Squirrel Patty

I never really thought hard about what happens to dead squirrels on the streets of my neighborhood. I thought they sort of just dissolve into the pavement, I guess, or the squirrel police come out every so often and collect them.

Yesterday I found out.

Driving home from work, I hit the brakes. Wildlife sighting!

I am a girl who puts her flashers on and backs up if no one is behind her just to look at deer in other people's lawns. There's something more fascinating about wildlife in suburbia than there is about wildlife in the wild.

I stopped just in time to convince the turkey buzzard (or something) my car wasn't a threat, and watched as he hopped over to the squished squirrel that was also in my view, picked up the limp, floppy thing in its beak, and scuttled back to the bushes on the side of the road.

Presumably to help out the human race by removing dead squirrels from the road.

This happens all the time in nature, but had I ever seen it?

No.

I felt blessed to be the chosen one, the one chosen to witness this segment of the circle of life.

Tornado

I dreamed that my best friend was getting married and I didn't know to whom. 

I dreamed that I felt very left out and disconcerted. 

I awoke feeling bad because I haven't seen this friend in a while and for all I know all of these things could have happened while we have been apart. 

I have discovered about another friend that insecurity can be crippling and free-spiritedness is hard to come by. 

Because all people are not like me. 

And not all artists are free spirits. 

It was upsetting.  

I am also being tested. 

If people don't like my art, it's okay. But if they don't like what I did with their hair or their makeup or how I photographed them, that's tough. 

My mission currently is to increase the confidence of others and make them feel valuable; I want them to also feel as if I am listening to them and giving them what they want. 

If I fail repeatedly which has happened recently, what am I to do? Give up?

I'm going to keep trying for now and delay that decision. 

-

Now, about that tornado:

All the people of southeastern Pennsylvania received a warning on their mobile phones (from "the people") (I guess someone has all our numbers in the country even if we never downloaded a weather app) - "tornado warning; please seek shelter." 

We sought shelter. 

What I wanted to share with you is that in an earlier post I listed the three things I would bring with me in the event of a volcanic eruption or other disaster. 

As we sought shelter, these things barely crossed my mind. I was super-concerned about the cats and freaking out until they were both locked in the basement. 

Their little innocent souls were not going to get sucked up in a tornado if I had anything to say about it. 

When the cats were downstairs, I was happy and I stayed downstairs. 

So now I know what's actually important to me. My family and nothing else. 

The most beautiful moment was my family all together in the basement waiting for whatever. 

I love when we're all together.

Dad was pacing around and telling us which corner of the basement was safest to shelter in. He's so knowledgable. 

Buddy and Cricket were more freaked out that all of us were invading their domain than that there was a storm raging outside. 

Their little walnut brains have forgotten last night's incident by now and will beg for food when I get home from work, and that's just how I want it to be. 

Songbirds

There were two slightly homeless-looking people singing loudly and independently of one another at suburban station this morning. 

It brings to mind a book my friend showed to me which sits above her toilet called something like "1000 feelings for which there are no names."  

One of them is "the abhorrence of disabled people" and the one listed immediately after is "the shame of feeling this."

I confess that these feelings ran through the thing which is my self. 

Nobody else seemed annoyed that the man was singing "amazing grace" and probably hadn't officially applied and been accepted to exhibit his talent in the station, but I guess I didn't look it on the outside. 

And there was actually a "normal" woman still sitting on the other end of the bench with the woman singing a shrill, unknown tune that may have been a worshipful improvisation (it seemed like it might have been that). 

Early morning songbirds. 

I managed to spend more money this morning, at the hair store geared toward black women and run by asian people (the norm, there was also one across the hall - just saying, and this is backed up in the documentary "good hair" that Asia has like an "80% hold on the black hair market). 

I missed my train, knew I would be late to work, didn't have tweezers, and had to get some. 

Ooh, it's open!

Ooh, they have tweezers!

That's where it should have ended. But that's when I saw they had headbands. And headbands add to the look of femininity I would like to achieve, so they are definitely a "need," which means I can buy five of them. Certainly. 

I loved my hair until some douchebag asked me upon meeting me if I was a lesbian and a week or so later an uninhibited child asked if I was a girl or a boy. 

Now I have some concerns. 

I don't want to feel like being thought of as a boy is a bad thing, or being thought of as a lesbian is a bad thing, because it shouldn't be a bad thing. 

This situation should cause me to examine my heart and see where I really stand on judging people who are not like me. 

I do want guests to feel comfortable when I'm waxing them. Just saying. 

In any case, I'll just have to wear the (cheaply made) headbands until they fall apart. And in that way get my money's worth. 

Maybe I can write them off my taxes as a work necessity. 

Depth

There's a song I heard on the radio with a lyric wishing an old (possibly estranged) friend many "blessings," and one of them was:

"May all your favorite bands stay together."

I cracked up.

Sarcasm and truth. Some people care a LOT about their music.

There was part of an interview with Dawes, the artist, after the song played on the radio, and he told that it took an entire year for that lyric to turn into an entire song.

