Hey, Look Ma, I'm Doing Stuff

As promised, here are some more updates about what I've been up to in these past few months. Mostly trying to balance, work, school, and having a social life. I've also been getting my writing into shape for agent representation; I'm starting the querying process soon and while I'm excited, there's also a feeling akin to molten lava in the pit of my stomach every time I think about actually sending my work out, and thinking that no one will think that it's good enough. But that's where my writing group comes in - shout out to the Ink Bombs, what what! - so maybe one person will think my work's good enough to publish somewhere.

But enough of that.

Here's a recap of what I've been doing, more in the local area.

I decided earlier in the year that I needed to see more live theater and get to more shows. Fortunately, I've been able to catch Newsies on Broadway (as you may have read in my last post) and two shows here in Beantown.

The first one was Once.

No, unfortunately,  I can't take the credit for this photo. I wish I was sitting this close to the stage. 

Once tells the story of a guy and a girl and how in one brief moment in time, they come together to create some fantastic music. The show is based off of a 2006 film, staring Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (of the Swell Season fame) and has a beautiful soundtrack. The show changed a few aspects from the film, but the cast was incredibly talented - I was especially impressed when the entire cast was on stage, each member playing guitar. Seeing this show was definitely one of those times when I wished that I was more musically inclined. 

This about sums up my musical talent.

The second show I saw was American Idiot, but unlike Once, I felt more like a teenager, listening to the American Idiot album at 17. 

Which completely dates me, I'm aware. But this entire post probably will anyway. 

I remember reading an article somewhere about how it makes sense that Green Day had a song on the Twilight Breaking Dawn soundtrack, since they had the Broadway show, and in essence, they had grown up (sorry, that I can't remember where I read this, and an Internet search brings up too many options that aren't the right article). Anyway, while I could understand how this was true - I doubt Billie Joe and the boys are as rambunctious now as they were in their 20s, and American Idiot, the show, is a good mash-up of their punk days and what we can call their grown-up selves. 

The entire show is based around three boys - Johnny, Will, and Tunny - and their misadventures of leaving their suburban town and moving to the big city (or in Will's case, staying to help raise his child). It was interesting for me to watch this show as an adult, since as I mentioned, I listed to the album as a teenager, and seeing (as an adult) how dumb kids can be. And the show is reflective in on itself in that way; at one point Johnny remarks ironically something along the lines of, "I held up the 7-11 to get money so we could get out of here…I stole money from my mom's purse…actually, she lent it to me…"which I think is something that differs from the album itself. There was definitely less of a "fuck you, I don't need anyone" attitude in the show (though it's still there, just maybe toned down) and I think that's because Green Day has matured, has grown up. It's not a bad thing; I guess for anyone still imagining them in their "Dookie" days needs to realize that in their 40s, Green Day is not the same. I had a great time and the show was a lot of fun. 

On a slightly different note, I had the opportunity to see the Ataris perform at the Brighton Music Hall. Their "So Long, Astoria" tour came here before their final show for the tour went to New York. I've never been to the Music Hall, so it was fun to see one of my all-time favorite bands perform there. I'd also never had the opportunity to see the Ataris perform when I was a teenager, so I knew that this was going to be a good time. Funnily enough, I still have a band tee that I got literally ten years ago when "So Long Astoria" was released, so I'm all for keeping those shirts until the band gets back together for a reunion tour - even if it is ten years later. 

I don't have a photo of myself wearing the tee on hand, but here's the album cover. 

Now, I realized this last year when I saw Finch in concert - I'm not 17 anymore, and occasionally there will be wild people in the crowd who I will literally want to punch, and unfortunately cannot. Or that standing in the very front row will be tiring. So going in for this show, I had to psych myself up. I got there super early in order to get in that front row. I had no idea if the crowd was going to be comprised of people my age, who wouldn't necessarily want to mosh all night, or a bunch of teenagers who would want to do exactly that. Fortunately, it seemed to be a combination of both. 

