Monthly Archives: October 2014

Rapunzel, Rapunzel…

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I’m growing my hair out.

It just something I do.

It’s not a girly thing.

It’s just a service thing.

Don’t worry you’re not going crazy, you read that right I said SERVICE.

I have thick hair, that seems to like growing. So I grow it until I am no longer patient and then I cut it, and then I donate it.

Sometimes I apply heat to it.

Most of the time it’s up in a bun. (Or a side braid).

I don’t dye it. Or Bleach it. Nothing crazy. Just wash, rinse, towel dry, comb, put up, and repeat a couple of days later.

I’ve been thinking about my hair a lot lately. Mostly I’ve been thinking back to 3rd grade me, who sat down in the chair at the salon one day, pointed at my brother sitting and waiting, and promptly told the stylist, that I wanted “that” hair cut. She asked me multiple times if I didn’t just want to take off a couple of inches, that my long beautiful hair didn’t need to all go away. But I insisted, and she took out her scissors.

Needless to say my mom had quite the surprise waiting for her, when she came to pick us up. But she wasn’t upset. I was happy to have less hair, and she was happy I was happy.

That’s the key. I was happy. It didn’t matter that the stylist had tears in her eyes as she sheared away 11 inches of thick brown hair. To her credit she followed through, however I did notice the lack of clippers being used on me, and I distinctly remember her using them on Mark. It was a compromise. But in the end I had gotten what I wanted and jumped out of that chair being happy with the cut, and ready for the next thing. I didn’t really give much thought post-cut, I was just happy.

My stylist didn’t want to cut my hair due to her fear that I would look too boyish. I mean I already ran around in hand-me-downs from my brother and family friends…the hair would have just added to the already “tomboy” look. But so what? Why was that her problem? I wasn’t labeling myself as a tomboy…that was everyone else. And really who cares if I was mistaken for a boy? Not me. I just wanted the freedom of waking up running a brush through my hair and being on my way.

The joke is that even as a kid with longer hair I just woke up and ran a brush through my hair. I didn’t learn how to put my own hair in a pony tail until I was 11.

I was also being a very pragmatic 9 year old. Summer was starting, my hair was hot and heavy I was just lightening the load, so to speak. We were also preparing to head to Atlanta in July and I had been forewarned that it would be hot and humid, and again I was thinking about my own personal comfort. I mean have you ever been to Atlanta in the middle of July? It’s brutal.

I was a very confident and precocious kid, I wasn’t going to regret the haircut, it didn’t matter to me what I looked like. I just wanted to be comfortable. So soccer shorts, t-shirts, and short hair were the peak of my fashion sense. If I was ever going to be able to pull off that haircut it would have been then. Simply because I didn’t care.

The haircut I wanted at 9 is now a pretty fashionable haircut these days, think Emma Watson post Harry Potter or American Sweetheart Jennifer Lawrence. The problem is, I hit puberty, I started letting what people said about my looks get to me, I started to judge myself critically. Now I could never pull off that haircut. Not without being self-conscious.

Yes I’m still self-conscious. I’m okay with it. I don’t get down on myself, I haven’t take extreme measures to change myself. I am just aware of myself. So I don’t think I look good with super-short hair. Cool. I just won’t cut my hair that short. Easy. I’m still me. I’m still happy. I’m still confident. Yeah, okay every once in a while I have a bad “me” day. And I feel sorry for myself. But those occasions are few and far between, and let’s be honest, everyone has those days, it’s how we deal with the next day that matters. My hair and how I look don’t define me.

So be happy, be you. Love yourself and have your bad days. If you need to make a change, do it, but in a healthy and realistic way. Don’t live up to others’ standards of who you should be, live up to your own standards. Be girly, be androgynous, be boyish, be a princess, be whatever…at the end of the day just make sure that you’re being you.

The good news about always keeping my hair in low maintenance do’s, is that when I need to look a little more “dressy” all I have to do it wear my hair down.

Hulking Out

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Don’t Make Me Angry

I spent six weeks this summer in Boston starting my graduate studies at Boston College. It was a blast, school was interesting, sometimes challenging, sometimes not, but that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.

