Ode to 2007

Oh, 2007, I welcome you with open arms. For the last two years have been, in a word, shitty. I have tried hard to work through all of the sad, hurtful, and upsetting experiences of the last two years. I have begun to listen to and trust myself. I have worked on living for myself as much as I live for others, on maximizing my experiences, on honing my priorities and bettering myself.

We started with a bang - New Year's with good friends, a meager but relaxing vacation, bookended with 14-hour drives which, though tiresome, provided the opportunity to talk, dream, and plan for a different kind of year.

Here's to the good stuff to come. 2005 and 2006, you can suck it.

Bittersweet fall

I love fall. I love the leaves turning and the first cool day that finds me digging sweaters out of the back of the closet. I love knowing that the holidays are nearing. But, fall has also taken on a sadness for me. My dad loved the fall, it was his favorite time of year. His birthday is November 19th and Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. My dad died last year, July 5, 2005.

He was sick for many years with a particularly cruel form of multiple sclerosis (MS) and his health had deteriorated significantly in the last several years. He was confined to a wheelchair and my mom had to feed him, bathe him, and help him use the bathroom. A difficult, sometimes sad life, but we were a very happy family. My mom cared for him everyday, our family and friends rallied around them, and Dad was the last person on earth to ask for sympathy. In fact, when anyone asked how he was, his patented response was "Doing well!" with an accompanying grin and a twinkle in his blue eyes. Then, fate kicked us in the ass yet again and he was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2004.

He actually responded quite well to treatment initially. But, in the end, the cancer was too much for his weakened body and he slipped very quickly from relative good health to his final days in the hospital. Though I knew he was sick and in the hospital yet again, it was a complete shock when I received a call early in the morning from my mom saying that I needed to get home as quickly as possible. I was in San Francisco with my husband where we were planning to celebrate our 2nd anniversary and my 30th birthday. I laid in bed in cried and cried while my husband made arrangements to get us there as soon as possible.

Our family spent Dad's last days together. He had to stay in the hospital, which still breaks my heart, but he needed too much to be comfortable at home. Family and friends came from far and near to say their goodbyes and we sat together, told stories and jokes, and shared pieces of chocolate cake (his favorite) brought from the best bakeries in town. He was aware of what was happening and we all acknowledged it with him, often in silence or through a look, a hug, a kiss. Luckily, everything important had already been said, or did not need to be said at all. We were a close-knit, happy family and he was the best of us all. He slipped into unconsciousness on July 4th and died the next morning surrounded by the women who loved him - my two grandmothers, my mom and myself. We were all touching him as we watched him take his last breath.

I did pretty well through that last week in the hospital and the days subsequent to his death. My family was together and we comforted each other and made it through with a mix of tears, stoicism, wine and inappropriate humor – our specialty. MS is not a fatal disease, but because of the unusual severity of his illness, I think we had all been preparing for some time to let go of Dad earlier than we wanted to. We realized that each of us had already done much of our mourning, over the last several years, as we came to grips with his MS and its devastating impact. I shed many tears that week, but was stronger than I could have imagined. Denial is a lovely thing.

After the shock began to wear off and we transitioned back to "normal" life, I felt my shell starting to crumble. You're not supposed to lose your dad at 30 years old. Though I was never much for, "Why me?" I found myself questioning how something so shitty could happen to such a kind, gentle man. He was a child psychiatrist who served the poorest and the sickest children. He was a very quiet man and often didn't have much to say, especially once the MS started to effect his swallowing and speaking. But he could always surprise you with a witty comment or a quick joke, just when you thought he wasn't following the conversation, and he was known for his grin and his extremely firm handshake, even when he was at his sickest.

Last year, I dreaded his birthday for weeks. It was the first big milestone after his death and I no longer had my denial to protect me. I made sure I was alone that day, even sending my husband to an out-of-town wedding, over his protests. I knew it would be hard and I wanted to be with my own thoughts and feelings. The holidays were sad, but we tried to tell as many great stories of him as we could think of and spending time with our family brought a lot of joy and laughter, even if it was mixed with tears. Over the next many months, I found myself gradually able to think about him without immediately tearing up. I remembered the good things, the funny stories, his voice and his smile.

I know that my grief isn't over and done with, but I've arrived at a more comfortable place - past the denial and the numb, and past the deep and pervasive sadness. I was almost surprised this past summer to realize that, amidst the chaos of my husband's graduation and vacations with friends and family, the anniversary of his death was approaching. I monitored my emotions, almost from outside my own self, and was surprised to realize that I was not dreading the impending date as much as I had feared. We had a quiet July 4th at home - me, my husband, our dog and our new puppy. The next morning dawned with my husband wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tightly, though we didn't speak of it. Honestly, I don't even remember what I did that day. All I know is that I thought of Dad often, smiled, spoke quietly to him, felt his love, and felt comfort.

