Intentions Don't Always Predict the Future

....Especially when you are not taking any course of action- any physical course of action- to get your intentions developed into success.

I am talking about my lack of responsibility with this blog. I have all the intentions of committing time to it, and yet I have done nothing. I had been planning on using this summer to start a writing career, to start a project, to find out how I can get published, and have done a little more than nothing. I had planned on submitting a work in progress to a writing contest, yet that work has not progressed, despite my best intentions. If there were simply a way that I could get all my thoughts and ideas recorded without having to actually physically do something, I know I would have at least two or three best sellers by now.

This is my issue: I never take the time to sit and write. I do not have it scheduled into my day, and I need to start scheduling it into my day. This is my problem: I feel as if there just are not enough hours in the day, as cliche as that may sound. There aren't. Especially when you are planning a wedding, starting a new job (although it is part-time), and finally trying to enjoy the sun that has decided bless us with its presence after a long and rainy June.

Today, while preparing for a training I am attending tomorrow for my new part-time job, I was reading about problem solving. How to select and reach a goal, how to avoid the obstacles, how to stay positive. It instantly made me aware of my goal to be a writer and my lack of writing in the pursuit of said writing career. Instead of saying "I want to be a writer but I have no time to write," or, "I want to be a writer but have chosen to go to the beach instead of write," or simply, "I want to be a published writer but my actions would indicate otherwise," I need to commit time to writing. I need to rephrase my thoughts, reframe my mind, and plan to add at least an hour a day dedicated to writing. This hour may end up consisting of nothing worth reading, but I will get the proverbial juices going, and hopefully, and just maybe, one day, I will write enough hours and spend enough time both inside my head and outside of it, to become published.

No Wonder....

Well, it has been a long time since I have taken any actions into my career as a writer. This is not to say that the thoughts of writing a best seller have not been on my mind. I have decided I would even settle for some simple and ill paying published pieces, simply to get my feet wet and step into the game for real. I am sick of sitting on the bench.

What am I to do? Shall I simply wait for the Universe to take over? Do I just keep thinking and envisioning myself as a successful writer and all will fall into place as planned? I love the new song by Miley called "The Climb." It is wonderfully refreshing, even if the message is delivered in a pop song by a sixteen year old. The words are magnificent, and very motivating. I am trying to keep myself on the present and focus more on my journey and less on the finish line. I had an art teacher in high school who said, "Art is a journey, not a race." I think that ten years ago, unbeknownst to me, he was giving me some sound advice for the now.

The Consistently Ambiguous Future

Most of my life is planned out: Get married, have some children, find a way to finish up college.... However, the last part holds an ambiguous future, and not because I fear I will not finish my degree. I am mostly concerned with what I will do with that degree once it is here. What will make me feel better about paying those extreme student loans is a good job, which is what would make most students who don't have parents footing the bill for their education.

I recently started training to be a mentor for first year students at my school. I think this may be a doorway to a career at the school, or at a school, but I am not sure. In a way, I hope it is. However, I also want to have a paying writing career. I don't know how to begin the latter. Do I just write a book and try to get it published? Do I attend workshops that teaches me to write a book? The last (and only) writing workshop I attended presented me with the reality that there is simply no blueprint to writing. You just do it, possibly wearing Nike shoes. And I believe this, as there are many people who just decide to write a book one day, and are able to get it published, although they have no prior experience, and did not ever intend to write a book.

What will I write about? I have a very personal idea for a memoir, but am unsure as to whether or not I am ready to tell my story about this very important part of my past life. I am afraid it may get people (possibly myself) in trouble, I worry that my family would think they failed as a support system, knowing that all these years I have been holding this intense secret. I just don't know. Do I compile all of my poetry from my angered teenage years and try to get that published? Do I write a series of personal essays? Where to start, what to do, and where I will be is so unknown, and I don't like it. I need an assignment. I need to be asked to write something, I need to be given a deadline, I need some type of direction.

In the meantime, I will be pondering all these questions, and hopefully an answer will present itself soon. I am, for the lack of a better term, craving an opportunity.

