Hair? Hair! Hair.

I don't have good hair. Like, in high school, I never was able to do all the stuff that other girls seemed to instinctively know how to do. Not only that, but it's nice and glossy, but fine - which means not thick and luxurious. Those fine strands work with my greasy skin to transport oil all throughout my hair. Hairdressers never fail to remark on how healthy it is, but it means daily washings, so I never get to experience this mythical second-day hair I've heard of that's supposed to be amazing.

Also, I have horrible dandruff that I just barely keep control of. Sort of control of. I think it's eczema or psoriasis, but I haven't been to a dermatologist - though you should see the dry spots on my back! That's a whole story unto itself.

I digress. I have bad hair. When it's too long, it hugs my head like a lycra body suit. When I bob it, my cheeks take over my face like a giant growth. 

And now - oh, gosh, what have I done!?! - I have fried and dried ends from an experiment in purple hombre. I kind of like it, but my fine hair feels like a toothbrush that was used for a year without being changed.

So, I need a haircut, obviously. 

Also, I'm growing out my bangs.  Or I'm going to trim them.  But summer's coming and greasy bangs (should I call them fringe?) are greasy.  I don't know.

I know there are more important issues in the world, and even in my life, but I'm obsessing over my hair.

Slightly grown-out bob and fringe/bangs:

 

Shoulder-length, no fringe:



 

Grow it, cut it, bang it, shave it, I don't know. 

 

 

BTW - if anyone ever wants to do a purple hombre, it actually comes out very subtle on dark hair and washes out like an over-exposed photo.  Which then makes the demarcation of the bleached and unbleached less subtle and more like roots, which is what Willam Belli says is what an hombre is in a lower tax bracket (paraphrasing!).

 

Oh, and if you don't know Willam, then you should probably Google.  And watch RuPaul's Drag Race.  Which is also another story.  But watch it and watch Willam's Beatdown on YouTube.  For reals.

Summer For Fatties, Part Two

So, there's some things I probably left out about how to get through the summer months.

First off, thanks to XOVain, I just learned about Lady Anti Monkey Butt Anti Friction Powder. I'm getting some posthaste! One, I want to be part of any product that uses the term Monkey Butt in it's name. Two, it's cheap, y'all! $5.99!

Next, I'm a greasy mess in the summer. I hate wearing a face of foundation because it just melts off. With the melting comes all the other makeup on my face, and my eyeliner ends up on my cheeks.  I tell you, that look is disconcerting. 

One thing that helps is some HD powder.  I know there's tons of expensive ones, but ELF (that's Eyes Lips Face) makes an el cheapo one that is comparable with any of the pricey ones, and here's why - it's just silica powder!  Like the stuff they put in beef jerky to help reduce moisture or in diapers to keep them from leaking.  I've used it as setting powder for my eye makeup, too.  Just an FYI, it takes the glitter from glittery makeup until it absorbs some oil.

Lastly, thicken yo' skin.  There will be plenty of people on whale patrol at the beach, elephant patrol on the land, and will scream at you to throw more clothes on yourself.  While it might be tempting to hide inside or only among friendly souls, you'll be missing out on fun.  Yeah, going outside is going to be hot and sweaty and make you reveal more flesh than you're probably comfortable with.  Yeah, immature assholes will probably make comments to try to fat-shame you into hating yourself.  But, you know.  Whatevs.  Life is for living.

Also - and this isn't just for my thick sistahs - DON'T FORGET THE SUNSCREEN.

Crafting Isn't Just For Old People, Young People, or Pretentious Hipsters Anymore!

When I was, twelve(ish), I had a table down in the basement where I did crafts.  I hid out down there during the summer heat or when I was bored, and just went to town.  I'd listen to music (Sinead O'Connor was my favorite - probably because it was the first non-kid tape that wasn't my mother's that I'd ever owned) and just make.

The things I'd make weren't great.  I decorated baskets with stiffened fabric made into ruffles, bows, and flowers.  I'd turn that same fabric into earrings and barrettes.  I was not cool, and I'm pretty sure no one but me liked what I was making at all.

And honestly, it wasn't even the stuff I was making that caught me in its web, but that I was making.

I went through years of sporadic creation, making the occasional skirt or embellishing a shirt without the end, instead of the making, being the focus.

So, in the last few months, a few things have changed.

1. I have hatred for my apartment, but can't afford to move.
2. I work at home, and can multi-task (i.e. crochet, weave, glue, etc.) without getting the stink-eye from my peers.
3. I began getting a mysterious subscription to Vogue delivered to my house, in my name.

The last item was the biggest influence.  I don't remember ever subscribing to it, but I began getting Vogue delivered to my house.  The first time I got it, I refused to look through it (body-image stuff).  It didn't get thrown away, instead sitting with the rest of the pile of mail we didn't go through.

