snipped

everyone is vain.
in their own way, at least.
my hair is short.  now, it is.  a few weeks ago, i made a decision to cut my long hair.  i was annoyed with the frizz and it looked boring. i have naturally curly hair and i felt the urge to rock the curls.  in order to flaunt my spirals, i would have to cut it shorter.  okay, fine.  i am cruising the town to find the right spot to snip the locks.  i come across a salon literally 35 seconds away from my house.  it has been here for about 6 months or longer and i never noticed. i don't see how i didn't since it is a neon pink building attached to a neon green building where fruit cups are sold.  NOW, i know what the people in line are waiting for.  i am a very cautious person.  so cautious, that many times i wonder how i manage to go out on the town and manage to have fun.  i build up the courage to walk inside and am immediately glad that i did.
the walls have abstract paintings of classic hollywood stars.  marilyn of course.  i am greeted by a cheerful stylist with what appears to be a silver bob hairstyle. off to a great start.  i sit on the pink couch and select the picture i saved on my phone of the hairstyle i would like.  who will be my stylist? there are three young ladies showcasing their skills on other clients.  i have a quick moment of concern.  perhaps i should have done more research on hair salons?  what is this salon's reputation? will my hair be slaughtered without remorse? after a few minutes of angst, my stylist calls me over.  she is perfect.  a pin up girl tattoo on her arm and a rockabilly hairstyle with a green streak in her black hair.  her name is rainey.
i show her the picture of the desired hairstyle and away we go.  the hair washing was wonderful.  i felt like such a celebrity.  i felt closer to the sky with every inch that was cut.  over 7 inches gone.  i will admit that i almost fainted when i put on my glasses and saw the finished product.  i felt like i had committed a murder.  hairicide.  there was regret and panic.  luckily rainey went into stylist mode and started jazzing up my new do with some hair products and a blow dryer.  she was satisfied with my outcome.  i however, needed more coaxing.  i needed my hair back!  i would have cried but i was too faint to produce tears.  as she started styling, i began to believe that i was a modern day betty boop and applied the brightest red lipstick that i own.  i have over 30.  i purchased a satin cream colored hairpin with a cheetah print stone in the middle.  i clipped the hairpin on the side of my hair and immediately went into glam mode.  watch out world.  i felt the need to sign autographs and blow kisses to anyone who glanced my way.
i will admit that i continued to have moments of grief and regret for a few days but was in love with my new cut at the same time.  i now debate whether i want to have long hair again. i have dreams of having a bright white bob hairstyle one day.  a girl can dream.  perhaps the cut made me more confident or pompous to some.  either way, it worked for me.

rhines & stones, please!

i have officially diagnosed myself as an AA - Accessories Addict.

my addiction became apparent when i found myself almost experiencing an asthma attack at the thought of another person buying the gold serpent necklace i have been eyeing at a local bazaar.

it's unnecessarily bold roof shingle format captivated me and i immediately felt the urge to rap about alcohol and bentleys.

i had originally laid eyes on it about a month ago. couldn't forget about her. i will call her magma.

her essence and appearance is that of cleopatra on a night out in brooklyn.

her orangeyellow stones decorate her midas gold shingle rooftop body.

and her onyxblack stone eyes penetrate. interrogate.

i knew if i didn't act on purchasing this gold piece of ecstasy, that someone else would snag it. 

perhaps snag it for funsies. not for love. not for emotion.

an ingrate.

a jewelry loving impostor.

a criminal.

i couldn't, i wouldn't allow that to happen.

i became joyfully furious at the thought of such a travesty transpiring.

i imagined it being put on a shiny silver dish on someone's vanity. hidden from the world. 

i imagined how i would feel knowing that i had let a rarity pass me by.

all of these thoughts caused a rapid heart rate, fidgeting, and several anxious half smiles. 

i probably looked like a shoplifter.

i didn't care. i was a glam guardian.

the intensity of all of these thoughts and physical reactions slapped me into admitting that i am addicted to globs of gold, bold bursts and objects so captivating they should be illegal and buyers should be hunted for treason. 

....

i had to have her. 

superhero bling.

she loves me too.

