salon results

Ok. Let's all just admit that the blog is dying. Its life is slowly seeping out of it in a way that reminds me of my old beta fish, who eventually committed suicide by jumping out of his (or her? can you tell with fish?) tank, meeting death from the soft and cushy carpet of my upstairs bedroom. Oh Shooting Star, why did you have to leave me? Was it because I kept you in a tank the size of a shot glass? Did you  not like swimming, living in, and breathing your own feces? I thought your life was good. But I guess every shooting star eventually becomes a meteor that crashes into the surface of a planet and explodes. You were only living up to your name.

...why am I talking to my dead fish? 

#ihavenofriends #jk #ihavelotsoffriends #rightguys? #hashtag

ANYway, I came back to this forsaken land of a blog because for the first time in about 7 years I went to a hair salon. And while there I realized a few things about myself. Because self-realization can happen anywhere.

So, since it's been awhile, I present another list all about me. yay.

6 Reasons why I Don't Belong in a Salon

4 points for slant rhymes

1. Mirrors 

There are mirrors everywhere in salons. Big ones hanging from the ceiling, entire walls made of mirrors, little ones hidden in drawers, decorative circular mirrors arranged in perfectly random patterns, reflective surfaces on hair dryers and chairs, sparkles in the tile, and the eyeballs of the other women sitting in their adjustable seats. No matter where you are in the salon, you can see any other person in the salon, and sometimes the lady across the street walking her kitten in a night gown. I don't want to see myself or anyone else's backward face that much. people look like completely different beings in a mirror! admit it. and then you sprain your brain trying to realize that you've never actually seen your own face and what if you don't look anything like what you think you look like and then you're in a panic attack. But at least there's a mirror there for you to see yourself having a panic attack.

2. Small Talk

There are not many things I dislike more than having to make small talk with a complete stranger who I know I'm never going to see again. I don't like telling strangers about all the gossip of my life, my opinions on having kids, where I'd put a tattoo if I had one, or the name of my favorite childhood stuffed animal. it was mr. bear for all who are interested. he had a floral suit and bow tie. Nor do I care to hear about their latest drama with waxing their armpits, what shingles is like for them, or how many times they've spilled diet coke in their car. Chatting is some people's favorite part of the salon visit. But unless you want to small talk about the ethics behind price gauging during times of natural disaster, chat about the responsibility of the West in the current turmoil between Ukraine and Russia, or gossip about the completely ridiculous nature of conspiracy theories and my utter lack of patience for those who hold to them, I am not one of those people.

3. Literature

I shouldn't even call it that, for to do so is to disgrace every single combination of words that has ever existed on any of planets known or unknown to humankind. The magazines at the salon are trashy and degrading. I mean, I like attractive men, nice clothes, and beauty products as much as the next woman, but that stuff on the coffee table is out of hand. Fortunately I found a Sotheby's catalog to thumb through instead, and came to the conclusion that I need to own a $44 million dollar home in Park City. So far I have four 1 dollar bills in my wallet. #onmyway

4. Smells

I think I about died of asphyxiation a number of times. But hey, now my hair smells like flowers. Chemically engineered flowers. mmmmmmm

5. They cut your hair

I know, this seems ridiculous. That's why I went in there, to get my hair cut. But every single time I do I really wish I hadn't. Yes, it was only 2 inches and now it feels soft and smooth, the ends aren't breaking off into my food and I no longer resemble a 78 year old broom. But its shorter. I don't like that. And I had to pay for it.

6. I don't look any different

In the end, I walk out as Rachel Weiler. I haven't suddenly been transformed into Jennifer Lawrence or Blake Lively or Jennifer Aniston, who are the women I have hair envy of. I still have a cowlick in the middle of my forehead and whispies that do whatever the heck they want. i actually have very fond and endearing feelings toward both my cowlick and whispies. for the record. but is that weird still? meh.

I am grateful for the talent and training that the stylists in salons have undergone in order to provide me with such a necessary service. I'm just going to stick to my schedule of visiting the hair school every 6 months for my semi-annual trim. That way I can just keep looking like this for the rest of my life. 

Some man is going to be very lucky. Or at least very understanding.

peace and Reeses' Puffs Cereal

rrw

someday I'll post pictures from Montana. Its just that I have over 800 of them so....

the roost of heavenly beings

There is something extremely liberating about going to a place where your phone doesn't work. It is satisfying to leave your phone on a table for 3 days and not have to charge it once because you simply have not used it. By doing so you can focus on being completely present in your real life. I think I need to do this more often-like when I go to the store. I could definitely be a little more focused and present while wandering the aisles of groceries, seeing as upon arrival home from my last visit I found 3 times as many bananas as I remember purchasing.

