Mattress Holes

You know thoswith my dges in the road ions caused by heavy vehicles over time? Tire tracks that are a little depressed into the pavement? They're kind of like when there's roadwork going on on a highway and there's a warning sign that says "uneven lanes" or worse "uneven pavement" and then my car kind of protests, skids, or does something a little scary when my tires hit the uneven spot. Well, I always kind of bounce around when I drive through these intersections and think about how something as strong as pavement actually becomes flexible under the weight of heavy hesvy vehicles. 

Ever wonder what's inside? Like, somany things are transported by truck. Barbies are probably delivered to Target by truck. Designer handbags, well, how else do they get delivered? By air force one?

My mom is afraid of cattle chutes on big roads. She just doesn't like them. In mypersonal opinion, the walls containing the cars are exactly where the lines were that drivers are meant to keep inside, and so if a driver is capable of staying in a lane, there is no reason to fear. 

Also, holding tight to armrests or the steering wheel actually doesn't change the size of the vehicle and is not necessary when driving through tight spaces. 

Wind is something that causes me to slow down when I'm driving. I tend to feel like I'm going to take off if I'm trying to go 80 and there are gusts going around me in all directions - like somehow, if I'm going slower, I have a stronger connection to the ground. I wonder if there's something in physics that talks about that or if it's just in my head. 

I've had dreams about flying in airplanes. I specifically remember taxiing around on streets not meant for aircraft. We encountered no problems. 

I still love with my parents. I don't necessarily announce my departure to the world of sleep as much as I did when I was younger, but as soon as my mom figures out I went to bed, she still comes in and says goodnight. It makes me feel loved. I'll miss it when I move out. 

Occasionally the thought pops into my head that mattresses should definitely have face holes in them for greater breathing ability for stomach I sleepers. I hadn't shared this with my friend, but one day she just brought it up. She stated exactly my strong belief that mattresses should be built to better fit human needs! 

I told her that if there was only one reason we were soul mates friends, this was it. We didn't know it for years, but this was it. 

Grasshopper Bride

I know and love a girl who looks at the faces of drivers of the cars on the road around her in hopes that someday she will be able to recognize strangers just from passing them on the road. Isn't that unique? I often just think of cars as cars and sort of forget they have people inside them.

She also deletes photos that aren't good instead of saving them just because she took them (like I tend to do).

I had a dream where there were dilapidated houses along railroad tracks that were suspended in thin air. The train never stopped and it was your responsibility to jump off when it was time. The bridges from the platform to the houses were sagging and decaying and I held on for too long, unsure of where to get off.

I ended up in the land where all the people end up who don't get off the train at the correct time.

There was a guide to meet me and show me around to the various villages in which people settle. They choose and are trapped there until they die. Some were better than others, each with a different estimated lifespan. The communities were separated by well-manicured rolling green hills.

We reached some sort of paradise apartment complex and I moved forward to look closer but the guide called out, "stop! The grasshopper wall!" I look and my eyes are opened. In front of me is a wall of chirping grasshoppers surrounding the complex. Whoever tried to reach the paradise has had to face the giant insects and apparently no one has made it through.

Fear was struck into my heart.

That was the end of this dystopic dream.

There was some part before the train about a dilapidated wood city and me riding through its alleyways and up and down steps (and fire escapes) with my yellow helmet, chasing or being chased, being warned by friends, and opening a secret note.

There will be a costume contest at my school on Halloween. I suppose most people will expect me to paint my face, since I'm the face-painter in the bunch, but I don't want to be expectable. I also have no super-duper ideas. I told mom yesterday  I would wear the wedding dress I got at goodwill for 20 bucks and just go with it and she said,

"Why don't you wear my veil too?"

Mommy! You would let me do that?

As she put it on me, I thought ahead to my own real wedding and how hopefully there will be a little more sentimentality than there was yesterday.

And I thought about how I'll wear white and it won't just be because brides wear white in western culture.

And it might even mean more to me now that I have turned from the ways of the world than if I had followed God without slipping up.

I still don't know what to do with my hair to make it bride-y.

And I also have to pray that I'm not doing a color service on anyone that day since I tend to be a little splattery and I'll be wearing white.

Homely

Tonight two deer crossed my path on my drive home. Is that a sign or something? It's like a reminder of mortality, or of the suicidal nature of deer.

The mysterious form crossing the road's center barrier was a small visual phenomenon - how the parts of the deer's body lit by my car turned from an alien organic shape into a recognizable form as it moved and different parts came to the light.

Have I ever told you I had a rather quirky friend visit my house and he (being rather ashamed of his large house) found my house to be perfect in size, just enough to fulfill needs, located in a nice neighborhood, and above all, homely.

Yes, homely.

I was going to let it go but he kept using it and eventually I had to let him know that the word homely means ugly and suggest that maybe he's actually looking for the word "homey." There was a third friend there and she helped. In spite of the power of numbers, he didn't really believe us.