Success Without an Expiration Date

The other day it was (un)seasonably hot in New England for May. I use the (un) because we all think it is so weird when the temp hits over 80 degrees in May, however it is a yearly occurrence, almost inevitable, thus we just need to accept that it is in fact normal to have a hot day, or even string of days, in new England, in May. That is another story, and one I do not have to explain for fellow New Englanders, however.


On this very normal warm day, I was driving down the highway on my way home from a day off filled with errands. I was listening to my tunes, and just writing along in my head (which can be very distracting while driving) when I began to get concerned that my ship as a writer may have sailed and that I will never reach the success so desire. Then, my twin subconscious (I am a Gemini) spoke up and reminded me that no one is ever too old for success. There are people who do not write their best seller until they are well into what is normally considered retirement age. And not for nothing, those best sellers are often not even well known, they are just labeled as so. I felt an overwhelming fresh and new outlook on my career as a writer. It is true, I am cresting upon my later twenties, yet I need to remember that I still have time. There will come my time, success has no expiration date. No one can tell me when it is too late, not even myself. Even if I were to cease existence, I still can not control when my time as a recognized and respected writer is. It is sadly possibly that I won't make money until I am physically gone. The bonus is that my possible offspring or other family members will see it and reap the benefits of my hard work and unexpired success.

Later that day I talked with some friends about this, about how I feel as if I have enough time to really make it, to prove myself. Right now, when I say I am a writer, it may not mean anything to anyone else besides myself. I have finally accepted that this is not a problem for anyone but everyone who does not believe in me, who does not believe that I am writer, I just happen to be an unpublished and unpaid writer.

Last night my fiance and I watched Marley and Me, and in the movie Owen Wilson is a columnist. It seems as if it just may be something I could do. Actually, it is something I know I could do. I would love to own the freedom of choosing my topic, and acquiring and active reading audience. I know it would be hard work, it is difficult to be consistently creative, and even when I am not, to still gain the attention of my readers enough to ensure their return for the next column, or story.

I think this was a doorway, that this was presented to me because it is something that I could learn more about, something that I could look into. I don't think it is ironic that although I have wanted to see the movie for a long time, I actually did not watch it until after I had decided to truly pursue my passion to write. It is only a movie, but I had never thought of the columnist position, and it intrigues me.

I truly can not wait to see what the future holds, and I am sure I will be presented with enough opportunities, material and inspiration to preserve my intentions.

Back to the Original Purpose....

As of late, I have been using the blog as a sounding board, for the most part. The intent of my blogging is really to network and record my progress as a writer. Although I will have times in which I will revert to the sounding board business, I really think it is important that I focus on organizing my thoughts and my intentions as a writer. I am making it a point to start and look for more writing contests, and other places I can try and get some work published. I will also be looking into internships, as I would love to gain entry into the field view a publishing office, editor's office, etc.

I feel that writing truly is my path, as it is a familiar road. I have so many works that I completed during my teenage years, and I plan to get them together, and, hopefully, have them published in a type of personal ethnography. I the meantime, I would also like to figure out a project for this summer. I am unsure of what I want to write about. I have toyed with the idea of writing a series of personal essays, relating to a similar theme. I am also considering, starting today, to really record everything up until the wedding, which is exactly three months from today. I have a journal that I physically write in, and feel very comfortable writing my feelings in that. I begged and begged for a laptop, and still, I find myself with a pen in my hand, a cramp in between my thumb and index finger, writing away, old-school style. I feel I can be the most open and honest when I am actually writing, and not relying on a laptop or other keyboard to get my point across.

I hope that I meet some people along the way who can advise and inspire me. Today, I will attempt to truly begin my journey.

Morphing into a Nightmare

It has happened again, although it has been a long time since it has happened last.

I enter sleepy dreamy land, content with the strong and cuddly arm of my fiance wrapped around me. I feel secure, content, happy, and sleepy. We both drift off and let our unconscious' take over.

Once again, he penetrated my dreams. Practically ruining my night, and my day, for today. Every time he enters my dreamland, he poisons my soul for a little bit of time, regardless of how hard I try and fight the intrusion. I feel anxious, sad, depressed, helpless and hopeless, among other emotions when I am in this state of sleep, and usually for a little while after I wake up, with a horrific hangover from the nightmare.

