failing to wholly realize that my hair was the real issue not being dealt with properly. The way I now see it, making my hair the priority, it doesn't matter where I get it done, as long as it comes out looking fabulous.
*(taken from a journal entry)
Sunday, May 3, 2009
random picture for the day....
If Winnie the Pooh used the Internet, this is what he'd be surfing all day... (Thanks for the pic, Christopher!)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The Mayonnaise Jar and 2 Cups of Coffee
When things in your life seem, Almost too much to handle, When 24 Hours in a day is not enough, Remember the mayonnaise jar and 2 cups of coffee...
*A professor stood before his philosophy class
And had some items in front of him.
When the class began, wordlessly,
He picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar
And proceeded to fill it with golf balls.
He then asked the students, If the jar was full.
They agreed that it was.
The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured
them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly.
The pebbles rolled into the open Areas between the golf balls.
He then asked The students again
If the jar was full... They agreed it was.
*The professor next picked up a box of sand
And poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.
He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded
With an unanimous 'yes.'
The professor then produced Two cups of coffee from under the table
And poured the entire contents Into the jar, effectively
Filling the Empty space between the sand.
The students laughed.
'Now,' said the professor, As the laughter subsided,
'I want you to recognize that This jar represents your life..
The golf balls are the important things - God, family,
children, health, Friends, and Favorite passions – *
*Things that if everything else was lost *
*And only they remained, Your life would still be full.
The pebbles are the other things that matter Like your job, house, and car.
The sand is everything else --
The small stuff.
'If you put the sand into the jar first,' He continued,
'there is no room for The pebbles or the golf balls.
The same goes for life.
If you spend all your time And energy on the small stuff,
You will never have room for The things that are
Important to you.
**
So...
Pay attention to the things That are critical to your happiness.
Play With your children.
Take time to get medical checkups.
Take your partner out to dinner.
There will always be time
To clean the house and fix the disposal.
'Take care of the golf balls first --
The things that really matter.
Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.'
One of the students raised her hand
And inquired what the coffee represented.
The professor smiled.
'I'm glad you asked'.
It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem,
there's always room for A couple of cups of coffee with a friend.'
Saturday, March 28, 2009
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