Finally, Jon and I faced the chore of sorting the mail.  Instead of throwing it out, I remembered a project in the Big-Ass Book of Crafts by Mark Montano using magazine pages.  

Instead of copying the exact craft, I used the method and made a rug/mat.

That began my obsession.  

I keep getting the magazines, and continue trying to find uses for them.  Coasters, bracelets, earrings, garbage cans, picture frames, key dishes, jewelry boxes - gee whiz!

But that was just the beginning.  The making sparked the creativity, and it spread to all sorts of stuff.

Crafting may or may not be creative in itself.  Often, it's just following instructions.  However, the act of making something out of raw materials forces you to look at things differently.  Instead of accepting as is, you think of how to improve.

So, I hate my apartment.  I can't afford to move.  I make better.  Painting, decorating, changing.

It's not just that!  I'm writing - like, that's a big deal since I'm so often blocked.  I'm painting.  What?!?  I've never done that!

Crafting can be done by anyone.  It's calming, it's useful, it's very definition covers all manners of methods.  It's creative.  Even if someone thinks they're not creative, or are dull and literal, they can craft and enjoy the benefits.

Instead of watching TV, pick up some yarn.  Work the brain instead of putting it asleep.

Friendships and the Difficulties of Getting Older

The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I came a little late to the game, in that I didn't read the book until 2008 or 2009.  However, I absorbed it in one sitting at a café and turned it over and restarted the from the beginning when I reached the end.  It was beautiful and real and spoke to a specific time and place in my life.

Everything I do is late, and the time in my life this spoke to is no exception.  I tell people I'm emotionally immature, and that may no longer be true - though it definitely once was.  I didn't have a close group of friends in high school.  The first time I felt accepted by a group was when I was twenty-three and had moved back to Michigan from Rochester, NY. 

I began hanging out at a local donut shop, and the regulars there began feeling (to me) like family.  They were musicians and actors and writers.  Most of them had known each other since high school, and were great at telling stories about their adventures, as well as going on new ones.  I was enchanted.

After only a year or so of having a great crowd of friends and acquaintances, the donut shop became non-smoking (which was fine by me, though not the rest of the clientele), and people stopped showing up every night.

Then, I moved a couple of hours away. 

I thought my friends would be traumatized, but life continued.  It was time to find new friends.

I was a little older, no wiser, and there were some great coffee houses around.  During the 90's until about 2004 all a person had to do was find the right coffee house and not be afraid to say something glib to someone who looked like they were having fun.

That's what I, and my best friend, did.  Soon enough, we were once again surrounded by friendly people who made us feel like we were home. 

Then, the coffee houses closed.  MySpace replaced LiveJournal and was in turn replaced by Facebook, which replaced real interactions.  Suddenly, you had to have friends to make friends.

Luckily, I was rolling in friendship.  Those that I'd carried from the coffee shops had bred like paperclips (remember - you never need to actually buy paperclips.  Just make sure you have two, and they'll multiply themselves).

For a few years, this large group of friends sustained itself.  Eventually, the weight of bruised feelings and small betrayals broke it up, and people went their separate and lonely ways.

So, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  The biggest thing I pulled from it was the importance of friendships.  I nearly wept at the evoked memories of times out with friends.  People who knew me at my best and worst, in various states of consciousness and annoyance, and people I knew similarly.

I tried making new friends - really!  I put an ad on Craigslist under strictly platonic.

BTW - people do not understand the meaning of platonic.

I had some email conversations that seemed to go well.  I even had a couple of meetings.  Either I didn't click with them or they didn't like me.  Regardless, it didn't turn into anything.

I also tried coffee shops and bars.  It always just ended up being my husband and I hanging out together.  Occasionally, we'd hang out with one of his friends - who were polite! - but I'd normally end up shut out of the conversation, with my head in my iPad.

Then, the movie.  The movie was so well done and captured the feeling of the book, if not the line-by-line accuracy.  Of course, it was directed by the author.

I came home from that movie and wrote an impassioned apology to all of my old friends for either burning bridges or letting our connection fall by the wayside.  The responses were amazing.

We tried for a few months to renew our connections, and we were able to have conversations like time hadn't even passed.

But, life - you know?  A month would pass, and we wouldn't see each other.  One or the other of us would rather go to bed early or spend some time at home instead of getting together.

So, what is it about getting older that makes you less sociable?  I see this in almost everyone I know, but it wasn't always like this.  My mother had an active social life when I was a kid, and she was in her 40's.  Is it a conscious decision, a compromise of your home life, a natural talent?

I'm not willing to become a home-body without a fight.  I'm going to have friends like family in my midlife.  I'm going to keep making new memories with people instead of just living in the old.

I'm going to try.