It always starts out the same, it is my boyfriend (who is the love of my life, my fiance, my soul mate, my best friend), and I. We are doing some nonchalant thing, maybe at a party, maybe getting ready for the wedding, maybe just hanging out at home. Suddenly, I feel as if there is something wrong. It is as if my dream fast-forwards, and I don't even know where the rewind button is. What I do know is that something is terribly wrong with him. He has done something. Or he doesn't want to be with me. Or he is playing games with me. Or he is lying to me about something horrible. And I try, and try, and try to get him to be honest, to tell me the truth, to stay with me. I am afraid he has been unfaithful in this nightmare. I am afraid we won't get married. I am afraid that he has committed the unforgivable. And I just keep asking him, and asking him, and trying to figure it out, and crying, and spinning my engagement ring around and around on my hand, as if I can not bear to think of my body without this piece on it.


All of these emotions are very real in the nightmare, and have been very real in my past, conscious, real-life. Except my fiance has never made me feel this way, especially in the way this monster that lies in my unconscious has. In my dream, it is not even my loving fiance anymore. He slowly morphs into him and although I feel as if it is my current boyfriend, I know that physically and emotionally, it is him. And all of what I am feeling is exactly the way he had made me feel when we were part of each other's lives. When I was old enough to know better and too young to walk away.

Why does this happen? How can my perfect man turn in my dreams? At the beginning, I used to blame it on him. I would get anxious, and ask him questions regarding his whereabouts and his love for me. Then, I finally realized this is not necessarily his issue. It is an issue from my past, and although it is a part of me and therefore something we should deal with together, there is no preventing these nightmares, this intruder, from gaining entry to my unconscious.

Sometimes, as this morning, I wake up holding onto my fiance so tight, with tears in my eyes, as if I have actually just been through some horrific incident and I am so happy that he is there, and we are together.

I just want him out. I left long ago, I have no regrets. I take that back: I regret never telling anyone what I had been through, I regret not getting help when the sting was fresh, I regret not leaving sooner. Well, the last regret would not lead me to where I am today. I would have not been with my fiance had it not been for this past relationship. Although, deep down, I think our souls would have found each other, it would not have been the perfect timing it has proved to be.

A long time ago, when this nightmare was my real, everyday life, I would go and see a psychic. Someone who was a stranger, who I could confide in, and did not require a referral or follow-up appointment from my practitioner. The psychic pulled a card and asked me who the man in my life was that began with a "J." At the time, no such man was in my life. Then, she placed down the card and I see that it is a type of knight in shining armor, on a horse that is standing on its hind legs. The knight looks brave, and has a sword in his hand. The psychic tells me that the knight, the "J," will protect me, that he is my soul mate. This person will fight for me and will do whatever it takes to be with me, and love me, and stay with me. I was perplexed, and actually annoyed that she didn't have anything enlightening to say about him. At this time, I still could not imagine a life better than the nightmare I was living. I didn't think I deserved it.

Shortly thereafter, I met my "J" and he is all that the psychic predicted and more. He has been waiting to fight my battles, waiting to save my life, waiting to marry me. And now, both of us can live happily ever after.... These nightmares, this person is nothing compared to what my knight and I have.

Rags to Riches

This morning, the first morning of my school-free summer, I woke up around 8am to the sound of a weed-whacker underneath my bedroom window, and immediately, memories of my childhood flooded my thoughts. My dad liked to get up on Saturday mornings, at some God awful hour, and either mow the lawn, weed-whack, or start his Harley Davidson motorcycle, over and over again. Pure torture, even as a child I needed my sleep. I love my dad dearly, but he does have these annoying tendencies, and the noise factor is one of them. He is so noisy!

So, I got out of bed about an hour later (I know, I shouldn't complain, it is a Tuesday and I didn't get out of bed until 9am!), and opened my porch door. The noise flooded my living room. I was actually on the phone with my dad, who was talking mostly to himself about the truck he was driving (he is in construction), and not really paying any attention to our conversation. Did I mention I am not a morning person, at all? So, after we got off the phone, and I slammed the porch door shut (as if the landscapers can hear that over the racket they are making), I sat down in front of Ellen and had my breakfast.

