I just realized that, while I had been giddy all morning with friends via email, I completely neglected to mention to my blog-reading public that I am deliriously happy today. Sent a quick “I had a good time” email to Prince Charming, trying to send him one before he sent me one, since he’s always said it first. All worrying over the weekend was for naught – he had a good time and asked me out for Tuesday and this weekend. He also sent a link to the picture he took of us holding hands in our cargo pants, where my nail polish looks incredibly orange and ugly. I’m going to have to change that tonight. Sent the picture to Amanda and Liz and Alison, who shared greatly in my joy (OK, Liz hasn’t actually responded, but she is officially in-transit from Ohio, and I’m sure if she were here and checking her email, she would have). Alison and I made plans to color hair this weekend – I am in serious need of a dye job (1/2″ brown roots are not pretty), and she needs highlights again. Liz, I’m saving Friday night tentatively for you, assuming you don’t work that night. I want to see you this weekend sometime, and friends come first before boys! Friends are in for the long haul, and boys, well, usually not.

I’m still holding back, with Prince Charming himself and my friends in general. (Alison got a bunch of normally TMI and boring details, but being the good sister that she is, she only asked for more, and was screaming happy for me via email). It goes back to not being sure how I really feel (happiness about someone else enjoying spending time with you and liking you doesn’t really mean you like them necessarily) and having broken hearts before without meaning to. It sounds so arrogant, but I’ve seen the look in too many guys’ faces to not try and avoid it as much as possible.

Work is really slow, and Boss just left for a meeting. I’m listening to “Summer 2005” to avoid hearing co-workers talk loudly in the cube near me. So annoying. It’s decreased my joy slightly. I’m also starving, which could be killing my buzz.

Did I mention I feel like I’m 19 again? Let’s re-cap the great things in my life:

  • I may not have many friends, but the ones I do have are wonderful and always there for me and willing to listen to me blather on incessantly.
  • My family is increasingly more functional
  • This is my first August in Minnesota where I haven’t been looking for a new place to live. Yay!
  • I’m only working one job and feeling the tension melt away that is still residual from the extra one, becoming more laid-back every day. Yes, at some point I’ll need to find a part-time gig (preferably at Barnes & Noble or the Minnesota History Center if anyone is reading and wants to hire me), but for now I’m feeling relaxed and pretty lazy.
  • There is a boy out there who likes me for me, and seems willing to take things slow, and makes me laugh and smile… more than any guy has before (startling revelation I just had). (Ignore self-conscious thoughts warning to not screw it up.)

Oh, no no no no no!

I called up my salon to schedule an appointment with HairGuy and found out he no longer works there! Ack! One good haircut and that was it. Now what do I do? I didn’t just lose a crush, I lost a good hair stylist! Those are hard to come by! (And he was darn sexy, too!)

I don’t know what to do. She suggested another stylist in the same price range, and I said I’d have to think about it and call back. I mean, the original reason for going there was locale, and I was initially hesitant about a male stylist, so if I had never gone in the first place, I wouldn’t know what I was missing out on, right? So I should schedule an appointment. But my real motivation for getting one wasn’t the need for a cut (though it’s been four months), but the chance to see HairGuy. (Of course, now I don’t have to be terribly embarrassed about my roots that only I and my would-be stylist can see.) Shoot. I even deep-conditioned this morning. (When you have the hots for your HairGuy, you want to come in with really healthy hair. He’s got his hands in lots of people’s hair all day long, and really, it just must be as perfect as possible. It would be quite hard to flirt with a head full of split-ends, I think.)


Btw, there’s practically no one at work, so no one to share this with, hence the long, overly-dramatic rant. Amanda has been giving me emotional support over email.


By Saturday, I couldn’t wait anymore. It had been four months since I got a haircut, and Friday night after church I walked past the new salon at the end of my street and memorized their phone number. I called Saturday and scheduled an appointment for that afternoon. Not until after it was all set up did she tell me my appointment was with a boy, who we’ll now refer to as HairGuy. Now, I have not had good luck with male hairdressers, and I’ve had at least a few to make this judgment on. Usually, you go in and tell them what you want, and then they decide what they want, and that’s what they do. This has result in my hair being much shorter than I wanted (2002), much bigger than I wanted (1992), or just… bad. But, I’d already made the appointment, so I decided to go through with it. I complained to Karla about it before leaving, and she said not to worry, he was probably gay (which really, was the least of my concerns).

I got ready (which merely meant checking to make sure that my nappy hair I’d slept on was going to be vaguely presentable for someone to touch, which it was not, and putting on mascara) and walked the half-block to the salon (aptly called, The Salon – try Googling that one). I walk in, and there are not one, not two, not three, but four people standing around, waiting for my arrival. They’ve only been open a few months, and I guess they’re not too busy yet. I check in, and am introduced to HairGuy. He is not gay, of this I’m fairly certain.