Also on the tour was Authority Zero, Drag the River, Versus the World, and Gasoline Heart. I'd heard of all of these bands, but I'm not familiar with their music. They all put on a good show and I had a fun time, even when two guys next to me tried to mosh (but only with each other) and slammed me into a speaker. They realized that wasn't a smart move when I backpedalled them into the crowd so hard that they both fell down. Of course, the moshing started up again later, when the Ataris took the stage, but by then I had cleared enough room around myself so that no one was going to make me face-plant into the stage. Maybe it wasn't good mosh etiquette, pushing those two guys down, but I didn't want to break my glasses because some drunk idiots wanted to push me over. 

And now for some blurry, but close up photos of the opening acts:

And then it was time for the Ataris, and a part of me freaked out, just like when I saw Finch. I listen to a lot of music, but like most people, there are some bands that are particularly special, and no matter how old I am, I'll still act like I'm 17 again, if I get to see them perform. 

Yeaaaaahhh, buddy.

I didn't end up taking a whole lot of photos, because I wanted to enjoy the moment. They did play the entire album, including three older songs, and the crowd loved it. I loved it. I don't think the show could have been better. And to put the cherry on top of what was already a near-perfect night, I got one of the set lists, handed to me by Kris Roe himself. 

Seriously, I could have died in that very moment and been happy with how things were ending. 

Now, if you've stuck with me thus far, I have two more things to report on and then you can stop reading, I promise. 

I was also been fortunate enough to go to a Celtics game. They played against the Toronto Raptors (and lost) but I still had a great time. I went with my roommate and one of our really good friends. 

Yes, those are Nesquik bunny ears peering out from behind; and they're just the ears - the bunny is not being a pervert. Which, I guess, somehow makes it seem more creepy. 

We had nosebleed seats, but it didn't matter, we shouted and cheered just as loudly (or probably even more loudly since we were up so high). 

See? Pretty high up.

Now for those of you who know that I'm from So-Cal, this probably seems like a big backstabbing incident against the Lakers, going to a Celtics game, but hey, I live in Boston now. I'd rather not get stabbed from cheering for the Lakers. And besides, I'm not even sure who's on the Lakers' line-up now, unfortunately. 

Well, I know he's still there. He'll probably die on the court. 

And for my last recap, I met Michio Kaku, physicist and author. He just came out with a new book, The Future of the Mind: The Scientific Quest to Understand, Enhance, and Empower the Mind and the Brookline Booksmith hosted an event for him.

I had read one of his previous books, Parallel Worlds: A Journey Through Higher Creation, Higher Dimensions, and the Future of the Cosmos after a recommendation from a friend, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Dr. Kaku was very entertaining during his presentation, and for someone like me, who has absolutely no background in physics, I was still able to follow most of what he was referencing, and felt much more educated after leaving. 

Sometimes I don't feel like things like this actually happened, even though I have photographic evidence. 

 

And that my friends, is everything worthy of note that I have been up to lately. Now all I have to do in the next few weeks is graduate. Again. More on that in an upcoming post. 

I think I'll probably about as sweaty as Jiji from now until then. Hopefully not. 

Holy Cheese Whiz, It's Been Awhile: Travels

So I'm talking to my best guy friend the other day and he mentions that I haven't written on my blog in some time. And now looking at my five-and-a-half-minute hallway, he's absolutely correct. In order to not make everyone (and by everyone, I mean all three of you who actually read this)'s eyes bleed, I'll chop up what I've been doing for the past four months into two posts: travel and other things I've been up to.

Off we go then!

The last time I left you, I was about to travel to Berlin. Which I did, with my auntie and two friends. I saw the following:

The Berlin Zoo

The Tiergarten, Berlin's answer to Central Park 

The Victory Column. And no, I wasn't looking up her skirt. 

The Brandenburg Gate

Me in front of the Brandenburg Gate, in case you were wondering if I had just stolen these images off the Internet and claimed that I had gone to Berlin, and really hadn't.

Berlin wasn't terribly different from Rome, which I visited last year. I know about two words of German, but I tried real hard to figure things out. Apparently 70% of Berlin was bombed out during World War II (which I was not aware of before traveling there) so unfortunately, there's not a lot of historical sites left. 

I mean, there's a few historical sites left.

The most handsome historical reenactment ever.

Oh, and there's still places like this.  The Charlotteburg Palace. 