I am annoyed this morning for another, purely irrational, reason. My dad bought his rags-to-riches (thanks to him) wife a brand new Mustang. And now they are putting leather seats in it. It is not so much that I am jealous because I want a mustang, it is more that he is spending money on her, and I don't think she deserves it. When I met her, she was a single mom, working three or four jobs at a time, totally frugal, and thought my siblings and I were spoiled brats. Now, she sits on almost twelve acres, in a beautiful home, gets her nails done, just traded in her BMW to downgrade to the 2010 Mustang, and will be getting leather seats put in this week. In her former, poorer, life, she would rag on my siblings for receiving gifts from my father, but now it seems she has joined, what she coined, the "I-Wanna" tribe. Meanwhile, I am not comfortable reminding my father that three years ago, when I went back to college, he promised to help me financially any way he could. Um, $25,000 in student loans later and God knows how much I have spent on books and supplies, and how much I have sacrificed to get my education, he has yet to contribute one penny. He would say that he has done so much for me in my past life, which he had, but helllllllllllllllllllllo, I was a child, you were to provide for me.

Don't get me wrong, I need to reiterate that I love him and truly appreciate all that he has done. This is simply a response to him buying his wife a car that she doesn't deserve. However, she will pay for this, as he will end up bitching and complaining before she knows it, talking about how much money he spent and all that. She just hasn't learned what my sister and I have: Don't ask for anything. Don't agree to take a gift. It (he) will haunt you the first time you mess up for it. The materialistic items are not worth the emotional burden that always lies just under the hood of that new, shiney car.

In a way, I hope she never learns. I told him today I would reveal my feelings about the whole situation with her and their marriage when he is too old to remember what I have said.

In real life, I don't CARE!

Being at work really reminds of just how much I don't care about what other people say, at least half of the time. I just have to stand there, behind them, listening to their stories, or, their jokes that really aren't that funny. Personal anecdotes that would be better served if told in a therapist's office. Maybe some hairdressers love this part of the job, but I don't.

Especially the self-manufactured bull shit. I am sorry, but you brought this on yourself, and now I have to listen to it every time I see you, and you expect me to agree with you, yet my morals and values won't let me. Thus, I revert to the proverbial childhood lesson: If I don't have something nice to say, I don't say anything. And I can see that they are looking for my approval, to be in agreement with their recent idiotic decision, or to feel that their soon-to-be-ex-husband really is an asshole, yet, all I can see is that there are two sides to that story. The worst part is that I have this insane memory, which means that I know:

1. When they are lying.
2. When I know that there is some situation in the past that brought this on.
3. That they really aren't as great of a person as they try to come across.
4. That they are a bullshit artist, manic, trying to make themselves feel better.

I have to put on this act, as if I am really interested or feel bad for them, which is totally out of character for me. In real life, and my friends and family and boyfriend know this, I am a bitch, and I will tell you if I think you are a freakin' idiot who creates problems for yourself. Or, I will let you know I am uninterested in what you have to say, or that you told the story a different way, or that you should seek therapy.... AND SOON.

I do have some really, really great clients, but not enough to make up for the others. It takes years off my life I think, every time I have to bite my tongue. Some nights, on my way home when I call my mom, she will ask how my day went, and I simply say, "I have a mouth full of holes," and she knows I have been biting and chewing the inside of my mouth, just so I still have a job the next day.

Lastly, I hate when I am obviously busy doing something, like studying or on my laptop, or blogging, and the girls think it is a great time to tell me some story, or just talk bullshit. Listen, I am busy. My face is buried in a book. I am not getting paid hourly, therefore when I don't have a client in my chair it is my time. Let me be. And they know it, they admit that they are bothering me. I love them almost like family, so I know I can be honest, but sometimes, they just don't get the hint. Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllloooooooooooooooooooo I am not even looking at you, and I am "Uh-ummming" you to death. I am not listening. (Honestly, it is happening right now!)

