A change is as good as a rest

After I wrote yesterday's entry, I felt pretty stupid. Like, way to bitch endlessly about being, of all things, cold. Seriously, that's my biggest problem? That I'm tired of winter? Oh, fucking woe is me.

So I had a talking to with myself. "Self," I said. "It's damned BORING being depressed. It's time to sack up, ho, and move on. There will be a MINIMUM of emo angst and a MAXIMUM of cute new hair cuts."

And that's what I decided to do. Because what I really needed was a change of some sort. I needed to shake things up. And thus, a long afternoon of consulting with girlfriends and figuring out hairstyles commenced. I began with an announcement over Twitter. Soon Stephanie linked to this photo and it gave me some pause. Because despite being in the clutches of cracked out Scientologists, I've always though Katie Holmes is quite pretty. And she looks super cute in that haircut right there. Could I possibly pull that off? I mean, I'm no Katie Holmes, that's for damn sure. And it was so short. I haven't had hair that short in ages.

I consulted Sarah via GChat. "BOB IT," was her immediate suggestion.

Still, I hesitated. I have a vivid memory of the last time I seriously chopped my hair. I was dating 80s at the time. It was Valentine's day and on a whim I asked the hair dresser to cut my hair to chin-length. I was feeling cute, and looking forward to my date that night, hoping that 80s would like it. But he didn't. His reaction was less than favorable. I believe his exact words were, "Why did you get my mother's haircut?!"

It was a tense Valentine's Day, to say the least. I felt wretched for days, until QK and Becky gave me (and 80s as well, I suspect) a talking-to.

So I worried. What if getting short hair gave me pig-face? What if I looked like an ugg-o? What if short hair was a mom haircut?

But I couldn't chicken out. Because regardless if it looked good or bad, I had to do something. I was tired of my same old hair cut. Blah, blah, blah. Worst case, I would wear headbands for awhile. And my hair grows fast.

Mustering up courage, I took the Katie Holmes picture to the stylist. Her eyes lit up. "You're doing something drastic!" She peered at the photo and squinted at me, lifting my locks and examining them critically.

"Your hair won't look like hers," she told me. "Your hair grows differently, so it won't lay quite like that. But I know what you want. We'll make it piece-y and fun. Flirty. Layers." She spun the chair, turning me to consider me from all angles. She lifted a lock of hair and indicated with her fingers where she would cut. She caught my eye in the mirror and lifted her eyebrows as if to ask if it was OK.

"Do it," I told her. "Balls to the wind, do it now before I change my mind." And with that, she snipped.

When she was finished, the stylist next to her gasped. "You look like a completely different person," she told me.



I sort of can't believe I did it. That photo doesn't give a good indication, but there are lots of little flirty layers. My hair is so short, I can't pull it up into a pony tail. Washing it for the first time this morning, I put far too much shampoo in my hair out of habit, and half of it ran down my back, having nowhere else to go. Styling my hair this morning was also an experience. I had no idea how to get my round brush around such short tresses, and there was a lot of contorting and fumbling with the hair dryer. I'm sure the cats were laughing at me.

The reaction so far has been quite favorable. Most people say that I look younger, that it suits me, that it makes my face thinner. And you know what I have now, guys? A jaw line! I sort of forgot that I had one!

Still waiting for Brisket's reaction. He's bogged down all week with midterms, so I won't see him until the weekend at the earliest. I texted him last night, "I HOPE YOU LIKE SHORT HAIR BECAUSE I GOT MINE CUT AND THERE'S NO GOING BACK." He texted me back that he does indeed like short hair and that he was sure I looked wonderful.

It's not you, it's me

Every year I get this way.

I get in a funk. I get...icky.

Winter is still here. It's still goddamned February, shortest month of the year that somehow manages to feel the longest.

Everything is cold. Nothing is growing or changing. The ground is hard and unyielding.

I hate being cold. I'm sick of being stuck in frumpy sweaters and bulky coats. I'm tired of static electricity zapping me every time I try to pet the cats or touch a light switch. I'm irritated at my dry itchy skin and my sore chapped lips.

I am sick of my own damn self. I am crawling out of my skin.

Everything seems so monotonous and unsatisfying.

The past couple years I've had school to distract me from this feeling. Classes and busy work that I need to plunge into, push through and force myself to move and act. This year? I'm independently working on my thesis. And given my mood, I am lacking in motivation right now to do anything. I am lethargic.

I want to hibernate. I want to hide under my covers and not come out until it's warm and the sun lures me out.

I've been sleeping more lately, going to bed earlier and waking later. My sleep is restless and I wake anxiously in the middle of the night, my pajamas and covers twisted and binding me.