Now, we are almost upon his birthday again. I think I will always dread these milestone dates, but this year I do not have the fear that I did last year. I still miss him, I still cry in the shower sometimes, and as we move closer to thinking about starting a family, I mourn the fact that my children will never know their grandpa, will never be on the receiving end of one of his magical smiles, never hear him read them a bedtime story, and never feel his patient hands showing them how to hold a baseball bat. But, I have pictures, and stories, and memories and they will absolutely know how special he was.

So, though November will always bring me sadness, I know he would want me to feel the joy of the changing seasons, the approaching holidays, and the chance to spend time with family. So, I do.

You can call me Fuzz (for a reason)

So, um, I don't think I have any actual readers yet, but if I do, I'm guessing you know Amalah, right? She was one of the first blogs I read and is certainly one of the inspirations for this here blog. If you read her, you know she is the Queen of Everything, including the Advice Smackdown, answering all sorts of questions about hair, beauty, fashion, etc. for those of us who are, er, challenged in any or all of these areas. She recently asked her readers to let her know if they felt they had expertise in a particular area, to assist with those questions for which she has no personal experience. Well, I have toiled and sweated for years, doing my research, trying and failing, all to hone my expertise in an area that has caused me much angst since the 5th grade.

In my very first entry I explained the origin of the name of my blog. The hair, lo, how it is big and curly. It is certainly one of my defining features and I have finally grown to love it, but I had TERRIBLE hair for years. Very curly, dry and frizzy, too blonde and too chlorinated from years of swim team. This was during the days of bad perms as far as the eye could see - you would think that I would have fit right in, but sadly, no. I was a bit of a tomboy and had no idea how to manage it, much less fix it. I did everything wrong - I got the mushroom cut, I tried to grow "mall bangs," I used gel that could have doubled for spackle.

But, over many years, I have finally figured it out. Wise haircut decisions, finding the right product, leaving the '80's and early '90's behind - all of these factors helped immensely. So, I am very pleased that I can offer my hard-earned curly hair knowledge to you and yours. So, go! Ask some questions!

Fitness schmitness

I am so fucking out of shape. You may not know it to look at me. I'm a petite woman (read: midget-like) and have never really been overweight. Except maybe in college when I didn't seem to get that I could no longer drink a six-pack of Coke daily and live off of cheese fries and bad keg beer without consequences, since I was no longer playing sports year round. I even lost some weight recently due to some shitty things going on in my life. Who knew that emotional stress could curb my always ravenous appetite? Now that my world view is a little rosier, I have managed to keep the weight off and am actually quite happy with my size.

But, my God, other than walking our dogs, I don't get any exercise. I've always been athletic. Played soccer, volleyball, and swam when I was in high school. More soccer in college and I've even run two marathons, though let me issue a huge caveat here: I hate to run, I'm an incredibly slow runner, and the only reason I ran the damn things was to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Oh, and the fact that the first one was in Bermuda and the second was in Alaska. That definitely helped too. I think because I have a pretty solid history of being active, I figure that I have somehow magically retained some base level of fitness. But I was recently proven very, very wrong.

My husband (who has been an accomplished athlete all his life and is in sickeningly good shape, seemingly without trying - bastard) has been playing IM sports with his graduate program and asked me if I wanted to play indoor soccer with them. I was pretty excited, as I haven't played soccer in over a year and I love indoor. But, holee shit. I played for five minutes and thought I was going into cardiac arrest. Seriously, I came off the court and saw stars briefly. So, so sad.

Working at home does wierd things to your schedule. On one hand, you have more time. You can do laundry and run errands in between bursts of working. You can walk the dogs at 10:00, or 2:00 or 4:00. But, when you're like me (read: slightly ADD, with grand plans of all I will accomplish every day, only to be sorely disappointed when it's 5:00 pm, I've only done 3 hours of work, done NOTHING around the house and am still wearing my pajamas), it is hard to get in a real schedule. I've really been trying lately. Trying to fit in work, house stuff, time with my husband and my dogs, and staying at least a little bit organized. But, holy hell, I think it's time to add some freakin' exercise to the list. I strained a hamstring walking the dogs yesterday. People, that's pathetic. I'll keep you posted. If I've worked out once at the end of next week it will be a miracle. See? Expect the worst, hope for the best. My motto for life.

Can you see my vagina in this?

WOO HOO! Procrastination is fuuuuuuuun. I've written 3 pages in 2 days. Not good, not good, not good. So, I'll tell you what I'm doing this weekend, since that's fun, right? When you should be writing about 50 words per minute to actually meet your deadline?

I was in an a cappella group in college. It's true - I'm a singing dork. Seriously, singing has always been a huge part of my life. I'm actually singing in a blues/R&B band right now, which is way fun, even though everyone else in the band is a 50+ year-old business school professor.

Don't ask.