What I consider a BIG NIGHT

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... I took my last final for the semester today. That feels good.

One thing I have never understood, however, is why students are expected to meet deadlines and follow through, and professors are often exempt from such responsibilities. For example, in my class on Tuesday, we were supposed to have received our grades for the end of semester paper we wrote. Unfortunately, the professor has been too busy with other things, and did not place our grades in our digital dropbox as expected. Furthermore, we have yet to receive our homework and comments on it from over two weeks ago. I happen to like the professor, so I am not bashing him whatsoever, in fact, this is common practice among professors. It makes me want to ask, "Well, if you are too busy to grade all those papers and assignments because you have other students and other classes, why give out so many assignments?"

I had a professor a few semesters ago that I really got into it with over this subject, and it was no secret that I totally despised her. She would give us these incredible homework assignments, and then never return them to us on time. She would have so many excuses: other classes, sick, family things, blah, blah, blah. I literally told her on our class webpage that as students, we have other obligations too, and why are we not allowed the same privilege of saying that we are just too busy? I was a little stressed that semester, working 35 hours a week and taking four 4-credit courses, but I managed to complete all assignments on time and get an A in all four classes.

So, tonight when I logged on to my school's website and saw that neither professor had posted grades, I felt a little "urrrrrrr" rumble inside of me. It is a sick game they play, I have been studying my ass off and can not wait to see how it all paid off, yet I have to wait for their life to come together before I find out how well I did. And I am paying up the ying yang to go to school! I should be expecting more from them, not vice versa!

Because school is over for the summer, I can focus more now on our wedding which is at the end of the summer. Today marks 99 days until the wedding! I had actually planned to start a blog about the wedding 100 days before it, but this week has been too hectic with (uh-um) studying for my finals and working. However, I am super psyched about the wedding!

And, lastly, the icing on my bittersweet cake: tonight is the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.... My favorite show. A show I never thought I would watch, and have been hooked since the first time I caught an episode, mid-season the second year....

I have my glass of wine, nice a chilled and ready for consumption, my fiance is about to change the channel from his basketball game he is watching (he is the best, no man would abandon his basketball game on his big TV to let his girlfriend watch her nightly soap), and I am ready to go! So, if you are tuning in tonight to the show, enjoy, and wish me luck on my exam scores!

A little bit of smoke has cleared....

Well, well. I decided to take a few moments away from studying for my finals to do a blog search for blogs related to my intentions. I came across three, and, once I have more time, I will go through them more thoroughly. I basically just read enough to ensure they did not contain content unrelated to information I seek, but I still need to refine my search and really seek out what it is I am looking for from them. They are:

http://www.pw.org/

http://www.namw.org/

http://www.placesforwriters.com/

Now, the fact that I have not allowed myself enough time to go through these blogs/websites makes me realize that I may be self-handicapping. We, as humans, self-handicap constantly, some people do so more than others. The definition from one of my psychology books, "Social Psychology", states that self handicapping are: "Behaviors designed to sabotage one's own performance in order to provide a subsequent excuse for failure" (p. 77).

Self-handicapping is essentially the practice of making up excuses, performing actions and displaying behaviors that would otherwise offer a readily available explanation to why one did not do as well as they thought they would. In class, one of the examples given was the student who refuses to study for a class, and then ends up getting a bad grade. Well, he self-handicapped by not studying. A better, more calculated example would be when someone is going to write a story, or a paper, and insists to her reader that it is "not that great, anyway," or that she, "rushed into writing it, so who knows what others will think." By setting up this attitude for the reader, the writer is protecting herself from feeling like a failure in the event the story is rubbish. On the other hand, self-handicapping can work to her benefit because if the story is phenomenal, she will be praised for creating something so effortlessly. The catch is usually that the person did in fact work hard, but reported not, just to avoid any discomfort that may arise or in order to prevent any damage to one's self esteem. I could come up with many other reasons, but I won't. basically self-handicapping=excused behavior. It is a way to "lower expectations" (p. 78).