This causes me to reflect on my quickly-written poems, my get-it-done art style, and my general approach to life. He let that song age like good cheese.

I don't think it will change the way I act, yet. But I will think about what he said every time I hear the lovely sarcastic tune.

It's worth it to put a year of time into a song if someone is going to listen to it for years to come, don't you think?

Noticed

The competition is on.

Who is selling the most?

Who is pre-booking the most?

Who is doing the most services per ticket?

Not I.

I was used to being last in track, used to being last done taking math tests, used to whatever else I suck at - but I thought maybe I would be good at what I'm good at.

And it would be nice if my boss told me instead of my coworkers.

They don't read this blog.

If they start, it's important that they know I love them to death.

They're older than me with more life and work experience, and perhaps my best really just isn't on their level yet.

-

That said, I was just reminded recently of this one day in eighth grade math class when Mr Lair asked me to come up to the board and show everyone how I solved the bonus homework problem from the night before.

I love writing on whiteboards. They're like forbidden fruit - only teachers can use them. And the way a fresh marker glides across the surface, the way a concept can be conveyed to a large group of people - whiteboards are no joke.

And when I finished and sat down, Mr Lair pointed at my work, all lined up with arrows and explanations, and told the class:

"This, this is as close to a mathematical work of art as I have ever seen."

And he asked me to come up and explain it, and I was embarrassed because I knew everyone was like, "sheesh, Danielle getting recognition again, enough already and we don't care about the problem," but recognition and praise meant a lot to me back in the day and I was thrilled that I had been noticed.

Never again has my math been called artistic.

But my running has been compared to dancing.

Let's face it: recognition and praise still means a lot to me. It probably means a lot to you. I want to be called elegant and graceful, skilled and successful. I want people to notice.

Yesterday I was trying to find my way out of the labyrinth that is West Chester and a guy in a jeep at a stop sign let me go first even though I don't think it was my turn. I know in other posts, I'm all "OMG cute guy we might get married!"

My interpretation of THIS cute guy scenario is that I barely saw him but for a split second in the beautiful sunlight with our windows I was able to imagine an incredibly beautiful Prince Charming opening the door for me because, even with my kind of butch haircut, I was a lady.

And in that split second, with my imagination, I was elegant and graceful, and noticed.

Things are going to be okay.

Good Day

Today is a good day. I woke up on time by mistake!

I made it to work!

My favorite people are there (my other favorites aren't because everyone is my favorite)!

I have time to blog!

I dreamed about being with my sister and petting turtles. We scratched their bellies and held their hands and they purred and smiled.

How could it not be a good day?

I learned that almost all of the products we sell are aloe-based and aren't extended by water!

I learned that our brow powder has SPF!

I miraculously made it to church on Sunday!

I sent my defective tweezers to Montana.

How can I not be happy?

I learned that some people who work at Sephora are very nice and helpful people who go out of their way to help customers.  Not all makeup salespeople are snobs!

I convinced another coworker to let me do his hair.

I learned more about a television show I had judged by its commercials and have a more open mind toward it now.

It's a really good day.

When I get tired later I can maybe think of this and remember what a good day it is. 

The EWC

Hey! Been a long while. I drove route 66 and then got a job.

My job allows me keep my pink hair, and I'm pretty sure they actually LIKE me there.

Even the guests!

And they let me do my makeup after I arrive, and they have flowery febreeze air freshener in each room that we can spray whenever we want, and I spend absolutely zero minutes deciding what to wear each morning, because I wear cute red scrubs with roomy pockets for business cards, my pager, and lots of pens.

I work for the European Wax Center.

Three weeks in, it feels like home and I love walking through the doors.

Perhaps I speak too soon. Look at it a different way, and I'm getting a huge crush on a job I haven't truly experienced yet.

I love the transition in the wax suite from stranger to ally. It only takes a few minutes to make a new friend and build a new trust connection:

Trust that I will remove your hair well, treat you with utmost respect and full attention, and that I will not judge you for anything you say because no matter what, I choose to be your friend as well as your waxer.

Truly, it's great. This connection happens sometimes in hair salons and with other cosmetological interactions, but with waxing, the situation is somehow different.

I think it is because my guest walks in knowing that I have the same goal as her: to remove hair. It is harder (though not impossible) to miscommunicate at a wax center than at a hair salon.

So my guest and I have a definite common goal, we are alone together in a well-kept and secure, medical-feeling waxing chamber, and they entrust me with their badly hair - which is very personal and connected with identity just as head hair is.

If I take this opportunity to make them feel accepted and comfortable, and also act like I know exactly what I'm doing, - voilà: friends.

I trust that writing this will have no jinxing effect on me.

I enjoy knocking on wood, and other surfaces when wood is not available, but God has been convicting me lately that there is no need because he will give or take as he pleases, regardless of superstition.

Enjoying work is a huge blessing and I will continue to share it during the blank hours in my waxing schedule until I have so many loyal guests that I simply cannot.

Which I hope will happen soon!