Sits me down, asks what I want, and then walks me over to the sink. He proceeds to ask me if I have roommates, a boyfriend, am married, have pets, etc. First of all, impressed that he thought I was old enough to be married, since at least twice in the last year I’ve been mistaken for a high schooler. He was a very good conversationalist. He decided that after giving me a cut, he wanted to give me a blow out, not with a flat iron, but actually blow-dry my hair straight. He saw this as a personal challenge. He really had fun with it, too. Since my hair is so thick, we joked about him needing to stretch beforehand, not needing to go to the gym later, etc. Funny guy. And he really did a great job – he was happier with it than I, but he’d never seen my hair straight (seeing as how we’d only met an hour earlier) and I have. Each piece he got done, he stood back and admired.

I realize that by now it sounds like he was, perchance, into guys, but really, he wasn’t. We talked about my working at church, getting to pick a new one, and he recommended his, which he goes to now after leaving the one that I think I will end up at (small world). We talked about conservative Christian churches in Minnesota and being conservative and being right (not as in right/wrong but as in right/left), or really being middle of the road which is considered right in Minnesota, land of lefts. Trust me, conservative Christians are not homosexual. Let me rephrase that – the GLBTQ community as a whole is usually much more comfortable with liberal Christianity than it is with conservative Christianity, and that’s a whole other discussion to have.

By this time, I’m trying to get a glance at his left hand to check for a wedding ring. Nope. He talked about his friends, and kept saying “I” this and “I” that, never “we.”

Then, he moves to straighten the front part (my “bangs” if you will). To do this, he stands directly in front of me, basically straddling my legs, and goes to work. You don’t have to think too hard to realize what is in my face at this point (cue me closing my eyes). He wasn’t doing it on purpose, or being blatantly suggestive or whatever, it’s just what he needed to do, I guess, but it was a little distracting.

The worst (or best, depending on your perspective) part was that at no time did he stop touching me. The scalp massage (and better than they do at Aveda) during the wash was just the beginning.

I’m sure he was just trying to earn his tip, and ensure that he has a repeat customer. He was entirely charming and worth going back to again. And for a $28 haircut, he spent an hour and a half on my hair, most of that straightening it.

The jokes about me wanting him to come over every morning to do my hair, that when my hair is finally long he’s going to regret having done this once, and that he had a good “first date” were a little too much for me to handle, seeing as how I so rarely interact with boys my age.

Without being crude, I will just say that I am happy to know guys like HairGuy exist, and that SummerCrush has some competition now, even if it’s all only in my head.

Oh, My Achin’ Dogs!

Went for a little walk yesterday – ended up going just over 4 miles. My feet were very tired by the time I got home. I went down to the Minnesota History Center, since it was the last day for the exhibit on the American Presidency. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, but it was good. I guess I wished there had been more information about each specific president, but the exhibit was really about the presidency, not presidents. They did a good job of what they did, I think. I learned some things, and the History Center had a separate exhibit next door that was all about Minnesota and the Presidency, which was some local history I didn’t know, not being a local. I also walked through the Strange Days // Dangerous Nights exhibit, which was also a bunch of local history. It was weird, but good. Entertaining, even if in a sick sort of way.

Note: The Smithsonian Institute has some online exhibits to supplement the American Presidency traveling exhibit. They are the Hall of Presidents (portraits), and Mr President (profiles).

So back to my story. I walked to the History Center since it’s really not that far and I didn’t want to wait for a bus. I thought I would take the bus back, but then it was going to be a while before one came and there was construction near the stop, so I walked over to Walgreens. That was the big chunk of the walk, though the most beautiful as well. The Cathedral Hill neighborhood, especially the little alleys and private drives off of Summit Avenue, have some of the oldest and most interesting houses in St Paul. It makes me think of local aristocracy, back when we had that sort of thing.

Stopped at Walgreens (the Target I shop at has a terrible selection of red hair color, so I have to travel to the Walgreens, which I can’t get to by bus, well, not conveniently at least) to get some hair dye, and then walked back. All in all, not terribly eventful I suppose, and only two hours. Not once did I sit down, though. My feet were very, very tired, by the time I got back.

More news of my weekend later.


It’s frickin’ 74 degrees outside! The sky is white – not a trace of blue or sun like this morning. They’re saying it’s supposed to rain; apparently it was very muggy at lunch. I was outside just now and it’s not bad. It’s windy, which makes me smile because it blows my hair about and reminds me that my hair is long enough to be blown about. (Geez, you’d think I was a cancer survivor who’d gone through chemo and lost all my hair, the way I go on about it.)

Did I mention the bus drove past me this morning? I’d been waiting at the stop for about 20 minutes, just a minute or two after the last bus had gone by. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I was listening to some good music and the weather was nice, so it wasn’t a horrible way to spend 20 minutes. I saw the bus coming, I waited under the sign like I always do, and I watched the bus drive past, not even slowing. There was some gesturing on my part, and halfway down the block the bus pulled over and waited for me. I didn’t run – not my fault the bus didn’t stop where I was. I did not thank my driver when I got on or off the bus. She was not a driver I’d seen before, and she drove the bus like it was a car – inching up on people, jerking the breaks around, etc. She didn’t drive terribly fast like some of them do, but I don’t know which is worse.