The whole point of this rant is that I am self-handicapping right now, and I know it. I could take the time to go through these websites, but I was searching for them while I was taking a break from studying, so I did not really have the time to find out more information that could, and probably would, benefit my writing career. In addition, instead of taking fifteen minutes to blog about it, I could have been going through the websites.... And why not do it now? Well, I have to go and exercise. Tonight we are going to a show, and I only have so much time before I have to get all gussied up for the show! Fortunately, I am trading one evil self-handicapping for another: I used to come up with any excuse not to exercise, but now I often use exercising as my self-handicap excuse. I don't want to mess up my routine now, and I am trying to stick with it the best I can.....

Off to exercise.... No time to write....

Flashbacks

Every two weeks, on a Saturday, I go to visit two of my most favorite people in the world: My grandparents. We call them Oma and Opa, because my Oma is from Germany. (My Opa is not German, he is actually Puerto Rican, but for whatever reason they chose the German words.) I practically lived with them half the time, and my parents the other. The three of us share such a special and beautiful bond, many, and I mean many of my best childhood memories involve them.

This Saturday I went for my bi-weekly visit, and when I arrived my Oma greeted me with a big hug, as always. And as always, my 92 year-old-still-a-handsome-devil (his words), Opa, is offering his "Hello dear!" from the top of the loft where he has a couple of computers set up.... He loves his computers. In fact, he just bought my Oma a new one with Vista, which created quite the dilemma between communication necessary for the printer. Opa has been on a mission for several visits, and apparently today, the solution presented itself.

Opa was cheerful, and said that we would be having coffee outside. I actually had a glass of Merlot, my Oma started with coffee but then had Opa go in and get her some Zinfandel. Opa was the only one with coffee. (Might I add as I was leaving an hour later, he was in the fridge looking for some wine for himself? They are the reason I love the liquid!)

Anyway, while we were enjoying the nice weather, Opa decided to give us a rerun of one of his favorite stories from the past. He always exclaims excitedly with his heavy Puerto Rican accent, "I had the most beautiful childhood," and then goes on to tell a story that we most likely have heard before. He is so excited, and on this day exceptionally proud, of his past. At first, I felt the usually sting of pain when I know this will be a repeat, although greatly animated for my amusement. But then, I realized, as I often do during times exactly like this, that I should be soaking this up, cherishing this. When I was a little girl we did not have conversations like this, and all too often children do not get the opportunity to talk with their grandparents in this way. He is my blood, and I need to hear these stories. I need to lock these moments in and store them for use on days I am feeling gloomy, or heaven forbid, when he can no longer tell them.

Of course, the parody ensues, as my Oma and I exchange secret looks between each other, and are able to communicate the hysteria of the situation. It really is a sight: Opa, talking wildly with the same fire in his eyes today as he must have had all those years ago; Oma, telling him to lower his voice because the whole neighborhood does not need to know how beautiful his life has been; and me, dually soaking it up for sentimental storage and enjoying the show!

My grandparents both lived amazing lives, and I find it difficult to initiate a conversation about their past without them bringing it up themselves. I very rarely ask questions, and only when I truly must know the answer. Opa was an American soldier who served a little during WWII, had two deployments to Vietnam, and is also 22 years older than my Opa; and my Oma, who grew up in Germany immediately after the horror of WWII, while the trauma still staining and stinging the country. I am so very interested in hearing every detail, from beginning to end, so that I can record it permanently. But I also feel that I have a boundary, one that is set up in order to protect me from some very sad stories.

I always leave their house feeling bittersweet. I absolutely adore them, and I feel elated just being with them, reminiscing, being their little girl again. Then, the thought that I am no longer that little comes to mind, and I feel sad, because that thought spirals into the thought that Oma and Opa are getting older with me, and there may come a day I won't hear the rerun stories, or the new ones.

At Work...

I am at the salon right now, and have pretty much finished up my clients for the day. We have a little unspoken protocol for this, which I interpret as I will stay for about another hour, and then I am out of here! We are paid on commission, based on what services we do. Unfortunately, this means we are not being paid hourly. And it gets pretty tiresome to just be sitting around, knowing your time is worth nothing.

