I'm going to start this blog with a disclaimer. It's going to be disgustingly cute, not very sarcastic, and you'll probably shed a tear or two, if you're related to me. So snuggle up close, grab a stack of tissues, and proceed.
Tonight, was the season premiere of the TV show, Grey's Anatomy. And I made myself a batch of cookies (well, half a batch, and half a batch of cookie dough), I turned off all the lights, I cuddled up under my blanket, and prepared myself for the return of my favorite show. Through the first half of the show, I had to keep answering messages on my phone, and remembering to switch the wash, and wash the dishes, and a million other things I needed to do. I kept one eye on the TV, but didn't give it the devotion I intended. And by the time the last half hour had rolled around, my roommates had come home, trying to tell me about their days, and attempting (and failing) to commandeer the television. All in all, not the ideal Grey's evening I had planned out. And I know exactly why that is.
Grey's has always, always, ALWAYS been my mom and I's show. When I lived at home, Thursday nights were our time, and we would kick the boys into the garage, and watch teary eyed, as Izzie got diagnosed with cancer, and Chrisitina got abandoned at the altar, and Mer tried to drown herself. We swooned over Karev and his bad boy swagger, and McSteamy and his, well, McSteaminess. After I moved out, I made her TiVo every SINGLE episode, and then also made her sit and watch them with me whenever I got the chance to come and catch up. This was always accompanied by some delicious snacks, gossip about the show, and gossip about life, which always took us well past the show's 10PM end time. It was our ritual. It was our thing. Watch our show, and then strike up deep conversations at inopportune times.
These conversations, those were also our thing. Random, meaningful, generally with a slight mental breakdown or two, and always ending with me feeling refreshed and comforted.Generally, these happened in inopportune places, as well. In her closet hallway, for example, or on the back patio while she was cleaning up dinner. Or in the garage when we went to let to guys back in, or over the fence between our backyards.It didn't matter where, it just mattered that I knew Mom was there when I needed some "serious mom advice". And she always seems to know the answer, although I don't always even know the question. I guess that's a mom thing.
Tonight, though, it was all wrong. I made the delicious snack, I set the mood, I turned the volume up reaaaaally loud (we're both totally TV deaf), but it didn't play out quite right. I even called Mom up before hand, and we broke down the previous season's finale, trying to remember who died, who was in love with who, and who was going to be new additions. We totally prepared ourselves, made predictions about what twists and turns were going to happen, and of course we totally called it, but it still didn't feel like Grey's night to me. And I realized, nothing can replace that time. I can't replicate it, without having Mom there. I can still love my show, and I can still love my mom, but the era has passed where that will be our thing. And that breaks my heart a little bit, because I never wanted that thing to die. But I suppose that just means a new thing is to come our way- Long-distance Grey's viewing. Grey's via Skype and texting. But no more Grey's nights.
The one thing that won't change, however, is the fact that I know, always and forever, that my Mom is there when I need some "serious mom advice". I know it for a fact, because I've called on it about 19 times in the past 3 days. "Mom, I need some serious mom advice. How soon do eggs go bad after the date?" or "Mom, I need some serious mom advice, should I quit the job I just started?" The questions go on and on. There's only one that I haven't asked, and that's cause I don't think she knows the answer either.
"Mom, when do I stop missing you guys so much?"
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Home is where you are.
"Home Is Where You Are"- That sentence is a little joke between my dearest cousin and I. We found it on a picture in Urban Outfitters, and thought that it fit our lives, since we're the two drifters in the family. And I've always had the drifter personality. I've always wanted to get away from my little hometown. I grew up pretending my Barbies were in locations far, far away. I grew up studying maps of Los Angeles, New York, Paris. I grew up packing a suitcase once every few months, wanting to run away, to escape to monotony. And I knew, someday, it would happen. Sure enough, it did. But not exactly as I had planned.
When I was in high school, I began plotting my escape. I was going to graduate, move down to Southern California, go to cosmetology school, and change the world. Somehow. Unfortunately, cosmetology school in SoCal was more expensive, as was the living cost. So that idea fell right out the window. Determined, I started searching other options. Out of state schools. San Francisco schools. Anything that would get me out of the humdrum of Roseville. So where did I end up? 20 minutes away, in Folsom. I found the perfect little school, with leopard print carpets, and diva-esque instructors, who crafted me into the professional I am. They taught me everything about my art, in a way that I never could have experienced in a high profile school far from home. They gave me the best education I could have possibly received, and every day I am thankful for that.
