Tag Archives: Jeffrey

She paints me blue, she's a red star.

Posted on by
1

The conversation went like this:

“I really want a new iPod.”

“But you have an iPhone.”

“But I don’t want to drain my battery all the time.”

“Well get one.”

“I want an iPod shuffle.”

“So get one.”

“I want one of the old school ones, though, that had the click buttons. I don’t like the new ones without the click buttons.” (I’ve been known to lose headphones. And if you don’t have fancy headphones, it appears you cannot use the new one…shame.)

“So get one.”

“But I don’t need one. I shouldn’t spend the money.”

So Jeff got me two, instead. Used and new, one that might work, one that will work. (Turns out, they both work. This girl just became the proud owner of two patriotic second generation iPods.)

Meet my new iPod(s). There names are: “she paints me blue” and “she’s a red star.”

Bonus points if you can name the songs and artists of said names.

(Thank you Jeff, for delightful options and a new bff at the gym and in the car.)

Happy Birthday, to my fave guy

Posted on by
1

In other news, it’s Jeff’s birthday today!! He’s twenty six, and for a week, he’s three years older than me. (Until I turn twenty four, next Wednesday.) Jeff’s my favorite guy, and I am happy it’s his birthday so I can talk about him. He’s funny, he’s spontaneous, he likes lists almost as much as I do, he CLEANS (can you imagine, a man who mops?), and he likes me OK. (Well ok, he likes me a lot. He loves me, in fact. It’s kind of sweet.)

Anyways, just wanted to say “Happy Birthday” to my fave guy, and that I’m glad you’re around. You’re pretty awesome. Hope you have a great day!

I have some grays; or alternatively: I didn't wash my hair today.

Posted on by
5

So, I’m one of those people who tend to get caught up in a cause, works on it for a while, then lets it fade. One of those things in life was dying my gray hairs. Well, obviously my whole head, but the grays were the aim. I have them randomly throughout my head, a patch steadily growing at my part in the front of my head. Dying them works for a little while, but inevitably there is always that day when Jeff goes, “Oh. oh.” Which translates to “The grays. They are back.” I have had a gray hair (or two) (or thirty) since I was in approximately the eighth grade. I remember dying my hair in high school, plucking them out every now and then, wrestling with them this past year as they stick straight up, defiant, determined.

My friend B told me to embrace them: she embraces hers, because WHAT is a girl TO DO? And she’s right. Try as I may, they come back. With a vegence. So I’m attempting to go all Stacy London, streak it out, look hot, society be damned.

They’re all coming back now, after the recent dye that left my hair an excellent shade of chocolate cherry (dark chocolate, don’t worry.) Which leads me to my next point. Hair dying, as it turns out, is bad for your hair.

Now, some of you that know me personally know I have A LOT OF HAIR HOLY CRAP. It’s everywhere (screaming infidelities) around my house. It clumps under the couch, creating what Nikki refers to as dust elephants. It’s not pretty. Jeff can’t stand it, Andrew occasionally points one out in his food during dinner (claiming, “No, it’s not Corelyn’s. It’s yours. ” But he continues to eat my cooking anyways, which is how I can tell he loves me.) It is thick, it is voluminous, and it is dark as night.

But, mostly, it’s shiny. And I’d like to keep it that way, only sometimes it doesn’t want to cooperate. Now, I had this roommate in college (SS) who had CURLY hair. It was, and continues to be, fabulous. She didn’t wash it every day because it’d get dry. I hope she doesn’t mind my sharing that to the world. But she didn’t. And I thought to myself, and yelled (along with Katie, who is on my HOLY CRAP A LOT OF hair greasy-Italian side) “I CAN’T DO THAT MY HAIR GETS TOO GREASY.” And for years, I believe I couldn’t. Have you SEEN my bangs after I slept on them? A mess. And my hair — a pile of grease. Men for miles around would be repulsed by my unwashed hair.

Then, a few months ago (or maybe now more like a year) Corelyn had an idea: washing our hair less is good for our hair. It helps in the dry climate we live in to keep our hair moisturized. We should wash it, therefore, every other day. Brillant, I thought, but it’ll never work. For one, everyone here gets sweaty because it’s ALWAYS hot. So, for a while, I was not washing my hair on weekends. Sure, if I had to go out Saturday night I’d wash it (who do you think I am? Jen-nay from Forest Gump?) but Sundays, no dice. Who washes their hair to go to the farmer’s market? Not us.

Lately, I have been trying not to wash it every weekday either, and you know what? No men were repelled (at least not because of my hair.) We’ve been working out consistently this month, so we’re obviously in need of daily showers, but I have discovered (albeit slowly) that I can not wash my hair, wet it in the shower, DRY IT, and it is OK TO LOOK AT. I don’t look like a freak. My grays simmer and almost lie flat on my head. No one points and says, “Wow, did you not shower? Because your hair…” In fact, I am sitting here, clean-showered with unwashed hair, and my coworkers are not judging me. (Or at least, I don’t think so. Liz, are you judging me?) I showered, wet my hair, dried it, and it looks ok. Good, I’d say. Great, even.

Moral of the story is this: if you don’t use product (which I don’t except on special occasions) you can not wash your hair every day. And it’ll help calm your flyaways. And your hair will be shiny. And men will like you.

What do you all do to keep your hair pretty?

Cilantro Patterns.

Posted on by
3

For those of you out there who maybe don’t know: I hate cilantro. I don’t know why, as I like pretty much everything else on this planet (except I cannot handle spicy food because it makes me hiccup, and I hate sneaky carrots.)

When I was in China, a terrible taste kept passing over my lips. I couldn’t figure out what it was I hated so much, until one day my roommate Laura and I went to a make-your-own bowl restaurant, and she grabbed a fistful of cilantro, adding it to her bowl. I realized that the greenery in her bowl was offensively smelly, and said, “What IS that stuff??” She said, “Ah ha! cilantro. I guess you hate cilantro.” And she was right: I do.

It’s not that I don’t try. Don’t get me wrong. I have tasted it on occasion at restaurants around town with Liz, putting some in my mouth each time just to double check. As of now, I still don’t like it. I sampled it at Cheesecake Factory with Andrew and Jeff: still don’t like it. It’s in salsa, and I eat it anyways, determined not to let it ruin my meal. I recently bought Jeff a jar of dried cilantro for him to add to meals since I never use it in our cooking, and since he LOVES cilantro.

The point is: I am trying to like it. I just can’t get behind the fact that I don’t like some leafy green some people eat every day. Who I am to judge? Aren’t I to like all things produced on this lovely planet of ours? I’ve eat SILK WORMS and SCORPION for God’s sake. I mean, ME, who eats ALL things, I don’t like a green herb? It’s absurd.

Step in Sierra.

SS sent me this article from the New York Times.

It turns out, I’m not alone in my hatred. And that it might be my brain. And not just me. Which is comforting. The article explains there are others out in the world, just like me, haters of cilantro. But apparently, to help my brain develop a new liking to cilantro, I have to deal with it. And eat it. I particularly like the last line: “If you’re looking to work on your cilantro patterns, pesto might be the place to start.”

Cilantro pesto: here I come.