Jay bought me this laptop for this very reason, so I wouldn't be as aggravated as usual, so I have something better to do than just sit here. I should really be using this time to study for my finals, but it is difficult to block out all the noise. I find that even just typing my thoughts reflect all the noise going on around me.

It is times like these that I realize just how desperately I need to get my degree completed so I can be doing something constructive. I never even wanted to do hair to begin with, and now I feel like 7 years later, I am in a really bad relationship that I can't seem to find a good enough reason to leave, let alone a good enough reason to stay. With that in mind, every opportunity I have had to leave (when I have sought and then offered other jobs), I always turn down. Just like an abusive relationship. I can't leave. I see that the door is open and no one is watching, yet I quietly close it and allow myself to be subject to unhappiness. I feel loyal to this place. I have been here for so long, and I have had the seven-year itch for about 5 years. I left 3 years ago and became a manager of a beauty supply store. Then, I realized that if I ever wanted out of the industry, I would need a degree. So I came crawling back to the salon, and was welcomed back with open arms. That was the first mistake I may have made in this unnecessarily long journey.


I always use the relationship metaphor for this job. I feel like no matter how unhappy I am, how much I bitch, how much I say I can't take it anymore, I always find some small, insignificant reason to stay. As I said, I never wanted to do hair to begin with, it was something I fell into during my past life, and I feel like leaving the business is the last thing I need to do in order to be completely and truly separated from that life.


I am a writer. I always have been. I even have tried to justify my unjustifiable commitment by saying that working in this atmosphere gives me plenty material. Unfortunately, the good material, the real nitty and gritty stuff is way too personal and obvious who it is about, to actually publish. I have so many stories that would blow the minds of many, but, I would probably end up paying out my ass any profits I make from the story.

(I wrote the above while at work, and now, several hours later, at home am finishing it up.)

While I was typing the last paragraph, my lap top yelled at me that its battery was low, thus I took it as a cue to take a break from the bitch fest. I went out to the salon and made jokes, entertained the clients, per usual. Then, about an hour later determined it was OK to leave. As much as I wanted to leave, and as entitled as I was to just leave (I am not getting paid), I stayed out of loyalty. Who would wash the color bowls and help out the other girls? As I took the trash out, laughing and joking, I once again felt that it was not too bad, it could be worse.

I finished my salon chores and while out back felt the sting of guilt for being such a bitch the past couple of days. I decided to make right. As I was walking out the door, I gave the two stylists that were there heartfelt hugs and apologized for the annoying behavior I had recently been displaying. This wasn't my first apology, and certainly not my last. Like a partner in a relationship, they hugged me back, offered words of understanding, and all is well again in our salon.

Just now, though, I can't help but once again compare this to a relationship I can't get out of. Here I am, feeling annoyed, unfulfilled, slightly used, and I come out from under my rock of frustration to apology, offering hugs and kisses to make it right. A circle that can't be broken unless I decide to stop drawing it. Maybe the next time I get an open window, I will take flight and leave, once and for all.

Being a Hair Stylist... Who does a lot of pedicures!?!?

Ugh....

One more reason why I am so looking forward to starting a new career and not having to work at a salon anymore: Pedicures! I absolutely hate doing them. It is a little bit due to the fact that I find it pretty degrading (thanks to my Memere, who was shocked when she found out I "wash other people's feet, like a servant"), and also because it really is quite belittling: Here I am, crouched down over the feet of someone who is sitting in what is appropriately called the "throne", working my ass off to scrub their feet and remove the nasty calluses they have built up. Half the time, I don't even have the right tools to use in order to remove the calluses because everything is either broken or unordered. The stupid stool I sit on randomly pumps up and down, so I have to try and keep my weight pushed to the back. My hands smell of the product for hours afterward, reminding me when I take a bite of my lunch where my hands have been, reducing my appetite.

One time I actually threw up in the middle of a pedi. Granted, I was still pretty much drunk from the night before (I was almost 21 and had gotten into a club because the lady at the door did not read the date closely enough).