But it was never enough. I always knew something was missing. At one point during my schooling, I met a man. And this man was my first love. He was a marine, and he was horrible for me. I had never been treated worse, I had never been so hurt, I had never been in a relationship so beneath me. But every time he left, I cried. Every time he talked about his deployments, I ached. Every time he called me from his base in San Diego, I was up all night, wishing I could be with him. It didn't matter about the cheating, or the lies, or the downright disrespect. Something always drew me back. There was some quality about him that I couldn't give up. Or so I thought.
It took me a long time, but I realized, finally, that that "quality" was nothing more than jealousy. I wanted what he had. Not the marine lifestyle, with the wars and deployments. But the opportunity to get away. To leave it all behind. he had nothing keeping him there, no ties to that little town, besides a girl who wanted to get away just as much as he did. We would talk for hours, about running away together, to Prague, to Tennessee, to anywhere where we could start fresh. But I never imagined a life with him. I imagined a life with no pretense, no preceding reputations, no "I know what you did last summer". I didn't want him, I wanted a chance to get away.
Needless to say, that didn't work out. I finally got smart, and decided a plane ticket and a life on a marine base wasn't how I wanted to make my escape. And not too long after that, I started getting comfortable. I found a good job, that payed well and was easy work. I was well into my schooling, and was one of the most successful students at the school, with the highest clientele base, and the most challenging cases. I had decorated my little studio apartment quite to my liking, and found myself an oh-so-devoted boyfriend. I was set. I could finish school, get a job somewhere, move into the big, beautiful house with the rich, generous guy, and never have to worry about a thing. However, I'm a drifter, and as a whole, drifters are not okay with being "set".
About every two months, I would lose it. I would threaten to quit school, break up with the guy, sell everything I own, and move to Hawaii (or wherever sounded pleasant at the time). Someone would always talk me out of these outbursts, but they always stuck with me. I always thought, in the back of my head, that I needed to escape. Until I found my blessing at Papillon Salon.
Papillon taught me a lot about myself as a stylist. I worked there as an independent stylist, completely responsible for my own bookkeeping, scheduling, inventory, even bringing in my own clientele. I walked into this situation with arms wide open. I would be in charge of my own schedule, my own paycheck, my own life. And that's when I realized, that while I am a creature of adaptation, and I am the epitome of laissez-faire, that was more freedom and instability than I wanted. I didn't enjoy wondering if I would be able to pay rent, or put gas in the car. I didn't enjoy taking down every receipt, and analyzing every transaction, for tax purposes. I had already chosen a career path that could take me around the world. Did I really need as much freedom as I had taken on?
Over the months at Papillon, I became so involved with growing my business, that thoughts of escape fell by the wayside. I was so concerned with bringing in clientele and advancing my techniques, that I wasn't haunted by thoughts of big cities and sandy beaches. I went through many changes in this short time, not just career oriented. But along with my new career decisions, my life decisions had brought me to a place of peace. The burning desire to escape had left me. In its place was a burning desire to grow as a stylist, to become the best I can be. I poured myself into my work, from top to bottom. Every single little cell of my being was invested in the world of hair styling. And I was so, so happy.
Until one day. I took a vacation to Long Beach, with a girlfriend. And on this trip, I decided I didn't want to go back home. But this feeling I was infused with, it wasn't a need to escape. The escape mentality was desperate, and unhappy, and fierce. Now, I was feeling a desire for adventure. I was excited, and motivated, and eager for what I could turn this new adventure into. And that change in thinking, that new mindset, is the reason my adventure worked. I stopped being desperate for a out, I stopped hunting for an escape, and I stopped waiting on the change. I made it happen.
Now, I'm here. In my new home. It's still a little strange sometimes, not having my mother down the street, and not being able to drive over and visit friends, and not having the security I did back home. But this is my adventure, and I'm taking the wheel. I finally got my chance to start over, and my chance to shine. It's time to be an adult, and I am relishing this opportunity. I have an amazing support system, both in my home, with my roommates, and my cousin who lives 15 minutes away, and back in Sacramento, where my family and friends are cheering me on every step of the way. I love you all, and thank you for everything.
When I was in high school, I began plotting my escape. I was going to graduate, move down to Southern California, go to cosmetology school, and change the world. Somehow. Unfortunately, cosmetology school in SoCal was more expensive, as was the living cost. So that idea fell right out the window. Determined, I started searching other options. Out of state schools. San Francisco schools. Anything that would get me out of the humdrum of Roseville. So where did I end up? 20 minutes away, in Folsom. I found the perfect little school, with leopard print carpets, and diva-esque instructors, who crafted me into the professional I am. They taught me everything about my art, in a way that I never could have experienced in a high profile school far from home. They gave me the best education I could have possibly received, and every day I am thankful for that.