....

the gym: to be a weirdo or not to be a weirdo

working out is supposed to be a stress reliever.  for most people, that is.  i was  involved in sports as a kid and as a teen, so i should be used to people in a physical setting.  well, i am not. not as an adult anyway. there are so many instances in which i find myself becoming anxious and embarrassed.  for starters, the locker room is a den for awkward interactions.  you are supposed to strut in there and act like the fact that there is a semi-nude senior in your line of vision doesn't startle you. you have to choices, 1. walk by like you didn't even see her and that things like this happen everyday and all day in your life, and 2. look because you are shocked and wind up looking like a weirdo. of course, most people will choose option 1 because that is the nature of the locker room beast, while all along, you are talking quickly in your head as you rush to another area. then there is the issue of the lockers.  the combination lock that i use only fits in select lockers so as i scour the scene for a functional locker, i am filled with anxiety that i won't find one. there are people that put their belongings in the lockers and do not use a lock.  busts my darn chops.  one, the rules say patrons must use a lock.  secondly, if there are unlocked belongings in a locker that suits my lock, i get tempted to remove their things and put them elsewhere.

the gym floor is a sweltering safari. you see machines that look like animals. then there are the people. in one corner you have people stretching and moving in silly and provocative fashion. i was on the treadmill this one weekday evening when i was caught looking at a girl doing some audacious leg moves. it wasn't my fault, she was wearing parachute-ish shorts. i now avoid any eye contact with the 'stretching/movements section.' once i step on a treadmill, i feel like the row behind me is just watching my every move. i lean to the right to block their vision when i am inputting my information into the treadmill settings. i turned 30 a month ago and i still catch myself entering 29. i pout when i realize i am now 30 and then continue on to enter the correct age. snagging the right treadmill is another chore. you want to be sure you get a good one so that the tv screen you are looking at doesn't completely bore you and you want to avoid the one with the broken audio system. i always hold my breath when i get on and off the treadmill, in hopes that i don't fall.  i am also self conscious when i get on those machines with twists and curves.  i am pretty sure i am not getting on right and that someone is laughing at me as i do it.

in between breaks on the machines, my people watching skills are in full swing. perhaps it is the adrenaline or just the entire atmosphere invading my personal space, or both. i start to wonder how many of the burly men lifting dangerous weights have been in prison.  criminal background checks are not required for membership. then you have the friends and couples that work out together and hog the machines.  perhaps i should pair up with someone and score some more metal time.  to be considered.  as long as i don't end up with a stinky treadmill, i will take a buddy. i will eventually formulate a gym identity. until then, as long as i don't stare at people or fall down, i should be okay.

the tea bandit: an update

so, i am proud to announce that i have had success with the tea bandit.
i did not have to get hostile.
i did not have to order my tea in a to go cup.
about two weeks ago my friends and i were at our chinese meeting spot and IT happened.
what happened?
the tea bandit filled everyone's cups and when he got to me, he asked me if i wanted anymore tea.
it was such a touching moment.
we had a connection.
all was done with a smile.
on our second trip to the chinese spot, IT happened again.
but this time, i was patted on the shoulder. not once, but twice.
one could take it as form of assault but i think it was a pat of understanding.
a friendship pat.
but....i did see him intensely hug a patron the last time i was there.
eh, i will just assume it was his sister.

the tea bandit: a tale of liquid fury

yes, this is my second post regarding tea.
i have a beef with a gent at the chinese restaurant that i frequent.  i, along with my pals, call him the 'tea bandit.' this guy takes refilling tea to a psychotic level.  a lifetime movie level.  most people need a refill when they are about halfway done. tell that to the tea bandit. he is like a cheetah looking for lunch. i am not even two sips into my 'just sweetened to perfection' tea and next thing i know, my tea has been refilled!! it is outrageous. i don't know if he is threatened with severe beatings if he doesn't refill promptly, which doesn't make it less annoying. he lurks and pounces at the most inopportune moments: when you are turned to chat with the person next to you or when you are chewing. my pals and i try to warn each other if we see him rounding the table, but it's hard work. you have to be really quick when you say you don't want a refill too. it is best to put your hand over your cup, granted, you don't knock it over in the rush. a couple of suggestions have been offered. one is ordering our teas in to go cups so that we can have lid protection. another is just verbally assaulting the man for being ridiculous. now, it would be mean to verbally assault the tea bandit because he is so nice when he refills your tea. perhaps, he thinks he is being really helpful or going the extra mile? isn't that what the american people want in this digital age? immediacy? perhaps we can spare him his feelings and just order our teas in to go cups.  if he asks why we have changed our cup option we can tell him that the tea is too good to leave behind.  i will let you all know how that goes.

