Too True Musings

Mine and Sarah’s conversation of the day.

Sarah: I feel so classy with my Maker’s Mark in my Taco Bell cup.

Me: Ha! Well at least the whiskey is delish.

Sarah: I want to make something. Maybe banana pudding. That’s good sad, single girl food. Nothing like loving something that you’ll still be able to eat without my dentures 50 years from now in my still single life…I’d like to throw a special shout out to M.J. who made today just a little bit grayer.


Dump-ster Diver


We’ve all been dumped before, at least most of us have. And in our melancholy, disheartened, dejected, self loathing state few things can really make us feel better. Not buckets of Death By Chocolate ice cream, not the depressive croonings of Jeff Buckley, not watching Love Actually until the laser in the dvd player burns a hole through the disc…and not even the post breakup talk with our friends.

In the sense that, what other do they say than, “Whatever, you’ll find someone better, his eyes were way too close together and we never even liked him from the start, blah blah, blah,,,and he’s not worth your time because you deserve a real nice guy.etc etc.” I mean they’re all true musings but is that really what you want to hear? That your friends thought your beloved was an asshole to begin with and you stooped so low as to wail and bemoan over some low life scumbag?


But it’s not like they are in the wrong. All they’re doing is trying to lift your spirits a few inches above the sludge pit that you’ve been wallowing in. And admit it, you’re just as guilty of the same charge.

I myself have a really hard time of driving the sympathy train. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m not sympathetic. I just can’t seem to do much more than throw out a ridiculously corny joke in hopes of easing the heart of my crestfallen friend (i.e. What do you call a mushroom that walks into a bar and buys everyone a drink? – Fungi!) Yes they are always that lame. And no, it never really works.

But something that does work is a good amount of alcohol in your bloodstream (and by good amount I mean excessive amounts). And a distraction. Well, what you think you need is a distraction but what you really need is someone to remind you of who you are. Maybe a really good friend of the opposite sex who’ll challenge you to a game of beer pong, tells you how awesome your new haircut is (before you even ask) and not once mention anything about the reason as to why you’re eyes are so puffy. Most importantly, someone who’s going to make you feel like your old self again.

These might help a little too. :p

Georgia On My Mind

This precious little girl is my cousin Georgia. There is no purpose to this post other than to show you all how adorable she is.



The Art of Growing Up

“Growing up feels, sometimes, like standing on a precipice. You look out over a glittering vision of stability, a promise of love, of prosperity and permanence. You desire all of these things intensely, but just as intense is your urge to turn and run; to keep sleeping on couches and having ephemeral relationships, and to own nothing that can’t be left behind.”

I mean…I couldn’t have said it better myself. This quote is taken from one of my favorite articles written about one of my favorite bands in one of my favorite magazines. Kate Williams on Bright Eyes in NYLON.

It’s days like today (well it’s pretty much everyday) when I really wish I was back in NYC interning with NYLON or just back at school. The real world is less than enticing and I feel like I’m being sucked into a black hole impossible to claw my way out of. Sure, making money is cool. Actually having a positive balance in my checking account is great, but I’m dying to…as Kate so eloquently states, “keep sleeping on couches and having ephemeral relationships, and to own nothing that can’t be left behind.”

Peter Pan Syndrome has cursed me.

Lost Locks

I’m one of those people who live by constants. I have certain routines, and established ways. Don’t get me wrong, I love trying new things and I like change and if I like what’s new, I don’t stray.

Throughout my tenure on The Plains I always had my hair cut at Dimensions Hair Salon by the same stylist. Lyndsey. She was amazing. She was one of those people you instantly trust and keep going back to, because not only do they do a phenomenal job but they make you feel like you’ve been friends forever. These stylists are hard to find. Thus, once you find them you stick to it.

Once I moved to Savannah I was in dire need of a trim. I found myself sitting at my desk pulling apart my split ends and snapping off the damaged strands. Driving the five hours to Auburn for a haircut was not an option, unfortunately.

I really wasn’t worried about finding a decent place for haircut in this town. Savannah is an artsy town with a ton of rich art students who shell out the big bucks for a trendy crop. I figured I’d just ask around.

After a bit of research I decided on a brand new salon that happened to be just two blocks from my apartment. About a month ago I scheduled a cut and color for the following Saturday morning.

Saturday, I woke up very excited about visiting this new salon, determined to try out a semi-new look.

All was going well to begin with. My stylist was a man. A gay man of course. He was great, made me feel comfortable and at home. Offered me water, lunch and wine even. He gave me one of those spine tingling scalp massages. It was like a day of pampering at the spa. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

I asked for caramel and gold highlights and a choppy cut with layers galore and stressed, STRESSED that I wanted to keep the length. My exact words being, “I don’t want to go much shorter. Two inches at most just to get rid of the dead stuff.” Even while he was highlighting my hair I was telling him horror stories of past haircuts that included cuts shorter than shoulder length.

* Just as a note, my hair was down to the small of my back at the time.

Four hours later, my cape comes off I look at the floor and my heart drops. There is a lot more than two inches of hair on the floor. He turns me around hands me a mirror and cheerfully asks, “What do you think? I love it you look so glamorous!”

My chest is burning with anger, I get a lump in my throat and I can feel the tears creeping in. I run my fingers through my now SHOULDER LENGTH hair and say, “It’s great, thanks.”

That’s right. I didn’t complain. I didn’t cry and scream that he had ruined my hair and in turn taken my one glory from me. I just paid and left.

I’m not one for confrontation. And I wanted to spare his feelings. I was just too much in shock to even speak. So there went $200 of my hard earned money and 10 inches of hair.

Am I being dramatic? I mean maybe. But what I’ve learned is that I will never again in my life have a man cut my hair. I just don’t think they understand how much a woman’s hair lends to her self confidence. Especially for women with long hair.

One month has passed since that fateful day and I’ve worn my hair in a ponytail nearly everyday. I’ve done everything in my power to make it grow. I’ve been popping biotin pills and omega 3 capsules like candy. I’ve doubly increased my protein intake and peanut butter has become my best friend.

And now, I can finally wear my hair down and feel semi confidant. It’s grown maybe an inch and a half to two inches.

Needless to say, I won’t be getting my haircut anytime soon.

Here are before and after pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Before & After




“Kate The Great” Farley, Not Hepburn


This post is dedicated to Miss Kate Griffin Farley. For whom without I would have surely become a Central Park bag lady.

Kate took me in when I needed her most and I will forever be indebted to her for it.

I called her sobbing from the balcony of an Upper East Side studio that had grown too small to contain the overwhelming emotions that come from a one-sided relationship. She gallantly hopped a cab in the middle of the night and rode to my rescue.

We drank raspberry slushies from the corner 7-Eleven and ate lemon pies (or was it apple, Kate?) The very next day she took me home for the best medicine in times of emotional anguish, she took me home to mommy. Not mine, but the next best thing, hers.

We donned aprons, cooked lentil bean soup and baked the most delicious euphoria-inducing chocolaty chocolate cake. We watched movies, went shopping, played with puppies…oh, just a few of my favorite things.

Breaking up’s not so bad. So long as you have friends like these…and a sweet tooth.