I had a dream last night. I was in England. Kelly was with me. We were sharing a flat. When we opened our windows, the salty smell of the ocean blew in and we were invigorated by it. We sat on our balcony, eating bread and cheese, watching boats pass by on the water. Tree branches hung over us, green leaves gently waving in the breeze. We were talking about boys, Christopher and Brisket, laughing.

I woke up completely disappointed that dream was not my reality.

Obligitory Oscar Post!

Remember how last year I, like, cleaned up all over the place taking Oscar pools for all they were worth? This year I didn't do so hot. I think I got 13 right in my predictions, while Gary got a whopping 17 correct, much to his delight. He kept shoving his ballot in my face and making self-satisfied "Hmmmmm" noises. Bastard.

Anyway.



So, Hugh Jackman. He's not my boyfriend Jon Stewart by any means, but he was fine. I wasn't overly wowed by him, but on the same hand I didn't think he was horrible either. He got the job done, basically. I did really enjoy his opening number though.



A confession about Anne Hathaway: I kind of like her. I didn't see Rachel Getting Married, but I heard from Stephanie that she knocked it out of the park in that role. And considering how crazy her personal life was in the past year, I think she's handled it all really well and is pretty classy. I really dug her doing the number with Jackman.



Debbie loved that Jackman "brought Broadway to Hollywood," as she put it, but I hated this number. It seemed really out of place, choppy, and contained far too much Zac Efron. Actually, the entire Oscar telecast featured too much Zac Efron. I just didn't get this bit or how it related given that there were only two musical movies this year (Mama Mia and High School Musical 3), neither of which were nominated for anything.



Generally I'm not a Ben Stiller fan. But this was hilarious. Come on. And Natalie Portman, I love you, but please eat a sandwich or twelve.

When it came to presenting the acting awards, I was torn about how the did them this year. On one hand, it was sweet to see past winners singling out the nominees and giving them each personal kudos. However, I thought some people got better speeches than others. And, I really missed seeing clips of their work. And it also went on forever.



YAY! I am, across the board, a huge Kate Winslet fan. I think she is just so rad. Aside from being ridiculously talented and gorgeous, she also comes across as incredibly clever, sincere, and normal. I sort of want to be Kate Winslet. I'm glad she finally got her Oscar and I loved her speech, especially when she had her Dad whistle to her and then she elatedly waved to him. She's fantastic.



Oh, I am so glad Slumdog Millionaire won. I saw it this past Monday with Kelly and just loved it. Months and months ago, before it was on anyone's radar, the Doc saw a screening of it and then told me it would win. I was skeptical because I hadn't even heard of it. Even Brisket was like, nope, we're not even going to screen it here at the KOP theater, it's too indie for anyone to care about. But WOW. How great to be wrong, and how awesome for an Indian film, half done in Hindi for crying out loud, to win. I'm so pleased.

All in all, I enjoyed this year's Oscar's. Deb's Annual Oscar party helped get me out of this "winter of discontent" attitude I've been in for the past week and a half, but next year I think I would like to be more low-key with my Oscar plans -- some wine, popcorn and a few catty friends. Who's in?

ETA: I also agree with everything said by Joe here.

Happy Valentine's

I say it every year: No matter if you're single or attached, today's a day to appreciate the people in your life you love. And when you stack it up, I've been very lucky in love.

I'm spending Valentine's Day on the couch, hungover, with kitties and movies.

For me, I want to give special shout outs to Renee and Maggie (who are hopefully having romantic days!) and Sarah Rose (who got me hammered last night).

I love you all. Have a wonderful day.

11th Annual Chinese New Year

Let's get all the self-esteem malaise off the top of the page, shall we?

The pictures from this year's Chinese New Year didn't come out nearly as well as last year's (and I didn't take as many), but it was still a good time:



Emma says, "Gong Xi Fa Cai!"







Tammi is waving to say, "We took over the entire restaurant again." Seriously. We had 82 people attend this year. Amazing!



Because there are so many of us taking over the establishment, the line for getting food was extremely long. Above, Sarah is reduced to tears at her inability to reach the spring rolls.



Sam won the grand prize drawing and received a gift certificate to Mandrin. If he wasn't in France right now I'd be buttering him up so that he'd take me out to dinner there.



One last photo of Emma, leader and organizer of the lunch!

More photos here.

Security

Brisket: Tell me!

Me: No, don't worry about it.

Brisket: Come on. How am I supposed to secure you if you won't tell me?

Me: [pause] Because it's not your job to secure me. These are my insecurities and my hang ups and therefore its my job to get over them.

Brisket: I could help. I could, you know, reassure you, or whatever.

