Jeans

So, I have been on a mission to find the perfect pair of jeans. But, let's face it, nothing will ever beat the pair of Jordache jeans I had when I was 8 (God, I loved those jeans).

I've really tried over the last few weeks to find a nice pair of jeans. Affordable jeans that simultaneously (and magically, I might add) make my ass look good and my legs long and skinny. Do these jeans exist?

Here's what I've found:

1. Jeans that cut off the circulation at my ankles.
2. Jeans that I can only wear with stilettos (I have short legs) - I asked the saleslady at one store if they sell Petite sizes. She said they'll sell jeans again in the fall. No one buys jeans in the summer? Come ON.
3. Jeans with some sort of weird designs on the ass. While I want my ass to look good, I don't want to call attention to it.
4. Jeans that cost $90. Really? They're just pants, people. Made of denim. Not diamonds.
5. Jeggings. Enough said.

But, I'll continue on my jeans quest. Like the perfect shade of lipstick and... unicorns, I'm sure they exist. Somewhere.

To make myself feel better, I bought a pair of shoes today. You can't go wrong with shoes.

Hair and there

So, I love getting my hair cut (is it hair cut when talking about the action and haircut when it's a noun?). It's a gamble, of course, not knowing what you're going to get. It could all wind up horribly wrong - you smile and thank your stylist (and tip, of course), then cry in your car the whole way home and spend $50 on a new hat. Or it could be the best thing you've ever done and you spend the rest of your day looking for a mirror everywhere you go, tossing your hair around like you're in a shampoo commercial.

Let's face it, the not knowing what you're going to get is part of the fun and can be highly exhilarating.

I have experienced both good and bad haircuts. I remember my first bad haircut like it was yesterday. I was in 5th grade (maybe?) and had an idea of the hairstyle I wanted. I wanted Lucy's hair from General Hospital. She had a very simple bob, with bangs.

When the lady was done, I looked nothing like Lucy. She gave me bangs from my forehead to the back of my head. Are you picturing a 10-year-old boy with a mullet? Because that's exactly what it looked like. And I'm pretty sure I cried. Until it grew out.

Since then, my haircuts have been mostly non-traumatizing. I flitted from hair salon to hair salon until my sister and I found Chad.* Let me tell you, the man knew how to work it. Best haircuts ever. People complimented me on my hair all the time and asked where I went. I was so proud to give out his name, he was so awesome.

I was with Chad for 15 years (well, okay, I cheated on him once in college, got a bad cut, for which he forgave me and fixed). I followed him when he opened his own salon and had been pretty happy with him over the years. Everyone we knew went to him and we were all happy and stylish.

But, like all good things, it had to end sometime. I realize I stayed with Chad longer than I should have. I can understand one or two bad haircuts, but it was getting to be every. haircut. He started taking me for granted and wasn't even trying anymore to make me look good. My friends told me to leave, but I wouldn't listen. We had been together so long. How could I leave him? I loved him.

And he knew about my crazy cowlicks.

But then I saw the hair clippings on the floor. No one else was accepting mediocrity. No one else screamed in their heads, "Enough with the round brush!" or "What the hell is that razor thing and why are you (unevenly) shaving off all my hair with it?!" My other friends were getting the love, attention and free product I (and my hair) so desperately needed.

Perhaps he never got over my cheating and wanted to hurt me the way I had hurt him.

So, I had to leave him. It's not without guilt and regret. I still love him. And, if I thought we could see each other as friends, I totally would. But, alas, it's not meant to be. I don't want him wondering what color highlights my new girl uses on me or if she's ever flat ironed as well as he has.

My sister-in-law told me he asked about me when she saw him last. At least I know he's thought about me. Maybe he'll think about his behavior for the future. I'll feel better knowing I have saved his next client a lot of heartache (not to mention money for new hats).

At any rate, my haircut today? Totally rocks. Where's a mirror?