 There were a few Christmas markets still up, with fun things like marzipan potatoes.

One of our cab drivers asked us how long we were staying in the city, and when we told him, he said, "Bah, you only need two to three days to see everything." We were there for six days, and I don't think we covered everything, even though we did see quite a bit of the city. 

And this is my boyfriend, Igel. He's a Berliner, and only speaks German. 

I was also fortunate to visit New York recently. I stayed at a super mod-60s-esque hotel that made me feel like I wasn't quite cool enough to stay there, but I think I might have been able to pull it off once the weekend was over. 

See? Here's proof. Sort of. 

I planned my trip around a project I've done for my publishing class this term on Harriet the Spy. Louise Fitzhugh's classic is celebrating its 50th year of publication, and there have been quite a few events to celebrate all things Harriet. 

Harriet swag, say whaaaaat?

I was fortunate enough to see Louise's original illustrations and the synopsis of Harriet through the kindness of the people at the Eric Carle Museum in Amherst about a month prior to go to New York. (If you're interested, these illustrations, plus the illustrations from the sequel, The Long Secret, will be on display soon; check them out!)

But I based my trip to see two fantastic authors, Rebecca Stead and Gregory Maguire, along with children's literature critic and historian, Leonard Marcus, give a talk on Harriet and their experiences with the book. All three of them, in fact, have essays in the Random House 50th anniversary edition of the book, as seen above. 

Okay, it's a little fuzzy, but it's them, I swear.

All three had very unique experiences with the book (Gregory even brought in one of his old spy journals, much like Harriet's) and the crowd was attentive and I had a great time. Afterward, I was able to talk with all three (and get them to sign my copy of Harriet, yeah!) and it was interesting to speak with each of them individually. I think I scared Leonard, but I was sort of gushing about having read his book for my publishing class and how I was doing my project around Harriet, and maybe I came on a little too strong.

Rebecca was incredibly nice and when I told her I was a MFA student at Simmons, she was so supportive and listened to everything I had to say. I've sort of been in a funk with my writing lately, and since I'm trying to prep it to send out for agent representation, I'm in a weird mood about it and trying to work with what I've got. But Rebecca told me (and signed my book with the same words), "Keep writing!" And it was so simple and perfect at the same time. The way she said it and the way she didn't make me feel a fool with the major fangirling that I was doing, it made me feel a lot better about my writing.

Gregory was really funny and told me that he appreciated a Simmons student coming to the panel. I almost passed out (similar to when I met MT Anderson and Don Rosa in the past) when Gregory told me to tell my professor hello. Part of my mind was screaming at me, "WHAT IS HAPPENING? THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE! WHO ARE YOU THAT GREGORY MAGUIRE CASUALLY TELLS YOU TO TELL YOUR PROFESSOR 'HELLO'?" Thankfully I did not pass out and was able to graciously tell him that I would certainly pass along such an important message.

After grabbing a New York slice (well, duh, what else was I going to eat?) and deciding to visit the New York Public Library, where Leonard had curated an exhibit on children's books, The ABC of It: Why Children's Books Matter, I hailed a cab and headed to the library. 

A first edition of Harriet. 

An illustration from the Wizard of Oz.

Alice, whose neck seems to be growing…

When there is a reproduction of the car from The Phantom Tollbooth, you sure as hell get into it, no matter how goofy you look.

After I left the library, I had some time to kill before I had to dash off to catch the evening performance of Newsies (and you all know my love for Newsies) so I headed back to my hotel. I got a bite to eat at a diner around the corner from my hotel, then went and got ready for the show.

I had a pretty good seat, because I'm an adult…and the King of New York. 

The show was amazing and I had a fantastic time. The dancing was spectacular and the songs that they added in that weren't in the original movie were fun. After the show, I bummed around Times Square for a bit, then went back to the hotel for the night. 

The next day, I didn't have anything planned before I had to go back to the bus station, so I decided to visit my woolly mammoth skeleton pal at the American Museum of Natural History, because why not? I had thought about this a few times over the course of the weekend, but I wasn't on anyone's schedule, and it was a good feeling. I could literally do whatever I wanted, and I wanted to see the woolly mammoth skeleton. 

So I did.

