They Say That Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

But I guess I took care of myself for once and I am proud of that.

Because in the end, all you really have is yourself.

And this.

Running Away from You(rself)

Last weekend I decided to go to Austin on a whim...the great escape from myself and everyone else in the world where I could sit alone for 9 hours straight, in and out of cell phone service, with no responsibilities and a quest to re-find my disappeared childhood. I've started to feel like despite the past two years and all that I have learned about myself, somehow I was ready to serve it up on a platter once again. And not only have I lost myself because of it but I've begun to hate myself for it as well. It becomes difficult when you find yourself intolerable because ultimately you don't have a whole lot of options. So I made my way to Austin for some cousinly support, just like we always dreamed we would do as children, watching our Mothers support one another through their life traumas. I felt like a fully growed woman, staying at Jenny and Adam's apartment for the first time, rather than my Grandmother or Aunt's house. And, despite what this photo might suggest, we really do love each other.

Click here for more pretty pictures.

And on another whim, I decided to drive to Albuquerque the next day and go to see Paolo Nutini in concert. All in all, it was nice to be whim-y for awhile. My car got towed and I got a speeding ticket in the middle of nowhere in Texas and the trip cost me $300 more than I was planning (even with refraining from buying any skirts or shoes!), but ultimately it was worth it. I guess there is really no monetary value to be placed on one's sanity. Or this:


But now I am feeling the itch to travel. Itchy feet that need to be sporadic and spontaneous and planless and wandery. I am tired of school and tired of boys and tired of work. I just want to be a gypsy from now on.

The Assertive Woman Strikes Again

Today I got a haircut that I really don't like, but I didn't tell the guy because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. This happens every time. And ultimately it's my fault because I really didn't tell him what I wanted in the first place. I had searched the internet and looked at the hairstyle books in the waiting room and had pictures picked out of what I wanted my hair to look like and everything, but when I finally sat down in that chair I didn't even show him. Just mentioned something about how I would like a cut that lent itself to curling better and how I am trying to grow it out. When what I should have said was "I want it a teeny bit longer on the bottom and a little bit of layers on top and most of the fullness in the middle. And don't cut too much because I am trying to grow it out!!! Like this: (show picture)." So I got what I asked for, I guess.

I wanted something like this...

...and ended up with something more along the lines of... this.

Thankfully, it's still long enough to pull back into a ponytail until it grows out a little bit.

Within attempts to decode this dialect within my new relationship we have been referring to it as "girl code" or something similar, and while I feel this may be a problem that exists as a pattern among women I think it is far to simple and doesn't serve the nature of the problem to label it purely "girl language." I mean, sure, men and women are socialized to communicate in different ways, but I think that some people are unusually capable of being open with their emotions and comfortable with their feelings (in a general as well as a more intimate context), and others, like myself, are terrified of the potential negative consequences that may result from the truth of their statements, feelings, ideas or desires. I feel nervous at the thought of asking my new roommate to remember to lock the doors, or to be direct and clear with my hairstylist. The idea of negotiating business contracts, stating what I want in a relationship or being assertive as a landlord quite frankly terrifies the shit out of me.

Writing this made me remember that a very long time ago my mother gave me a book called The Assertive Woman. It is definitely still sitting in the very back of my bookcase, behind 501 Spanish Verbs and Auto Repair for Dummies. I know because I just went to pull it out and plan to later peruse it in search of my more assertive self. Oh, mother. She must have known that I would have this problem someday. Moms always know...

Oh well, at least it's just hair...

Okay, you can puke now.

First birthday with new boy. I made a very pretty Green Tea Cake that actually turned out quite scrumptious. And Rachel and I painstakingly shopped for a boy-present (shirt) and painted a pretty wrapping paper. The results of our labor:

Tim came over one morning and waltzed into my bedroom and loudly interrogated me for about 5 minutes in regards to the processes and technique of applying the orange Venetian Plaster on my walls, when he finally said, "hey...there's a boy in your bed. This is the first time I have been to your house and there was a boy in your bed." Yes, yet another milestone in life that has finally been attained. Sometimes it is interesting having such a dingy father.

After about 3 months I finally was able to get some medium format film to test out my antique Polish camera. And it works! Although in the process of learning how to make it work, only one photo really came out focused and well composed. I bet you can't guess what it's of...

I can do the frug.

So the other day, Virginia reminds me that I don't necessarily know everything about my body and my brain. And that I can't predict with absolute certainty what I am going to do and feel and think, and that I should be open to new ideas and new possibilities for myself. And I thought, "man, Virginia is full of shit." But then I remembered the time when she bought me a pair of earrings from World Market, and at first glance I thought "eh, Virginia doesn't really know my taste. I don't really think these are my style." But after only about a day they grew on me and became my favorite earrings and I realized that not only does Virginia actually know my style better than I do, but that in addition I've still got a lot to learn about myself.