So yeah, find a time to leave your phone at home. Or go to a place that forces you to do so. I obviously suggest the latter, because dang there are really cool places to go see. For example, Zion National Park located in Southern Utah.

Pictures taken along the Angel's Landing trail.

It was a fantastic time, filled with private lakes, kayaking, rattlesnake hunting and killing, gourmet food, stargazing, reading, hiking, four square, fire building, rainstorms, and pushing each other off the dock. 

The company didn't hurt either.

So go away from civilization. Find your Walden and study the ants. And then come back so you can brag about the amazing time you had on the very social media you said you enjoyed leaving behind. Man, all the anemia in the world has just been cured with the irony that drips from this post. and was that such a stretch of a joke or what? i'm losing my touch. or i never had it in the first place which now that i think about it is actually the case. yeah.

Next stop? Montana.

peace and summer vacations

rrw

men and mountains

For a long time one of my favorite lines in literature was "What are men to rocks and mountains?" It adequately portrayed my view of the male population in general and I used it to make it seem like I was well read as well as a hippy. These allusions are ones that I still work to maintain in my current life, which I accomplish by throwing the peace sign up in all situations, wearing sandals to literally every social event, and carrying a book around. You know, just in case I get the sudden urge to better my mind in the middle of the meat aisle.

Anyway, the quote makes it seem like enjoying men and nature are mutually exclusive occurrences. I'm here now to adamantly declare that they are not. In fact, when combined, the result is an increased appreciation of both entities.

Did I say an increased appreciation?

Oh yeah, I did. 

Good, just checking.

I rest my case. 

peace and red beans

rrw

this is unnatural

You know why we, as humans, are designed to sleep for a good portion of the 24 hours allotted to a day? Because when we don't sleep our brains suddenly go into hyper speed and the next thing you know you've completely rearranged your class schedule, planned out your graduation, whitened your teeth, applied to a job, stared at the fish swimming in its tank for an undocumented amount of time, re-rearranged your class schedule, created a budget for your less than meager income, and written a blog post. And to think I could be dreaming of living in cotton candy clothes.

Instead I'm sitting on my couch trying to decide between a class on public ethics and one entitled "Jurisprudence." I kind of really want to take them both but they're at the same time so I guess I'll just have to talk to Hermione about getting one of those time turners and now I realize that my brain has stopped thinking in punctuation so let's just all get on board with a huge run-on sentence except I'm not good at running so I'm bagging that now.

The point is, we are meant to sleep. Obviously. And I am here at 4:49 AM going against what my body was intended to do. And I'm wearing my retainer. Which is a completely unnatural contraption.

And now here are the last 4 photos on my phone, just to satisfy your curiosity.

peace and pillows
it's time i made up with it.

rrw

by any other name

I read somewhere, at sometime, that nicknames were a sign of endearment and affection, so I take the fact that my name has been altered and built upon in a variety of ways as a good thing. Some of the names may have originated as a form of ridicule, but I still choose to take them as form of flattery. Because I am empowered and can choose to blindly assume that all who come in contact with me love me if I want to.

Anyway, I was mentally listing all the nicknames I have been given in my life. And because the only better thing I have to do than write them all down for your benefit is eat all of these chocolate covered goji berries, I'm going to exercise my multitasking ability and do both. We will follow a chronological listing.

Ages 0-5

As a toddler I liked to chew things (which my family expounded upon with song at one point), loved being strapped into a life jacket, and resembled a chubby Asian child more than anything else.

The Names:
Rach
Rachy Boo Boo
Rach-meister


Ages 10-18

Fortunately for the world there is very little documentation of my late elementary/junior high life. I was lanky and taller than most people in my grade with buck teeth and bony knees. Actually it's a real shame I can't show you what I was. It might act as a sort of handicap and excuse for my current appearance, because sometimes I just don't want to shower or put real clothes and makeup on ever. 

#innerbeauty

The Names:

Beavy
Mr. Mole Man
Ratchel
Bunny
Rachebunny
Beverly
Bon Qui-Qui


Ages 19 to Current Day

I don't have much to say about myself now except for that I really, really like dairy products.

The Names:
Ray
Ray-Ray
Momma
Momma Ray

****

At this point I wish to take a moment and acknowledge the givers of my "Momma Ray" nickname.

Even while in Turkey, they still see signs of me.

kinda

What studs.