Tonight, I was to attend a makeup class along with classmates from my beauty school. It was definitely an occasion to dress up.

I considered wearing black, but tossed my wrinkled black skirt to the side with not a little disgust. If I had a choice, I was going out in color.

I arrived at the location of the event, which was not at the beauty school and not during school hours or on a school day, in a hot pink dress with turquoise tights and cardigan, a light pink trench coat, and, as a nod to the gross idiocy of the cosmetology must-wear-black policy which I follow, black shoes and a gray scale scarf.

Everyone else was wearing black.

All thirty of them.

My teacher thinly veils her revulsion to my outfit with a honey-thick smile as I ask her, is this a wear-black event? And she nods.  The girls around her half-smile and nod along, staring and wondering at what a grave sin I had committed. They are also shocked that I have that much color in my closet and that I would wear that color combination out of the house.

I try to make conversation with some other girls while waiting for the start.

Not successful. I joke about my outfit and this is one girl's response, "well, when you're going to a pulse event, the smartest thing to do is-"

-and this is my favorite part-

-another girl walks up who has in no way been a part of our previous conversation and says smugly-

"Wear black [because I'm the fucking queen of England and I always know what to do and I never make mistakes and it is my divinely appointed job to point out the mistakes of others even if it requires me to eavesdrop on and interrupt people's conversations to do so]."

Bitch.

I say to someone, "heh heh, well at least I'm wearing black shoes and a scarf with some black in it!"

Reply: (drily and with some hatred and superiority) "Because OBVIOUSLY that's what you're wearing and not purple tights, a pink dress, and a turquoise sweater."

Thank you VERY much, I know what I am wearing. I got dressed with the lights on.

And my tights are NOT purple.

I see shows and read stories about people who come to parties and events overdressed or underdressed or dressed plain wrong. And I always got frustrated when those people got embarrassed because really, they just didn't get the memo and they should be proud of themselves and rock their style, right? I would never be like them!

But tonight I was out into that very situation and I became the ashamed character who wanted to sink into the wall. I pointed my outfit out to others in order to seek some sort of approval or forgiveness. I wanted to go home.

I listened to Max McClean reading the book of Revelation on the drive to the class. It was more of an emotional experience than I expected. I almost cried at one point, where God spreads his tent over the people who went through the tribulation and wipes away all of their tears.

I also read magazines today.

The salon at my beauty school needs magazines that aren't from last year and that aren't missing pages. I think I'm going to donate some.

I know someone who thinks the mags are just there so people can get haircut inspiration, but I'm pretty sure I've seen clients reading them.

Do you kind of get a double picture when I use the word client? Like, "I'm taking a late lunch; I have a client at 11:30" - it often makes me think of another profession. When I think of it I use the word guest.

But the other word is more thrilling and mysterious, no?

Plastic Comb

Have I said before that I scan the ground and choose pieces of junk off the ground to use for art?

Well, I pick junk up off the ground and put it in a box with a pretty peacock on it and save it until it builds up and then figure out a way to turn it into art.

My peacock box is almost full.

There has in my beauty school's parking lot been sitting a comb for weeks, maybe even months. I think it's the kind that would have fallen out of some guy's car or pocket as he was getting out on his way to the doctors-on-the-go type clinic that's in the same shopping center as my school.

The comb has been calling my name.

I'm selective about my junk, though.

The comb was iffy because it had at some point been used as a personal hygiene item. Other items I bypass are decomposable items, common items like bottle caps and soda cans, and things that have no visual value.

On the other hand, some things are just begging to be rescued.

One day I got two working pens on a single walk through the lot.

I find most of my pens that way.

It gives them more character.

Paper clips may be common, but unlike bottle caps, they are useful and if they're rusty and therefore not useful, that makes them visually interesting.

Anyhow. Yesterday I gave into the cries of this comb from the pavement. It was a rainy day and it was time to take the poor thing in and give it a home.

Now here's the awesome part: I accidentally left it on the roof of my car while I drove home. When I checked the roof, it was still there.

God has a plan for this pitted plastic comb.

Tumbleweeds

Have I mentioned how plastic grocery bags often tumble across the roads in north Philly in the dead of night? My sister and I affectionately called them tumbleweeds and thought it was the funniest thing ever.

I feel like I was really living life then, when I was studying at college. That's a feeling I might never get back.

But I've found a more whole and happy way of being now, be it less interesting. Perhaps this is "really living." I need to go back to the city.

I think a certain amount of knowingly exposing my trusting, "naïve" side to the "dangerous and dark" world of the city is kind of thrilling to me.

My class is full of beautiful women and I can't decide if it's because I've spent so much time with them or because they actually are beautiful.

One of my classmates just pulled money out of her shirt to give a guy money to buy her a muffin on his run to wawa (the convenience store across the street) and paused - "wait, do you mind boob money?"

He was okay with it.

I'm trying to help this girl get a blogger account but it is being annoying. She speaks the truth and wants people to know her thoughts. Blogger will not be getting her business.