There were quite a bit of children at the AMNH (YOUTHS!) so I hung out there for a bit, then went to the Port Authority and headed back to Boston. All in all, a wonderful, wonderful weekend. 

And so ends my tale about my travels. More to come with what else I've been up to lately. 

Wrap Up 2013

Hey-ho folks. I realized that I have not blogged in quite some time, and though I've been busy, it's now the holidays, so I should at least try to put in some effort, right?

Anyway, here's what I've been up to since the last time I was around:

I'm one step closer to obtaining my MFA. This past semester was tough. There's no way around it. Between having a full-time job (more on that later), and balancing school and life, it was an uphill battle. But as always, I made it through, maybe a bit more worn for the wear, but with a better appreciation for my writing and for how things usually work out for the best when I don't procrastinate. TIME MANAGEMENT, AMIRITE?

But that being said, I muddled through my first mentorship, and unfortunately was not able to spend as much time on my manuscript as I wanted. However, I did get some good editing in, and my novel is definitely shaping up. Hopefully I can start querying soon, and maybe by this time next year, I'll be on my way to having my name in print.

The other big thing that happened was I started my new job. I finally feel like an adult, much like this:

I'M AN ADULT.

Just kidding. But having a job that actual pertains to what I went to school for has been a big relief, and made me very grateful that I was at the right place at the right time. Plus my swanky job title gives me some bragging rights among my friends...but I'm pretty sure they're all tired of me by now.

I did some traveling during these past few months. I visited Chicago, which was a blast. 

See? Chicago. Also I'm aware of the hipster-y nature of the filter on this photo. Thank you, Instagram.

Also, just for good measure:

Woolly mammoth, at the Field Museum. If you have a mammoth skeleton in your city, I will find it. 

And now I am off to do some more traveling. I'll be jet-setting back to California for a hot minute, then off to Berlin. I've very excited.

Other thing worthy of note that I've done in the past few months:

Moved into a new apartment and managed to not burn it down whilst my roommate was away:

View from our terrace. That's right, terrace. We're classy like that.

And now 2014 is almost upon us, and with it, a whole new set of adventures. Huzzah! 

Ode to Hummus

A quick poem, taken from a real life conversation. 

Ode to Hummus

he asked do you like hummus 
he was making a big pot of it that night i might have too much of it soon
of course i like hummus i replied

i love hummus and so does my roommate
we eat it with spoons
on nothing
or with everything
like it's pudding or ice cream
so yes i do
what kind of question is that

some people don't like hummus he said
i'm not some people i replied

I'm Finished!

No, I did not just murder someone, a la Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood. 

(Quick digression, the novel on which this movie is based on, Oil! by Upton Sinclair, is waayy different than the movie, for those of you who haven't read it. I have read it, and it's a massive behemoth of yes, oil drilling, but also college life and politics of the 1920s in Southern California,  human emotions and the satire thereof, and many other things. It's an interesting read, but not anything you can finish in one afternoon.)

But! (see what I did there?) I do have one thing in common with this final scene of the movie.

I'm finished.

With what? you may ask.

The answer to that, my friends, is the first draft of my novel. Now, for many of you, who are also writers, this may not seem like a big deal. I know people who can whip out manuscripts and toss them around like flapjacks. Maybe these manuscripts are a little crispy, like burned pancakes, but they're tangible, they exist, and their smell sort of waifs through the house until you open all the windows or turn on a fan.

I'm getting off topic.

I am done with the first official draft of my novel. Bits and pieces have found their way onto this blog, but nothing substantial, because really, before now, there wasn't much to call substantial. Gather round, everyone, and I will tell you the tale of my novel, and how it's been a long and arduous journey, but one that will pay off...eventually.

Picture this:

A thirteen year old girl has a dream one night. It's filled with snakes and pink water, and a red balloon. She wakes up the next day and thinks, "Hey, that'd make a good story." Now up until then, the girl had written things, stories and poems, but this dream inspires in her something that is more than just one story; this idea is good enough to be a novel. The big one. The one that will make her famous.