things were easier when i wasn't a girl

life was much easier when i was a tomboy.
love: football, beer, wings, loud music, cursing, and dumb stuff.
clear lip gloss, gel on the curls, and sporting a t-shirt that wasn't too dirty, at least obviously dirty.
but within the past year, i have become addicted to red lipstick, earrings and hair straighteners. if i am out and about, i must have my revlon certainly red stashed in my pocket. i use anything with a reflective surface as a mirror to put on my lipstick. no limits. as for earrings, they are a must. feeling my ears without them is worse than thinking i left my wallet on a grocery shopping cart. okay, almost worse than that, but it's close.
my beloved hair straightener died last week. so sad. it wasn't even expensive, i think that's why i respected it so much. a humble little thing performing grand gestures for a gal like myself. i came home from work and saw my little straightener in a horrible predicament. it was cracked. cracked as if a person full of rage had thrown it on the floor. a travesty. i still don't know how it happened. i kind of don't want to know, too painful.
so, i headed over to a beauty supply store. i walked in and i was immediately overwhelmed. there were hair products all over the place and i had no idea which straightener was the one for me. luckily, a few friends had suggested a couple of ceramic plated contenders. the customers were professional shoppers. surely, some were salon owners or stylists but it was still intense. they walked in and just picked things off the shelves like they were raiding the joint. the line grew at cheetah pace and the dang cashiers were chatting and bonding with their regulars and there i was, in need of assistance. lost in a world of iron and animal print totes. i was NOT leaving without a straightener though. i went with the contender that had received the most positive reviews. curly hair to straight hair is no laughing matter.
i wish i could say that was the end of my harsh realization that i'm a girl saga.
so, the next morning i was using my new straightener and the next thing i know, i am pinching the skin on my neck between the plates vs my hair. i was horrified and in pain. i knew it would leave a ridiculous mess on my neck. i almost fainted with dramatic flair but i kept it together. most people would have just stopped fussing with the hair for that moment.
but i didn't.
i still had the rest of the initially intended section to cover and it was almost time for me to leave for work.
i continued on, pinching hair right next to the burned area of my neck. i went to work and had what looked like a vampire hickey.
but my hair looked great!

coming soon - margaritas!

friday.
dinner and drinks after work.
delicious and necessary.
so, it's 5pm and my friend and i are ready to unwind.
we go to las palapas. a mexican restaurant. now with that said, one would assume, that a mexican restaurant with a spanish name and a staple in san antonio culture would be a homerun. wrongggg. we are determined to try a dos rita. we have been told that this restaurant has them. now, perhaps we should have been specific and verified if this specific location served them. perhaps...but i refuse to take blame for this incident.
we are excited, anxious and two seconds away from hoisting our fists in the air to celebrate surviving the week when the waitress comes up to us and asks what we want. and what do we want? a flippin' dos rita, lady! i ask her for one and she looks at me as if i have ordered something in german. bad start. she then tells me that they don't carry them, don't carry margaritas of any kind, and that they don't even carry draft beer. what the deuce??! at this point we ask her to leave us alone for a minute. we couldn't even look at her but we felt obligated to eat the chips and salsa, which happened to be tasty. no dos rita?? our entire evening was de-reiled. as we are dealing with our shock and disappointment we glance up and see a sign that read: coming soon margaritas! seriously? as if margaritas were new to mexican culture? might as well have had a sign that read: coming soon - ice cubes in your drinks!
we venture on to chacho's. yes, they have dos ritas here. they better have them. if they didn't, i was about to move to alabama and then at least i would be happy to go to any mexican restaurant and settle for whatever they served. so, we get our dos ritas and the bartender didn't give us a damn cherry in our drinks. yes, it is trivial. i don't care, i deserved a little flair. i noticed that we didn't get cherries because some other customers that had ordered from the main counter got cherries and other fruity delights in their drinks. i am sure there was ample room for a stupid little bowl of cherries for our drinks. we also had pina coladas and no cherries! now, THAT drink was not the same without a cherry in it. my drink looked like a big glass of frozen ensure or oatmeal without it. despite its lack of island innocence, they were good drinks. good laughs. good music. we were still happy. we did not give up and we were rewarded and i was able to stay in san antonio.