Tumblr may be getting her business.

I asked if over the course of her education she has increasingly come to realize her gorgeousness and value. She has. She has also made the leap to leave the loneliness of online dating behind. Just like me.

I can't wait to see her reap the rewards of this decision.

I gave a haircut yesterday that might be a go-to-another-salon-and-get-it-it-fixed cut. The lovely girl showed me a picture and it turned out nothing like that.

Actually, this is similar to the ombre situation the other day. MY consultation with the client was extra-nice and perfect. The teacher came over and changed the game with his or her own opinion. I became more conservative and jacked the whole thing up.

I think I should blame 50% of the failure on the teacher, excuse me - the learning leader.

Perhaps I will come to a more humble attitude later.

My client is a half hour late. I'm giving her a full head of hilights. I look forward to it.  If she's much later, I'll be taking an updo. Which will also be fun.

I met a lovely lady across from my station who told me she would be gluing in her own extensions later in the day. I was very impressed. How on EARTH could she do that on her OWN?

She said, "stand here and look at me."

"YouTube."

I was convinced. People have been telling me to learn things from YouTube all along, but why, I protested, should I have to go on YouTube when I'm paying good money for a hands-on, in-school education?

Sometimes you just have to give in. As the wise Florence Welch said, "I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in."

Dispensary

It is a sunny day at Pulse Beauty Academy.

I am on towel duty, which I like because I don't have the pressure of making one person's hair perfect, yet I still am doing something productive.

The room with the washing machine, dryer, extra shampoos, perm rods, and other supplies is a little haven amidst the hubbub of the bustling salon.

Student stylists can come in to "get another towel" and complain to me or whoever else is in there about their unreasonable client.

Or their annoying classmate.

Or the unrelenting pressure on the floor to sell, sell, sell.

Or even their life in general.

Many times I find myself entering the "dispensary" to find what I call a "gossip circle" gathered in the back where clients can't see. By chance, a group of students end up in this magic room who all trust each other and share the same opinion, and they talk about it.

Never mind that the door to the dispensary is supposed to remain closed and whoever is on towel duty is to be the only person inside, dutifully dispensing shampoos, towels, and cotton to others, and cleaning and drying dirty utensils.

That rule is only there so teachers can say that they say it if they are ever under some sort of scrutiny. Disobedience is not of top concern.

But it is a sunny day. I blew dry a girl's hair in a seat I chose just so she would be in the sunshine and then put her hair over her shoulders and then said something like, "there, now you have flowy princess hair." She didn't say anything but I think she liked it.

I also attempted my first-french-braid-ever-on-a human-being on her, and it was mediocre, which is better than bad.

I have a haircut in an hour. The sun will still shine when it is complete.

Elephant Blanket

I am under an elephant blanket in front of photos of Marilyn Monroe. I want to paint my room. I haven't wanted to paint my room. What changed?

Something did.

I woke up one day and saw my room for what it was. It equated to my vision of where the prodigal son lived while he worked amongst the pigs before he gave up and came home.

I hang stuff on the walls to disguise the matter but it's kind of like what Jesus said to the Pharisees about cleaning the outside of the bowl without cleaning the inside.

My room needs to be cleaned from the inside out.

My childhood needs to be removed from this room.

My teenage skin cells need to be cleaned from the window sills of this room.

Everything that belongs in a landfill needs to be removed from this room.

You get the idea.

In a couple of years the room will become defiled again but not so much as this. There will never again be drips of paint on the walls, or charcoal staining the corners, or a wooden teddy bear on the wall (no matter how adorable he is), or a useless whiteboard without markers, or a drafting table with a huge footprint  that has become a catchall for everything and is useless.

It will be better.

I sometimes wonder if after many, many years and many coats of paint a room will become noticeably smaller.

Or is there a definite lifespan to a house if nothing breaks or rots? Will it just fall apart one day just because it's old, sort of like healthy people can die because their bodies can't keep up with their age? Or might my house stand forever as long so done continues to take care of it?

I went inside a store called Habitat the other day to see if it fit my expectation based on the window display. It mostly did: merchandize catering to a counterculture, free-spirited, incense-burning, natural fiber-wearing type of person. The store, however, sold many posters of Marilyn Monroe. I was surprised. They must sell well among the hipsters/hippies or else Habitat wouldn't put out so many, I think.

My bff doesn't understand the allure of this woman.  I didn't realize just how alluring she was until I found that even people who burn incense buy full-sized posters of her! 

Let it be said that people who buy things from this store are not necessarily a TYPE and even if they are that doesn't mean that (1) Marilyn is not like them or (2) their type is bad/inferior/to be ridiculed.

That said, well, I don't really know what else to say. The poor woman is too close to being a goddess for my comfort.

It just hit me that the photos I'm looking at on my Marilyn calendars are non-digital photos.

Amazing.

I found a working non-digital and haven't yet struck up the courage to try it.

We'll see how that goes.