ANYWAY, this a cappella group was really important to me in college. The girls I sang with were some of my best friends and we spent practically all of our time together, even aside from the substantial time we spent singing (3 hour rehearsals twice a week, plus concerts, plus road trips to sing at other schools on weekends). Not surprisingly, given that we were a bunch of college-aged women, discussions about what we would wear to each concert took up so much rehearsal time that we eventually elected a "fashion chair" to decide on options for each concert that we then voted on. Seriously. Being that this was the mid-90's, our outfit choices ranged from jeans with blazers (way before the days of cute, cropped, fitted blazers), overalls(!), and "jewel-toned" tops with black pants. We were hott (1995 hott, that is).

So, this year is the group's 15th anniversary and we're all going back to school this weekend to hang out, have a big concert, and relive the good ol' days. AND to feel really fucking old. We actually had a 10th anniversary reunion too, and not surprisingly, spent considerable time talking with the youngun's who were currently in the group to come up with a simple theme for what we would wear so that we would all sort of coordinate when we were on stage together. We settled on whatever combination of black and white you wanted. So, all the alums show up in tasteful, stylish dresses, skirts, whatever. But, the current group? Definitely sang in black tube tops that had been bedazzled with the group's name. Yeah.

So, as I get ready to go back again, five years older, I can not wait to see my friends, sing with them again, meet people's babies, but I am NOT looking forward to standing on stage next to 20 year-olds in white halter tops and black miniskirts or shorts that expose body parts that "I would normally only see if we were romantically involved (see Zoot for reference)."

Maybe I'll wear shoulder pads and peg my faded black jeans, just for kicks.

Entry 2 (in 2 years)

So, let's see what happened in the last two years. Husband: STILL in grad school (though moved on to PhD in education, after graduating from MBA program, so at least he's home more and on the golf course less). Me: STILL working from home. However, at the end of my work day today I am wearing...workout clothes instead of pajamas! That's progress, folks. What else? Different house - actually own this one, v. exciting. Lots more work (our yard is an acre and a veritable jungle, I'm not even kidding), but very fun. And, finally, two dogs instead of one, the newest of which is 10 weeks old, because we're INSANE. Actually, it has been super fun so far, and easier than we thought. Here's a little secret: whereas your first dog is likely extremely (and overly) attached to you, the second dog will attach himself to the first dog, worshipping him and loving him and biting the ever-loving shit out of his ears, nose, tail, etc. Therefore, you can let the puppy torture your older dog while you turn back to the computer. Ta da! Pet ownership at its finest.*

So, life is good - it's been a crazy, often completely shitty couple of years since I wrote that first entry, but we'll get into that later. Tah!


*I am completely kidding - we are those sick kinds of people that treat their dogs like their children. In fact, we are still feeling very guilty that we went and ruined the pampered, solo life of our first "baby." But, he will thank us one day when we have human babies and he has someone to play with...no, really.

Where was I?

It’s amazing what you may decide to undertake when it’s 5:02 pm** and you are so, so tired of the paper-from-hell you have been working on for months that makes you cry.

“Hey, I know…since I already spend far too many hours reading blogs (thus, preventing me from doing the work I get paid for), I’ll start my own!” Yeah, that’s a great idea. Though, I will go to any lengths for distraction whilst sitting in front of my computer in my home office at the end of my working day, trying to forget that I’m still in my pajamas and my hair is in the exact state it was in when I arose this morning.

Side note: The title of this blog refers to said hair. Due to its volume (plentiful) and texture (uh, crimpy?), it has been my most defining feature since it finally appeared at the age of two. Yes, until then my babysitter taped bows to my head, so upset was she that strangers often referred to me as a “cute little boy.” Now, at the age of 29, and having discovered the magical elixir that is Aveda Confixor, I actually receive many compliments. Yeah. Where was I going with this?

So, here I am with a blog. I have always had a love-hate relationship with writing. I came to me easily enough in school, and I now do it for a living (in very dry fashion) as a policy analyst working for a nonprofit organization. I will tell anyone who asks that I really like what I do and feel that I am pretty successful at it. But when I am in the middle of a paper, memo, whatever, you can often find me tearing my hair out and weeping, likely due to my attention span, akin to a gnat’s, and my gift for procrastination. But, hey, a blog? That’s little bits of writing at a time. On whatever I want. Refreshing.

To be honest, what truly inspired me to start this blog was the many intelligent, witty, intriguing, spit-coffee-on-my-keyboard-funny women writers I have found in the blog world. I’ve got nothing on these ladies…nothing at all. But, they’ve inspired me with their very honest, and incredibly funny stories and you, internet, will now have to put up with my ditherings…sorry.

Plus, and let me back off of the cheezy goodness now, I work from home, never see my husband who is busting his ass in grad school, and spend so much time talking to the dog that I’m convinced he’s going to talk back one day just to tell me to, “Can it, bitch.” Let’s face it, I can use all the distractions I can get.

**Technically, it's 4:47 pm, two freakin' years after I wrote this first post. Back then, I published....mmmm.....3 entries? Because that's so typical of me? So here goes take two. Maybe blogging for free this time around will be more inspiring.