Season One, Episode Four: Extreme Makeover, the Follicular Edition

I’m bored with my hair.

I’ve been growing my hair out since late 2009, and it is right below my bra strap.  Pretty long.  I have been thinking about donating it to Locks of Love, so I’ve been on the fence about cutting it.  It’s not long enough for me to actually have hair to have after cutting off the required minimum of 10 inches, so I have to wait, and I’d be really pissed at myself if I chop it off right before it’s long enough to donate.  In my opinion, that would be like quitting the race right before you crossed the finish line.  It’s taken nearly two years to grow it out and nearly three years to get rid of all the bleached highlights that I had since September of 2008 (Locks of Love won’t take hair that has been bleached).  That is the follicular equivalent of training for a triathlon.  Except in the follicular world, instead of lifting weights and cross training, you refrain from excessive hair dye and you deep condition.

I have had long hair and short, but I feel like I should inform y’all that my hair is thick, what my stylist calls “dense”, pretty coarse, and curly.  To sum it up, I have a LOT of hair.  And it is heavy.  I occasionally (like at the moment) get headaches from the weight of it piled up on my head–I hate wearing my hair down a lot because it takes a lot of time to wrangle into submission and I hate having hair in my face, so I usually wear it in a ponytail or in a messy bun.  And I have a bad habit of pulling it up while it’s soaking wet, so I have this huge wad of heavy, wet hair just chilling on the back of my head all day at work.

Fabulous.  Add that to the stress that my job already gives me, and no wonder I get migraines at work.

So anyway, cutting it is out.  So is dyeing it blonde, something that I’ve been itching to do since early early 2008, the last time that I had dyed it that color.  I am currently my natural color, which I guess could be described as a medium brown with lots of natural blonde highlights and a slight tint of auburn.  It’s pretty, but I am bored.  In high school I dyed my hair religiously, anywhere from blonde to dark brown to reddish brown, and I cut it whenever the mood struck me.  This being good thing is hard.  I haven’t dyed it since June of 2009, and my hair is healthy, yes, probably the healthiest it’s been since I was like 11, but I want to do something new to it.  I like the reaction you get when you do something to change up your look.  And for me, dramatic is always the way to go.

I am kind of thinking about dyeing it darker.  I saw Kristen Stewart (I don’t like Kristen Stewart, and I haven’t seen any of the Twilight movies) with this long, black hair for some Snow White movie she’s doing, and the wheels in my head started turning.  What if I dye it black?  And not with permanent dye, which would ravage the hair that I’ve worked so hard to keep healthy, but with a temporary dye that washes out in 24 shampoos and is supposed to be good for my hair?  I might do it.  I’ve never had black hair, so I figure this is a good way to test drive it.  If I like it, I’ll just keep using temporary dye until I chop this all off!


Season One, Episode Three: Alaska, Chocolatey NFL Caketastic Deliciousness, and Tornadic Tubby Time

Today was a blissfully boring day.

I worked six hours today, filing all alone in an empty office.  I know it sounds boring, but I love it.  My favorite part of my job is when all the other girls in the office have gone home and it’s just me and my thoughts and a nice playlist that I burned playing in the CD player.  I’m a social person, I love being around people and laughing and joking and having a good time, but I also enjoy having time to myself where I’m not subjected to country music and gossip about relationships and stuff that bores me.  I’ve always been like that, to be honest, I prefer to be alone in my room with a book and music in the background when I’m not out being the social butterfly that society expects of me.  I also prefer to go out places with Nicky and my mom now more than I do with my friends.  It’s weird, but maybe that’s part of getting older.  Maybe you develop more of a chill, homebody side as the years go by?  I don’t know.

After work, I came home and watched football with my dad and ate cookies and nachos and this sinfully delicious chocolate cake–and I feel ridiculously stuffed and sluggish at the moment.  Nicky came in and sat next to me, and we watched TV with his head resting on my arm all evening until it was bath time.  Bath time is actually a lot more fun now that he’s older.  I liked “bubble tubbies” when he was smaller, but he keeps more of the bathwater actually in the tub now, and he likes to wash himself up and wash his own hair.  Next thing I know he’s going to be shaving, hahaha.  I love that he still calls his bath a “tubby” 🙂  After his bath, I put on his favorite DVD, that show Storm Chasers, and we snuggled up on the couch until he fell asleep in my lap.  In our house, we all know that Storm Chasers = Nicky is sleepy.  He usually won’t make it through an entire episode.  It’s actually kind of odd that my son watches a storm about chasing tornadoes to fall asleep.  He’s my silly silly boy…Although weather intrigues me, and we will go out on our porch and watch huge storms roll in, so he probably got that from me, along with his love of cake and staying up late…and his sense of humor, his blue eyes, and his goofy, lovable smile.  He’s definitely his mommy’s baby.