So the girl sets out to write her novel. (Side note, this all took place during the last century - yes, yes, I'm sort of admitting to my age, no matter - and there will be mentions of things that are not commonplace nowadays.) She does not have a computer, so a notebook will have to do. Much like the notebooks from Harriet the Spy, the girl uses a composition notebook with the word "Private" written on the cover:

From the 1996 Nickelodeon feature film. See? Private. This means you keep out. 

And the girl writes, creating characters and places that exist only in her imagination, but are real to her. Because her dream left quite a few plot holes, the girl fills them with new ideas, each idea seemingly better than the next. One notebook is filled and so she moves on to another one. She hides the notebooks when they are at home. She does not want anyone to see her writing until it was completed, and she is devastated to find her notebooks out in plain view when she returns from school one day. Alarmed that someone read what was in them, ignoring the "Private" label on the front, she brings the notebooks with her to school,  scribbling away whenever she can, wanting to devote all of her spare time to the novel. 

It turns into an obsession, and it is if the notebooks call to her when she is away. Her edits, in purple pen, become messy, and she realizes that she is she is to continue, she must start typing her novel. 

Enter typewriter #1.

  Just for reference, in case you didn't know what one of these contraptions are. 

The typewriter she uses is big and clunky, but it gets the job done (and looks a little different than the one in the picture above). There's even an option to erase the text, similar to the delete button on a computer. The girl keeps writing, the pages of her novel growing. 

And then, disaster sets in. The typewriter runs out of tape, and she does not know where she can get some more. After inquires to her grandmother (who at some point or another, owned the machine) and looking at local stores, she finds that she can purchase the tape at her local Sears store, a very unlikely venue. A new cartridge purchased, she sets off at a galloping pace to keep on writing. 

The girl has now reached high school, and has moved to a new city. In the midst of the move, the typewriter was thrown out, and she must resort to using her notebooks again, as she still does not have the use of a computer. Solace comes during her sophomore year, when upon a search for supplies in her math teacher's cabinets, she finds a typewriter, similar to her grandmother's but even more aged. The teacher allows her to take it home, and renewed by this, the progress of her novel continues. 

Alas, she runs into the same issue as she had with the previous machine, and the tape runs out. A visit to her local Sears store results in an embarrassing interaction with a sales clerk who informs her that the tape for her typewriter is no longer being produced. Not shut down so easily, she journeys to other stores, and finds a treasure trove of cartridges at Wal-Mart. Several cartridges are purchased as back-up and her novel finds life again. 

This continues on for the next few years, her schedule becoming more and more packed, filled with basketball games and practices, student government activities, homework, and as graduation approaches, she finds less time to write. The pages that she has written are stuffed in a binder under her bed, hidden again from the world to see. Thus far, it is been her eyes only that have seen the words on the page. Others know of her ambition to write, that the role of writer is her chosen profession, and some have even been lucky enough to hear what the novel is about, but they have not seen what it is that she has to offer. 

Graduation comes and goes, and the girl goes off to college. Now, she has a computer all her own, and with piles of pages and pages, she sets upon transferring all of her hand and typewritten pages to a more convenient, electronic source.  The story at this point has changed multiple times, with characters bouncing in and out, and plot lines created, taken out, and created again. She gets everything saved onto the computer, and thinks to herself that maybe it is time that others see her work. She takes a writing workshop and for the first time, shows her novel, her baby, to more or less, a group of strangers. 

Some like the work; others don't understand it. Others rip it apart and if they had physically handed her the pieces of paper back, it would have had the same affect on her. All the same, she takes into consideration some of their suggestions, rejecting others, and edits, edits, edits. 

Disaster strikes again, when her hard drive crashes during her junior year, and she loses everything. Not one word for the saved draft can be resurrected, and she feels not unlike Michael Douglas's character in Wonder Boys, Grady Tripp, when his literary agent, Terry Crabtree, loses Grady's 1000-plus page manuscript. 

Tossed to the wind. Gone. 

Though her manuscript is not nearly as long, the pain of losing literally years of work is not a pain that goes away easily. After the procurement of an external hard drive and the acceptance that she will have to start off not quite at square one, but pretty damn close, the girl sets about writing another draft of her novel. 