* Name has been changed so I don't get sued or anything

Without music life would be a mistake. ~ Nietzsche

So, I have almost 2,000 songs on my iPod. I thought that was a lot until I learned that my friend has over 8,000 songs. Are there even 8,000 songs available in the world?!

Okay, fine. There are. And I'm willing to learn them all. I love to try out new songs and artists. One of my favorite things to do is find new songs on iTunes. That Genius Recommendations is, well... genius. I have found some of my favorite new artists through that. I have also found some good songs through the Shazam application on my phone, just by tagging a song-I-don't-know-but-know-I-want as soon as I hear it. Could life get any better?

My iPod is probably the awesomest thing out there (if I do say so myself). Being able to rap to 2Pac one minute, sing along to Barry Manilow the next and dance to Kraftwerk after that? Is. Complete. Awesomeness.

A couple weeks ago, I took a trip to Columbus to visit a few of my favorite sonsabitches (read: cousins). It was already a perfect trip because I had 2 hours of uninterrupted iPod (4 if you include the ride home). I never get 4 hours of uninterrupted anything (not without consequences [read: the great Twilight debacle]), so this was a treat. And, of course, the time with my cousins was, as always, great fun.

We were up late talking, listening to my cousin's iPod, when "Biscuit" by Portishead came on. Immediately, I was 19 again, listening to a mixed tape my BFF's "lesbian-phase girlfriend" made me. I had lost that mixed tape (not that I have a tape player anyway) and had been trying to recreate it on my iPod. I had forgotten about that song altogether, so imagine my happiness when I a) remembered it existed and b) was able to learn the song title/artist so I could add it to my iPod as soon as I got home (which, of course, I did).

Music makes me so happy.

In addition to the music itself, my favorite songs have great lyrics. And I end up liking a song the more I memorize its lyrics (my mother always said I would've done better in school if my lessons were in the form of songs) (thanks, Mom). My boyfriend in college used to think "Mr. Jones" had the most poignant lyrics ever.

"We all want something beautiful. I wish I was beautiful."

Really?

How about "Wild" by Seal?

"And if loneliness can hurt as much as being cold... Come over here woman and touch me you look so electric."

Or "The World is Filled" by the Notorious B.I.G?

"The world is filled with pimps and 'hos, we'll just talk about those I know."

Brilliant.

There are, of course, exceptions to my love of music (most of the country genre, for example). And because music brings out memories for me, some are not always good. To this day, there are songs I can't bring myself to listen to (although, I still have them on my iPod - no idea why). Perhaps I think it's a test. I'm over something when I can finally hear a particular song. It helps me grow. Or something.

Or I just don't want to lose songs on my iPod in my quest to get to 8,000.

The skip button is there for a reason, after all.

The ghost of St. Patrick's past

So, in the spirit of yesterday's holiday, I was reminded of past St. Patrick's Days and how different life is for me now.

Picture it: March 17, 2000? Not sure of the year, but it was a Saturday. We had beautiful weather; 70s, sunny. I had a pretty good idea who I was with that day... until my sister reminded me yesterday that she was, in fact, not with us that day.

Hmm. That completely changes my fuzzy memories of the day altogether.  But who was I with if I wasn't with her?  And, where in the hello was she for such an important holiday?

Aaaanyway, the plan was to meet at a friend's house, drink, take the bus downtown, drink, watch a parade, drink, stay downtown all day, drink, come home. Drink. I believe we did all of that, although I don't remember the parade. Here is what I do remember:

• visiting a lot of bars
• drinking beer
• losing some people we came with
• eating a Reuben at our favorite bar near my apartment
• falling asleep on a pool table at favorite bar

Fast forward to St. Patrick's Day, 2010. I spent it doing the following:

• working
• making dinner
• arguing with a 5-year-old about rules and why we're not going to DQ for ice cream
• falling asleep watching American Idol while said 5-year-old stayed up to watch the entire episode

At least he was able to tell me who was voted off.