But it was never enough. I always knew something was missing. At one point during my schooling, I met a man. And this man was my first love. He was a marine, and he was horrible for me. I had never been treated worse, I had never been so hurt, I had never been in a relationship so beneath me. But every time he left, I cried. Every time he talked about his deployments, I ached. Every time he called me from his base in San Diego, I was up all night, wishing I could be with him. It didn't matter about the cheating, or the lies, or the downright disrespect. Something always drew me back. There was some quality about him that I couldn't give up. Or so I thought.
It took me a long time, but I realized, finally, that that "quality" was nothing more than jealousy. I wanted what he had. Not the marine lifestyle, with the wars and deployments. But the opportunity to get away. To leave it all behind. he had nothing keeping him there, no ties to that little town, besides a girl who wanted to get away just as much as he did. We would talk for hours, about running away together, to Prague, to Tennessee, to anywhere where we could start fresh. But I never imagined a life with him. I imagined a life with no pretense, no preceding reputations, no "I know what you did last summer". I didn't want him, I wanted a chance to get away.
Needless to say, that didn't work out. I finally got smart, and decided a plane ticket and a life on a marine base wasn't how I wanted to make my escape. And not too long after that, I started getting comfortable. I found a good job, that payed well and was easy work. I was well into my schooling, and was one of the most successful students at the school, with the highest clientele base, and the most challenging cases. I had decorated my little studio apartment quite to my liking, and found myself an oh-so-devoted boyfriend. I was set. I could finish school, get a job somewhere, move into the big, beautiful house with the rich, generous guy, and never have to worry about a thing. However, I'm a drifter, and as a whole, drifters are not okay with being "set".
About every two months, I would lose it. I would threaten to quit school, break up with the guy, sell everything I own, and move to Hawaii (or wherever sounded pleasant at the time). Someone would always talk me out of these outbursts, but they always stuck with me. I always thought, in the back of my head, that I needed to escape. Until I found my blessing at Papillon Salon.
Papillon taught me a lot about myself as a stylist. I worked there as an independent stylist, completely responsible for my own bookkeeping, scheduling, inventory, even bringing in my own clientele. I walked into this situation with arms wide open. I would be in charge of my own schedule, my own paycheck, my own life. And that's when I realized, that while I am a creature of adaptation, and I am the epitome of laissez-faire, that was more freedom and instability than I wanted. I didn't enjoy wondering if I would be able to pay rent, or put gas in the car. I didn't enjoy taking down every receipt, and analyzing every transaction, for tax purposes. I had already chosen a career path that could take me around the world. Did I really need as much freedom as I had taken on?
Over the months at Papillon, I became so involved with growing my business, that thoughts of escape fell by the wayside. I was so concerned with bringing in clientele and advancing my techniques, that I wasn't haunted by thoughts of big cities and sandy beaches. I went through many changes in this short time, not just career oriented. But along with my new career decisions, my life decisions had brought me to a place of peace. The burning desire to escape had left me. In its place was a burning desire to grow as a stylist, to become the best I can be. I poured myself into my work, from top to bottom. Every single little cell of my being was invested in the world of hair styling. And I was so, so happy.
Until one day. I took a vacation to Long Beach, with a girlfriend. And on this trip, I decided I didn't want to go back home. But this feeling I was infused with, it wasn't a need to escape. The escape mentality was desperate, and unhappy, and fierce. Now, I was feeling a desire for adventure. I was excited, and motivated, and eager for what I could turn this new adventure into. And that change in thinking, that new mindset, is the reason my adventure worked. I stopped being desperate for a out, I stopped hunting for an escape, and I stopped waiting on the change. I made it happen.
Now, I'm here. In my new home. It's still a little strange sometimes, not having my mother down the street, and not being able to drive over and visit friends, and not having the security I did back home. But this is my adventure, and I'm taking the wheel. I finally got my chance to start over, and my chance to shine. It's time to be an adult, and I am relishing this opportunity. I have an amazing support system, both in my home, with my roommates, and my cousin who lives 15 minutes away, and back in Sacramento, where my family and friends are cheering me on every step of the way. I love you all, and thank you for everything.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Day One, Living the dream.
So today is the day my life changes direction.