She takes another writing workshop during her tenure as an undergraduate, and the piece is met with more positive response. Enthralled by this, she decides that she would like to pursue a MFA degree in creative writing after graduation. She believes that perhaps her manuscript will get more recognition and perhaps even get published. She's dabbled in a few other stories, beginning another novel or two, but this is the story that keeps calling her back, the one whose characters don't allow her to relax, their voices constantly calling at her to come play with them, to write their story. Even when other things have distracted her, when life has gotten in the way, these are the characters that she always returns to.  

Several applications and rejections later, the girl is not accepted into any of the graduate MFA programs, and is distraught. Her back-up plan, to get a MA in English Literature does pan out, and she travels to Boston to fulfill her dreams in another way. 

This time in school, however, life is much more of a distraction, and her novel sits quiet, unfinished, unfulfilled. Her friends have other dreams and don't quite understand hers. The novel is set aside and waits for her to return to it. 

Her graduate degree complete, the girl returns home to a life that she does not desire. It is filled with real-world problems, and she spirals down into despair of what her life has become. Her novel is not even a thought in her mind, as she comes home from a job every day that she despises and instead of writing, it is the television that she turns to. 

After some time, the girl decides that she must change this, that her writing must be continued, that her novel must be finished. Her novel, as well as the city of Boston, have been calling her, and so, she applies once again to a MFA writing program and is accepted. Spurred by this, she begins writing again, really writing, and focusing on her novel; her characters glad to see her come back.

She returns to Boston, with a fresh start, with more ambition, and decides that big changes are in store. Surrounded by like-minded people, she finds new friends with similar ambitions, and feels more at ease. The novel goes through more edits, more changes, and is workshopped again. She makes it her goal to finish this novel, and whether it is good, bad, or ugly, it will be completed. She sets time to write, make it a priority, and enlists the help of one of her good friends to stay on schedule, and to make deadlines for herself.

The summer is almost at a close, and the girl has just finished her novel. It is the first complete draft, and though it is very different from where the story began thirteen years ago, and will probably change several more times, the girl can now show her work to the outside world, and perhaps one day, hopefully soon, someone will find merit in her work and she will have her name on her book on a shelf in a bookstore. 

There you have it, my friends. The story of how it's taken me thirteen years to finish my novel. Now I can start the querying process, which will bring along its own set of issues, but at least I can say that I have a completed manuscript, and not just a work in progress. 

This is definitely how I felt when I finished writing.

How I've Discovered That I May Be a Long Lost Relative of the Cookie Monster From Trying to Eat a Muffin on the T in a Classy Manner

*Disclaimer: If you came to this post thinking that it would be about something else, I would like to state for the record: GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER. I had to say something up front, because I know how people think.*

Unlike every other day when I commute to work, when I'm running a little bit behind (I set my clocks early, 'cause I know I'm always late is basically the story of my life), recently I had ample time to stop at Panera Bread and get breakfast. Now if you know me, I'm addicted to the pumpkin muffins that they have there. (Luckily my roommate is too, so she understands the insatiable cravings for these things.)

 

It's not sugar on top, it's crack. My roommate and I are convinced. 

After grabbing a delicious muffin and a cup of coffee, I made my way to the T. At this time, it was still early enough so that there weren't too many people waiting at the stop. 

(Quick tangent, and please, if you've experienced this, tell me. If I get on the D line at say ten minutes to eight am, there's plenty of space, and I'm golden for the entire ride. If I get on anytime less than ten minutes to eight, or God forbid, any time between eight and eight-ten, then I'm stuck between some person who bathes by using garlic as soap, an old woman carrying a ferret, and a group of prima donna ballerinas who somehow take up way more space than should be physically possible and think that is customary to violently shove people out of the way when they're exiting the train - seriously though, who the hell are these little girls and where do they come from? I swear they multiply when they're on the train, because they start off in a group of two or three, and by the time they leave, there's like seven of them. So it's that weird ten-ish minute gap in which I will arrive at work calm and collected, or sweaty and looking like I just sprinted from the Pru to the office. End tangent.)

Luckily, I had not reached the witching hour, so when I got on the train, I was able to get a seat to myself, there wasn't anyone hogging elbow room or standing directly in front of me with their crotch in my face (as people are wont to do), the car I was in had air conditioning, and all was well. I had my muffin and I was happy. 