I’m currently in my pajamas, typing away at my keyboard in between texting one of my bestest friends, Destinie.  After I’m done with this mindnumbingly boring entry I plan on brushing my teeth and curling up in bed with my favorite book, Looking For Alaska (by John Green) until I fall asleep.  I was reading Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer, but the story of Chris McCandless pisses me off and I’m not in the mood to ponder the sanity or motives of McCandless tonight.  I will blog about him another day, because I could write an entire post on him and how I can’t figure out if he was an idealist that we all should respect to some degree or if he was a spoiled rich brat who wanted to rebel against societal norms and his parents.

Goodnight, and here’s to another blissfully uneventful tomorrow to make me smile 🙂


Chasing Lala, Season One: Pilot

I give this pilot post two thumbs up. And a particularly cheesy (and well-whitened) smile.

Welcome to the series premiere of my newest blog, Chasing Lala.  The first post, in my opinion, is always the hardest because there is a lot of expectations for the blog that have to be introduced and concurrently lived up to in the first post (and then the second, and the third…hell, I guess for the remaining life span of this blog!).  The first post is kind of like the first date.  Or maybe the second or third, when you’ve decided that you’re going to have sex and you feel like you should bust out all your best moves, but then you wonder if your “best moves” are really that awesome.  The first blog post is full of butterflies and nervous giggles and word vomit and bragging and maybe one too many glasses of blueberry vodka and ginger ale (soooo delicious, trust me).

That said, let’s start.  This post is wearing its best push-up bra and racy-not-too-skanky-but-just-skanky-enough lace thong from Victoria’s Secret.  This post shaved its legs and painted its toenails with Lincoln Park After Dark because it wanted to look edgy but not too edgy.  Maybe edgy sexy chic.  This post put on its sexiest-but-not-cheap-hooker-smelling perfume for you and is wearing its prettiest sheer pink lip lacquer.  It’s feeling pretty and nervous and kind of vulnerable.  Its also hoping that you brought money for parking because it totally forgot to.

First things first, my name is Lashawn.  Well, really Lashawn with a capital S…LaShawn.  I kinda hate the way that looks, so I spell it with a lowercase S when I type or print my name.  But I sign it with a capital S because it looks dumb if I use the lowercase.  It’s silly, but I’ve been doing it since I started eighth grade and it makes perfect sense to me.  And reading those last few sentences makes me realize how stupid my explanation sounds.  And that I pretty much wasted 1.5 seconds of your life that you will never get back.  My bad…but anyway, that was a bit off-tangent.  Focusssss.

I am the product of twelve (thirteen, if you count Kindergarten) years of Catholic school, including four years in an all-girl high school.  I learned all the important things, like how to curse like a sailor, wear tube socks to avoid shaving more than once a week, fake having cramps/headache/upset stomach to get out of a test or a ridiculously boring class…Oh, and the Our Father, my Sacraments, and how to be a good little Catholic schoolgirl.  I think that definitely shaped me into who I am now, a pretty intelligent preppy girl with a trucker mouth.  I am a fabulous single mom to a hilarious six year old boy, Nicholas.  Nicky is the greatest kid ever.  I may be a bit biased, but I’m gonna say that he’s pretty awesome.  Most of my life revolves around him.  My birthday is in three months as of today (9/17), and I will be 26.  Writing that makes me cringe.  Ickkkk.  I am slogging through my freshman year (which has taken like 1.5 years) of community college, which is going to take forever thanks to idiotic 18 year old me (I have a super sweet 1.7 GPA to work with).  If I ever finish my stint at community college, I hope to eventually get my Bachelor’s in Anthropology.  I want to become a socio-cultural anthropologist and see the world.  My goal is to get my doctorate and become a professor with the most amazing field stories ever.  I am currently a receptionist, which I sorta kinda hate and hope to not make a career out of, a sentiment I feel very strongly about after almost four years.  I work at a car dealership, which is a love/hate kind of thing.  I’ll get into that later.

I am feeling like this entry shouldn’t be too long, or I’ll bore you and you’ll close your tab that this is open in.  So I’ll be brief and thank you for reading post uno.  And I hope that you’ll come back for the next one, and hopefully the next 79846343838 ones.  My Pilot post is thankful that you put money in the parking meter and that you laughed at its jokes, even the one about the priest and the rabbi that didn’t exactly make sense the first or third time it told it.  It hopes that you come back.  And it hopes that you aren’t mad that unlike me, it doesn’t ever put out on the first date.