****

Rachy Rach
Rachy
Ms. Waychel
Sneezeasaurus
Ratchet
Ratchel (revived)
Ice Queen
Rach-babe


So take your pick or make your own. I'm still waiting for someone to refer to me as Star of the Universe.
Just saying.

peace and goji berries
i don't even know what these are. they make my taste buds sing.

under God

My recent physical condition has caused all those who would call themselves my most dear to put a wide distance between me and them. I can't really blame them. I mean, when your saliva is basically radioactive, you wish you could give yourself some distance as well. In fact, I've prayed for that exact thing quite a few times in the last few days but I'm not about to get all religious on you so let's move on which i realize is ironic considering the title of the post. The point is, for the first time in my entire life, I spent the 4th of July alone. All alone. From the time of 6 pm (when my little sister left on her date and i mean what the heck why is she having success in all the places i've previously failed in life?) until...well...I'm still here alone, I have spent my time with the TV watching Will Smith save the planet over and over and over again because for some reason channels like to play Independence Day back to back to back to back on the 4th of July. That, along with the constant companionship of my strong and then stronger pain medicine, has made for quite the holiday. here's to the land of the free and the home of brave. except i'm terrified of moths so do i count as a citizen here?

Well, I finally decided to do something besides rearrange the magnets on the fridge into different faces of sadness and pain and went on a drive. I put my thinking music on and went up the canyon as everyone else was driving down i do what i want and just thought. I thought about a lot of things, like whether or not I was even allowed to be driving with certain medication that may or may not have been in my system. I thought about the first time I drove all the way up that canyon and my best friend almost threw up on me, the happy news my family just received, how many pounds of mashed potatoes I've eaten in my life, and whether or not I'll ever return to Provo.

Then I reached the top, parked the car, got out, and sat on a rock.

My thoughts changed at that point. I sat, looking at the natural skyline of the Wasatch mountains, listening to the water tumble down the canyon. The silhouettes of the pines and aspens stood out against the moon and clouds and the grasses in the meadow gently stirred and slowly danced as a cool breeze wound it's way up and down the small valley. And it hit me. That is America. That is my home. That is the land I am proud and extremely grateful to live in.

Our government and our people are not perfect. We are all corrupt, selfish, and overly opinionated. But the valleys and rivers and mountains and lakes are not. The people can be lazy and greedy and incompetent. But the coasts and forests and plains never are. If only the people of this nation could invoke as much conviction, honor, and love as my 6 minutes in the mountains did. And if we could only live to be worthy of this beautiful place.

Happy Fourth Yo.
rrw

get in the zone.

A story:

A few days back my car read as "my parents car" in case they actually read this  died. The soul of the car sputtered in resignation and forfeited on the journey through life. It left me without vehicle for a space of time, but fortunately kind people take pity on those that are truly pitiful. Finally, after reaching a point of frustration due to my lack of mobility and post-pep talk from my dad, I obtained the necessary aid to remove the battery from my car. After assuring me that we didn't have to put the heart of my car into a cooler and jump on a helicopter in order to make it to the nearby hospital where Dr. McDreamy was waiting to transplant the organ into a needy patient whoa. what tanget did i just go on? we lugged that battery to the nearest Autozone. And then we lugged it to the second nearest Autozone because the first was useless to us.

I flexed my impressive muscles as I lifted the part onto the counter for the man to inspect oh wait. the guy i was with actually carried that unbelievably heavy cube for me. also, i do mean that he was to inspect my muscles, yes. and told the man, with a level of authority and pride previously unbeknownst to my being, why I was there and what I needed. The conversation went as follows:

"I bring you the heart of my car, which is in need of repair. My vehicle is of the Nissan make and the Versa model with a manual transmission. I trust you to find the absolutely best. Go forth and do not disappoint me." 

"oh. hey there. this is my battery and it stopped working so what do i do now? also do you have sink i could wash my hands in? and perhaps some lavender smelling lotion because i have some dirt on my pinky finger."

"Ah, as I examine the fine specimen before me I can see that the vehicle, and the vehicle's owner, are of the highest caliber. We are honored by their presence and will do everything within our power to supply such a noble pair with our most valiant battery replacements. In fact, we shall give it to you for free, in payment for your wonder. You do a service to the world for simply breathing and driving."

"HA! Look at that cute little battery. We for sure don't have anything that size. I'll probably mount that thing on a wall somehwere. Hahahaha what a joke. Oh, and that will be $130."

Moral of the story? Sneaky lives.

Second moral of all this? I always have more pictures.

Biking The Carriage Roads

Acadia National Park

The Beehive Hike

This was the first vacation since I was 18 that my sandals didn't join me.

RIP Merrels.

 

peace and cookie dough

i want a lifetime supply

rrw