Things should have been fine. Except when I started eating, things most definitely were not. After several minutes of trying to juggle my coffee and shove the muffin in my face, I decided that there is no classy way for me to eat a muffin on the T. Hypothetically, eating a muffin shouldn't take more than both hands (or even more than one hand) because muffins are:

• compact
• relatively small in size (unless it's this muffin, but if you're trying to eat this muffin, then you probably have other issues you should worry about) 

But if you're me, then you end up looking like you're on drugs or like you're a relative of this guy.

I believe he may be an uncle on my father's side. 

So if you found a large pile of muffin crumbs on a green line train at some point last week, sorry, that was me. 

The Long and Short of It Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Hair (Sort Of)

My hair has gone through many different evolutions. It's been long, it's been short, it's been somewhere in between, it's been black, it's been brown, it's been purple (no lie). It's been a tough road, trying to figure out what I can stand about my hair, and what I will never, ever do again (probably the purple, but you never know). So, for your amusement, is a brief history of my hair.

This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandparents. Grandpa and Granny circa 1984. 

Clearly, that is not me in the photo above, but is for reference. My Granny has great hair. Dark and curly, it was the kind of hair that I dreamed I had when I was a kid. Now, all you curly-haired folks out there, hear me out before you jump on me for not understanding the pains of having curly hair. I do not have curly hair, nor will I ever have curly hair. My Granny, who is in her seventies, still has these massive curls and looks twenty years younger than what she really is, and is frequently asked for her driver's license because people don't believe that she is old enough to get the senior special when we're eating out. 

She doesn't look a day over 35.

Anyway, Granny has the hair I aspired to have when I was younger, and instead was stick with some straight-haired madness that my family didn't know what to do with. My Granny, at her wit's end, apparently used to tape bows onto my head because people would assume that I was a little boy, and for some reason, this bothered her. Funny how twenty-six years later, people still sometimes assume that I'm a guy because of the length of my hair. Granny still despairs at this assumption, and the length of my hair. 

Yeah, I didn't have a lot going on up top. I think we still have that watering can. 

Finally, my hair grew and the heavens (and Granny) rejoiced. For several years, I had long hair. Like, I could almost sit on it long hair. I sort of remember having hair that long, but since I've not had it that long ever since I was kid, these are just vague memories.

I guess Granny still was in the "let's slap a bow on her head" phase. Don't I give off a Webby from DuckTales vibe?

Twins, right? 

Proof that I had long hair at some point. It wasn't quite long enough for me to sit on here, but still pretty long. Also, check out my Grandpa rocking the socks and sandals look. 

When I about to start kindergarten, Granny and Grandpa worried that my hair would become too much of a hassle to take care of/become a magnet for glue, gum, all the gross stuff that kids manage to sneak into the classroom when the teacher is not looking, so I got my first official hair cut. Grandpa took me to a salon down the street (which I occasionally go to when I'm at home) and I got my hair cut into a bob. Which I had for seven years. All the bob. All the time. 

This is the sort-of bob. I was six or seven here, as evidenced by my awesome Nala from The Lion King (1994) ensemble.  My crush on JTT was probably in full swing at this point. 

I didn't mind the bob. It was short-ish, but if I needed to do something to it (curl it, crimp it, etc.) for special occasions, I could. Though I was mistaken for a boy several times from about nine to twelve. Hey, it was the 90s, and I knew boys that did have hair about the same length as mine.   

I played basketball from 5th through 12th grade, and my hair was long enough to slap in a ponytail, though the length of my hair changed drastically throughout junior and high school. When I was in 7th grade, I decided that I was going to grow my hair out. I don't know why I made this decision, but I wanted long hair. This was a big deal. I was old enough to take care of my own hair, so I set about growing my hair out. 

Not that I had to wait long. My hair has Chia Pet-like qualities, and I swear it grows at twice the rate as a normal human being (which is about half an inch a month, in case you were wondering). Unfortunately, I don't have photos on hand to showcase that awkward time of my life - ahem - but I had long-ish hair for about three years, until I was a sophomore in high school, and I said enough was enough, and away the hair went. My friends were astonished that I could so easily part with my hair, but really it was more of the fact that I didn't have the time to blow dry my hair every morning, and having to deal with so much hair bothered me. 