Less than a week ago, I packed up my home, my life, and everything I knew, and moved 437 miles from the house that built me. I had no job, little money, and no more than 3 friends in Huntington Beach. I did however, have boxes full of haute clothing (well, they looked haute), an iPhone playlist to pump me up every day, and more dreams than could fit in the back of my Pontiac. I knew that if I wanted to be somebody, if I wanted to be the hair artist I knew I could be, I needed to be down there.
Now, that was an awfully impulsive decision. I made the decision to leave, and six weeks later, I was sleeping on an air mattress in my new home. Many of my friends and family, out of love, voiced their extreme concern about the rashness of my decision. "You don't have a job down there!" "You don't know anyone down there!" What if your car explodes!" Well, me being the level headed rash-decision maker that I am, had already considered all of these instances and obstacles. And I had a game plan. I know myself, and I know that I'm a very positive, personable person. I've always had luck finding work. So as long as I could find some job, ANY job, to pay the bills, I could take the time to establish myself in the hair industry of Los Angeles.
Well, this is where I ran into my first snafu. It seems Los Angeles's hair industry is, expectably, exponentially more competitive than Sacramento's. While I was able to jump right in, and make a name for myself as an independent stylist in Sacramento, I could not do the same thing in Orange County. Apparently, the only method to successfully pave a path into the Los Angeles hair world is through an assisting program. Which, as a stylist who has made her own rules for the past year, is somewhat difficult to stomach. However, being the eternal optimist my mother raised me to be, I looked at this as an opportunity to advance my education, while getting paid. Also, working next to some of the most influential names in the industry is an almost guaranteed kick through the proverbial door. As long as I can prove myself.
So, now that the game plan has been established, and the move has been completed, the job hunt begins. I'm two days into it, with nothing more to show for it than a slightly smaller checking balance and a slightly fuller belly (what else do you do when you're unemployed?), and I realized where I wanted my hair career to take me. I consciously made the decision that I want to create fantasy hair, for runway shows, movies, theater, and for competition. And I would like to pioneer some sort of organization for training fantasy hair, and the ins and outs of the particular nice of the industry. That was my lightbulb moment, sitting on my couch, surfing craigslist, eating ice cream at 2:00PM, and watching a fantasy hair competition. I realized that was my calling within a calling. That realization took my fire for success, and coated it in aerosol hairspray. Burn, baby burn.
Less than a week ago, I packed up my home, my life, and everything I knew, and moved 437 miles from the house that built me. I had no job, little money, and no more than 3 friends in Huntington Beach. I did however, have boxes full of haute clothing (well, they looked haute), an iPhone playlist to pump me up every day, and more dreams than could fit in the back of my Pontiac. I knew that if I wanted to be somebody, if I wanted to be the hair artist I knew I could be, I needed to be down there.
Now, that was an awfully impulsive decision. I made the decision to leave, and six weeks later, I was sleeping on an air mattress in my new home. Many of my friends and family, out of love, voiced their extreme concern about the rashness of my decision. "You don't have a job down there!" "You don't know anyone down there!" What if your car explodes!" Well, me being the level headed rash-decision maker that I am, had already considered all of these instances and obstacles. And I had a game plan. I know myself, and I know that I'm a very positive, personable person. I've always had luck finding work. So as long as I could find some job, ANY job, to pay the bills, I could take the time to establish myself in the hair industry of Los Angeles.
Well, this is where I ran into my first snafu. It seems Los Angeles's hair industry is, expectably, exponentially more competitive than Sacramento's. While I was able to jump right in, and make a name for myself as an independent stylist in Sacramento, I could not do the same thing in Orange County. Apparently, the only method to successfully pave a path into the Los Angeles hair world is through an assisting program. Which, as a stylist who has made her own rules for the past year, is somewhat difficult to stomach. However, being the eternal optimist my mother raised me to be, I looked at this as an opportunity to advance my education, while getting paid. Also, working next to some of the most influential names in the industry is an almost guaranteed kick through the proverbial door. As long as I can prove myself.
So, now that the game plan has been established, and the move has been completed, the job hunt begins. I'm two days into it, with nothing more to show for it than a slightly smaller checking balance and a slightly fuller belly (what else do you do when you're unemployed?), and I realized where I wanted my hair career to take me. I consciously made the decision that I want to create fantasy hair, for runway shows, movies, theater, and for competition. And I would like to pioneer some sort of organization for training fantasy hair, and the ins and outs of the particular nice of the industry. That was my lightbulb moment, sitting on my couch, surfing craigslist, eating ice cream at 2:00PM, and watching a fantasy hair competition. I realized that was my calling within a calling. That realization took my fire for success, and coated it in aerosol hairspray. Burn, baby burn.
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