This morning (and into the afternoon) I wrote up my 100 Things That Make Me Smile. That put me in a very good mood. It also put me in a remembering mood, which I’d kind of already been in anyways. My favorite past loves have been… I’m not sure that haunting is the right word… checking on dictionary.com’s thesaurus… sojourning with me lately. Perhaps it’s that spring thing.

Mom will be in town for the next few days – she’s driving up tomorrow. (Hence the hair coloring this morning.)

I can’t figure out how to change the clock on my phone to reflect Daylight Savings – I’ve done this several times before, but can’t get it today.

Friday I wrote my resignation letter to the church. Short, simple, to the point. Had to print it twice – the first time it was dated April 1st, and I thought to be safe that I should change that. Turned it in before leaving on the overnight. No one said anything on Sunday, but I’m expecting Personnel will want to talk to me tonight at Committee Meetings. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was, writing the letter and then turning it in. Nonetheless, the countdown has begun.

I may not be starting school in June – I think all that’s missing to make my application complete is my $30 check, but I don’t have that until next paycheck, the 15th. That’ll be a whole month past the suggested deadline. Who knows, though. An extra three months to find the money won’t be that bad, and a summer off might be nice.

Amanda and I are going to the Rock on Friday night, since my plans with Mom got bumped to Saturday. We’ll be meeting Summer Crush there, and he’s asked us to go out afterward. I will be choosing to believe (and wrongly so, I might add) that he is asking me to go out – I take what I can get, right?

I’m looking for some more songs to put on my “Cowboys’ CD – any suggestions? Here’s all I have so far:

  • Cowboy Guarantee by Jessica Andrews, and
  • The Cowboy in Me by Tim McGraw

That doesn’t make for much of a mix disc, now does it?

Things to Laugh About

I’ve been working through the Microsoft Money Deluxe “Lifetime Planner,” and came across this very humorous analysis:

Based on your current plan, you will pay all of the costs of tuition for: Kelly.
This is an admirable goal, but you’re currently forecasted to run out of money 75 years before you retire.

Um…. That would be… pre-birth? Or else I don’t get to retire until at least 100 if not older. Methinks there’s some confusion there. Me also thinks I need to work on financial aid.

Oh, the hair coloring turned out fine. No orange, no purple, just plain ordinary red. It was a stinky process, though. My eyes teared up something fierce, and there could be brain damage from the fumes I’ve inhaled.

Within Reach

Long hair is now finally seeming a possibility. The week before I moved to Minnesota I made the mistake of over-processing my hair, and consequently it had to be cut off. All of it. For a while, I had about 1/2 inch of hair on my head (some of which was later cut off because it too was damaged, but the girl who cut my hair didn’t want me to be bald, so she left it on originally). Then I moved to Minnesota, December 1, 2001.

Now, a little over three years later, my hair may actually get there. It no longer just brushes the nape of my neck – it now has an undeniable presence, and threatens to get tucked into the necks of shirts soon. I only have a few errant strays when I pull it up. According to , who I don’t think has ever had her hair longer than her ears, my hair is long. My goal? Middle of my back. It’s never been that long. It was shoulder-blade length for a long time. My current youth group kids laugh at pictures of me pre-Minnesota, and think I look funny with long hair. I tell them that’s how I looked for the first 23 years of my life. Not entirely true, but I won’t go into the entire history of my hair here. Not that I couldn’t – it is my blog.

But I’ll let it be for now.

Suffice it to say, I’m happy with my hair length. Now if I could only get the styling products I like in the stores that are easiest to travel to, that’d be great.

Boys and other Ewwy things

OK, so I don’t really think that boys are ewwy. But it was so fun to write.

First of all, some Skyway restaurant is offering, as soup of the month, Zucchini Dill.


So this weekend I met a guy. Two, actually. Now, before you go and get excited, I wasn’t interested in either one, and I don’t think they were interested in me either. But these days, being in the presence of a guy between the ages of 20 and 40 who’s single and not gay counts as “meeting a guy.” If I had been interested, it would have been a great situation. The one guy was group leader for a church in the metro area, just got out of college, and we ended up being small group leaders together. That meant that we spent most of the time together, including the low-ropes course. Large quantities of physical contact. All rated G, though, not even PG.

Today coming back from getting coffee (it’s Peppermint Mocha time at Starbucks! Merry Christmas!), a lady in the elevator asked me about my hairstyle. She specifically asked if it had a name. A name? Seriously? She apparently really liked it. Never gonna happen for her unless we chop off my hair and glue it to her head, though. Gotta say I’m one-of-a-kind in that department.

No Sense

This makes no sense, but it happens every time. After about 24 hours of wearing my hair straight instead of curly, my scalp starts to hurt. It’s not that I pull on my scalp to straighten my hair and that’s why it hurts. It’s not that I wear it up tight and am pulling on the hair. I do nothing different except that the hair is straight instead of curly.

My scalp hurts.

I have more to post, writings from last night, but I don’t know if I’ll get to that today. I don’t know if I’m ready.