I had a medium-length bob for a few years, not really committing to having short hair. One of my friends nicknamed me "Shaggy" (as in Shaggy from Scooby-Doo). 

I think even Shaggy himself is confused by the comparison. 

White Oleander was big when I was in high school, and I loved Alison Lohman's hair in it (after she chops it all off) and I literally went to a hair dresser with this picture and said, "I want this."

 I thought (and still think) that she was the coolest. 

Me, on the other hand...well, maybe not quite as cool. 

After doing the medium bob thing, I cut my hair a lot shorter before I headed off to college. It was fun having hair that short for the first time, and I really took to it, keeping it that way until my sophomore year. Of course, I also did this to it during freshman year:

Manic Panic was the best, right?  Don't lie, you know what I'm talking about. 

My hair made it through freshman and sophomore year without any drastic changes (other than the purple) and at some point during sophomore year, I decided to grow my hair out again, and thus began the crazy lengths melee of 2006 - 2008. 

Right, then, off we go: 

2006. Not drunk, I promise. 

Still 2006. Don't mind the crazy eyes. 

2007 at some point. The hair is getting longer...

Mid to late-ish 2007. This was the longest my hair had been in years. 

Winter 2007. You can't tell where my hair stops and the chair that I'm sitting in starts because there's so much of my hair.

Early 2008. 

Now I will admit, I liked all the things that I could do with my hair. Fortunately I had a friend at the time that was willing to crazy things with my hair like the style pictured above, because I have limited hair styling skills. I had long-ish hair for most of 2008, and then it got to the point where I couldn't handle it anymore again. Granted, sometimes I wish that I had hair this long again to be able to do fun stuff with it, but then I remember how much upkeep it is, and I'd rather do other things, like bake several dozen cookies or solve world peace in the time that it would take for me to manage that hair. 

Off my hair went in mid 2008, after donating it, and I was back to the short 'do. 

Similar to what I had before, but not. 

I kept my hair like this for most of 2008 and 2009, and I was fine with it. 

See? I could style it...to an extent. 

Then mid 2009 hit, and I hate saying this, but right before I was going to graduate from college, I broke up with my then-boyfriend. And not that it should have mattered, because it's not like it was the romance of the century or anything, but I needed to shake things up, because I was still waiting to hear back from the grad schools I had applied to and I didn't know where I was going to be in a year, and I felt like I needed to take control of my life. So what did I do? I got a new hair cut. (Though I'm in no way saying, "Hey, your life's lousy? A new hair cut will make you feel better." At the time, it just did help me feel better about my situation.)

I have as much hair on my head as I do with my two eyebrows, but whatever. 

I thought my Granny was going to kill me. She couldn't get over how short I cut it. All my Grandpa said was, "It makes you look taller. Whatever makes you happy, baby." (It took a lot to shock my Grandpa.) I kept my hair at this length for the rest of the year and until I went off to grad school. Short it was, and short it was staying. 

Of course, I did manage to make it even shorter than in the last photo, but I was also on the opposite side of the country where Granny couldn't hunt me down: 

Most manageable hair cut ever. No blow dryer necessary. 

My hair was buzzed like this for several cold Boston months - yeah, I probably shouldn't have decided to cut my hair in the middle of winter, but you live and you learn. It was a blast having my hair like this, and it made me feel both really feminine and tough as nails. 

Probably because in my mind I looked like this. My fav, Tank Girl. 

Since then, I've kept my hair short, but not as short as that last photo, save for a brief stint, where I started to grow my hair out again, but then had a friend of mine say that I looked like Martha Washington, and I cut it again. I've also had my hair compared and compared my own hair to Justin Bieber's and Ralph Macchio's (circa The Karate Kid). 

Now don't finish reading this post and think that I'm a bitch because I've been lucky enough to hack and slash my hair off for years, when some people don't have that luxury. I get it - I'm very fortunate to have Chia-Pet-head. I just wish that occasionally it wouldn't turn into the jungle from Jumanji, namely when I get up in the morning and I'm trying to get to work on time.