Me: You could. And I would believe you for about 2 hours and then go back to my hang ups.


==

Brisket and I had this conversation the other night whilst cuddling. I forget how we got to this particular point in the discussion, but the main point is this: I confessed to having a great number of insecurities about myself and concerning him.

I know that these insecurities, for the most part, are ridiculous and nonsensical. Like, how I think he must be imagining he's with someone else when he's with me. Someone prettier and thiner.

And before you all start yelling at me in comments, I KNOW. I AM FULLY AWARE THAT THIS IS ABSURD AND MISGUIDED AND I AM A BEAUTIFUL FLOWER, OR WHATEVER. I know it's stupid and so wrong you could sing about it. This is why I refused to tell Brisket about this particular doubt. It's wrong. I know it's wrong. And yet, I slip into this insecurity like a comfortable sweatshirt. I'm so used to feeling that way, that when confronted with someone who obviously thinks I am pretty, sexy, and rad that I must question it instead of taking it at face value.

I've talked about this before. And I promise you all I am really trying to work on this about myself. To develop more confidence in my abilities, in my looks, in who I am.

I'm writing about this now, because I feel like I've reached a pivotal point in my life, where many aspects are finally coming together. I feel like I am on the brink of some major awesome. But I also feel like this major awesome is dependent on me and the ability to assert and believe in myself.

It began at Imbolc. At one point in the ritual we were invited to go to Brigit's well, dip our hands in and purify ourselves. Then, if we felt the need, we could go to Brigit herself and seek guidance. There were two Brigits present at this point - one for healing and one for inspiration. I sought inspiration first and then sought healing. When it was my turn, the healing Brigit held out her arms to me and drew me close.

"And YOU," she said, pulling me closer, "You are so strong and don't even realize it. You have to remember that you are perfect, in and of yourself. The Gods and Goddesses created you and made you perfect. To deny this is not only to deny yourself, but also them. Relax in your own being. Trust in your perfect self. Do what you need to do to be healthy and happy, but remember that you are perfect. Trust in this."

Well, I don't know what Brigit said to other people that night, but what she said to me was right fuckin on with what I needed to hear.

CUT TO yesterday Mikey Likes It and I getting into a conversation about, of all things, cosplay. He kept on insisting I could pull off a Silk Spectre. He was being so adorable in that guy-friend way by trying to tell me that I had a nice bust line for the costume without sounding like he had been checking out my boobs. At which point I noted that while I may have a good-sized chest, what is below the chest prevents me from wearing the costume, namely, my fat roll. He sighed at me heavily, "Katie," he told me, "you need to take a hatchet to that insecurity tree of yours."

CUT TO today on the phone with QK having a reading. We were on the topic of Brisket and she was encouraging me to keep it light and fun, just like we have been. "What is important for you to get out of this, is the confidence and the boost to self-esteem he is giving you. Which you needed." She paused for a minute as if listening to someone else whispering. "And for god's sake, use it. Drink it in and believe in it. Like, he's not lying to you. Stop being so...negative about yourself." She spat the last three words out as if they tasted bad. It was as if she had been there for our conversation and knew exactly what had passed between us.

I think the universe is trying to tell me something. And I'll be damned if I don't listen.

Comments disabled because yes, I KNOW. I am working on it. This post is part of me trying to work on it.

After Imbolc

Attending Imbolc was sort of last minute for me. I had completely spaced on it, not realizing that the ritual had come upon us so soon. It was only because of a text message from Nina that I realized it was on Friday and thank heavens I didn't have any plans, because Imbolc was the only Sabbat I had not yet attended and the one I wanted to attend the most.

Given that my family's heritage is Irish, I feel a special affinity with Brigid, and given that this is a ritual devoted to her, I've wanted to attend this one especially. However, lately at rituals I've felt slightly stunted. I don't really want to get into it — This blog is not the place to hammer out my shit with the way things are run by a group that I'm not technically a part of, nor is it my place to really complain, because, again I'm not on the Inner Path (...yet) — but I haven't been responding as well as I had in the past, is the point. So I was slightly divided. There was a particular way I wanted feel, a certain level of energy I wanted to experience, and given they way I felt at Samhain, Mabon, and Lughnasadh, I wasn't optimistic about achieving it. On the other hand, I also knew that I should go into the ritual open and free, etc.

So you can imagine my surprise when I did, for the most part, achieve the level of energy and release that I needed. The ritual wasn't perfect, but it worked for me and I felt, for the most part, that the energy was allowed to develop and peak naturally.

Brigid is the goddess of inspiration, creativity, and healing. All things I can get behind and all things I need. Happy Imbolc!