Within an hour of landing back in Montana, I opened my garage door and said hello to my wonderful Subaru, I got in the car, put the key in the ignition, turned it on and proceeded to back out of the driveway. I was on my way…to the grocery store. Huh? I needed to stock up. Normally I’d walk as the store is conveniently close, (closer, in fact than any grocery store around BC) but I had been awake for a long time already and had also run through the Atlanta airport to make my connection, and quite honestly, I was planning on cooking myself a feast, and was conserving my energy for that.

But I digress.

Even though the store was only a block away, I was still nervous to drive. Can you forget how to drive in 6 weeks? Apparently not, but that didn’t stop me from being a bit apprehensive. I shouldn’t have been though, everything went off without a hitch.

I want to say it was like riding a bike, but I’ve ran into parked cars on my bike, more times than I’d like to admit. I also can’t compare it to walking, because I struggle with that as well. Let’s just say I’m deserving of the name Stumbledore. So I’m just going to stop before I embarrass myself…further.

All seemed right in the world, I was back in Montana, I got to experience long summer days again and sunsets that always take my breath away. But the simple of joy of driving quickly lost it’s shine. A couple of days upon my triumphant return to the Big Sky State, I found myself traveling to Helena one afternoon to meet up with my mom and spend the night with her. I hadn’t even gotten out of Bozeman by the time I was frustrated and yelling a people for driving like idiots. Either they were driving too slowly, not using their turn signals, cutting me off, tailgating, what have you. I breathed a sigh of relief upon hitting the interstate, knowing that I would be able to speed up and pass those as necessary. Soon enough however I was yelling at someone who insisted on using the left lane as their own personal road. Because they thought that they may being going fast enough to possibly, maybe pass that car that’s five miles ahead of them. Turning off the interstate for the last leg of the trip, I was counting down the miles until the passing lanes so I could pass the semi that had so rudely cut me off. Eventually we get to the first passing lane, which happens to be on a uphill stretch, I put on my blinker, moved into the left lane, and pressed the gas pedal, only to be cut off again by the same semi who had decided that it was necessary for them to pass another semi. I don’t know if you have ever had this happen to you, but usually semi trucks take a long time to pass car in general, now add in the uphill factor and the fact that this man was choosing to pass another truck that’s about 100 feet long (this is probably an exaggeration, I have no sense of stuff like this). Needless to say I was unable to pass either semi truck in that moment and would then have to wait until another clear passing opportunity. I was livid…

When I get to this point of anger, I have to put on my “Angry Car Mix.” Which has a fair amount of Foo Fighters and Kings of Leon…Rock music that I can sing at the top of my lungs. It always calms me down. I also make a point of not looking at the other drivers as I pass them…I reserve that for those moments when I’m so exasperated I just HAVE to look, to see who’s driving. I made it to Helena and was able to pass the semis after what seemed like hours, but was probably more like 15 minutes. All was well with the world again. My saving grace is that  once the car has been passed, I am no longer angry.

Now I never got upset or annoyed in Boston, a train ride into downtown was about 45 minutes (the train I took was also above ground for most of the trek so it would almost be the equivalent of taking a bus) plus, driving (I wasn’t driving, I was riding) from campus to down town took about 30 minutes or so…I should also mention that we were only traveling between 3-5 miles. Why wouldn’t someone so prone to getting road rage, not be angry with this? Because Boston has about 17 times more people living there! And that’s not counting the greater Boston area.

My name is Kelly, and I have Road Rage.

I understand that I need to work on my road rage, and I will. Just as soon as the drivers of Western Montana decide to not be dumb.

To put things in perspective.

“Hey Siri, what’s the population of Boston?”

-“646,000.”

“Follow up: What’s the population of Bozeman, MT?”

-“37,300.”

“What’s the population of Massachusetts?”

-“6,693,000.”

“And how many square miles is Massachusetts?’

-“The answer is about 10,600 sq. miles.”

“Okay, what’s the population of Montana?”

-“It looks like the population of Montana is about 1.02 million people.”

“How many square miles is Montana?”

-“About 147,000 sq. miles.