Even more annoying is that the pedis are a lot of work before and after the service is completed, and clients don't tip enough to do it. Pre-ped, I have to set up, which is not too bad, but after, the sanitation laws-which I follow to a "T" because I don't want any bacteria to contaminate ME- I have to spray, then soak, then sanitize the tools, then vacuum the room, take out the trash. It is about 20 mins of cleanup. I don't make much on the pedis. I hate them!

So, today, one of my fellow stylists would like me to give her one. I have complained about how much I hate doing them, yet that does not seem to matter. It is my own damn fault because I say, "Oh, sure, I don't mind!", with a big smile on my face. I was going to go into work later so I would have time to do my homework, but that just meant she bumped her pedi down. Her feet are fine, and I love her to pieces, I just don't like doing pedis! I do my own so I don't have to subject anyone else to the degrading and time-consuming-not-worth-it-especially-because-it-is-free-for-employees, so why can't everyone else?????? I only work 4 days at the salon, and really don't like taking up the time I am there to work on unpaying feet when I could be with a paying customer!

(If you read this, you know I love you, and you know how much I hate pedis.... Yet I will still give you one when you ask because I don't know how to say no!)

Rain drops

Today is a day for celebration in Mexico, and many people here in the United States celebrate Cinco de Mayo, popping open Coronas and sticking in a lime, pouring heavy with the Patron, and feeling really festive. I always have found this very interesting, although I do participate in it. I don't think that Mexicans celebrate the 4th of July, or any other American holiday quite like the way we celebrate their day. (Important to note is that Cinco de Mayo is NOT the Mexican Independence Day, rather it signifies the day that Mexico defeated the French, although the former had a much smaller army than the latter. Their Independence Day is in September.) Incredibly interesting is that many people who say degrading things about the Mexican culture can be found in a local Mexican bar today, munching on tostados and throwing back tequila.

Today also means something else for me. It is a birthday of a friend of mine. He is dead. I actually did not realize that it was his birthday for a quite a few years after his death, and often wondered how he celebrated his 21st on his birthday. I bet it was a blast, having a birthday on a national-and possibly international- day of tequila consumption. I just thought I would like to recognize him on this rainy Tuesday, as I know I won't mention it to any of my family or friends. The only way they will know is if they read this blog.

He has been gone for 13 years, and the last time I heard from him it was on a rainy night in the summer of 1997. I refused to allow him to know I was there as he tapped on my rainy window. He had fallen into a habit of doing drugs, and at the time, I was too naive to really want to help. I just wanted to be rid of him and start over. That was the last chance I would have had to see him. I did talk to him on the phone after that, and our conversation did not end well. Two days later, he was dead. Of a heroin overdose.

Today, though, does not mark his death, it marks his birth. And much like all the people of the US that have no Mexican heritage yet still celebrate the day, I will celebrate his birthday, silently, although I have no ties to him anymore.

3AMposts

I have been up since 3am, and have been considering if I have anything worth reading to post. Well, it is 8:45am, and I still do not feel I have anything worth posting, but considering I am the only person reading my posts at this point, I guess that is no big deal.

I searched for other blogs, but still find most of this pretty intimidating. I do not understand how I become part of someone else's blog, or one of their "friends." I also cannot seem to narrow my search down enough to find blogs that directly relate to what I want to find.

If anyone reads this and can help, please do.

I will be off doing housework, homework, errands, and wedding stuff!

First Post, Nothing too revealing....

Well, I have been indtending to start a blog for a long time now. I actually had "blogged" for a Media Writing class I took a few semesters back. I don't really remember why I shut it down, but I did, and I wish I had known then what I know now. (I promise not to use too many cliches!)

I still need to explore this blogging business, need to check out some other blogs that seem interesting, and make some connections! I understand that is important to be involved in the blogging community, and that this whole thing is kind of based on the norm of reciprocity. I visit your blog, you visit mine, and along the way we meet new people through each other. Well, if you are a writer, a reader, anyone interested in the writing field, I am a friend of yours. I love working with words, and creating little mini masterpieces.

So, I am going off now to search around, make some small talk. All while sipping an espresso martini my fiance made for us! Oh, and of course, checking out the Celtics game that is going on!