Crash a bachelor party. Or better yet, get invited to one like a girl friend and I did. Once you find out what all the hubbub’s about or realize you could probably do what that stripper was doing—you just choose not to—then you’ll want to be back at the wine bar…and the time to stay there long enough to wine soak that male tradition from your mind.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Recently, I ate a caramel apple at an airport and not some place like the State Fair; and the people watching was just as divine.
Friday, July 29, 2011
No one’s out to get you or being your friend just so he or she can make you feel bad. I had a run in with this recently and doubted a friend’s intent. I interpreted something she did in the worst possible way—that she wanted to rub my nose in something. Turns out she had intended to do the exact opposite and was only trying to be on my side.
We all hear things and react to things differently. What I took away from the situation was that if I try to always assume the best about people, I’ll get my feelings hurt a little bit less and waste a hell of a lot less time getting worked up and thinking someone’s trying to intentionally hurt my feelings. Friends don’t do that.
Remember what Eleanor Roosevelt said: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
Thursday, July 28, 2011
I noticed my first grey hair the week before my 30th birthday while getting ready to see Madonna in concert (for the second time!) in Miami. I panicked; dreading meeting my two gay friends (cliché but true) in the lobby and having them tease me. So I just stuffed the scraggly, errant hair into my head of curls, swiped on some lip-gloss and turned away from my hotel room’s magnifying mirror.
The boys didn’t even notice and the gays usually notice everything…
Five years later I’m lucky and happy to report that my grey hair only has three or four new friends. My sister can’t believe I don’t pluck them. But why pluck them out, when I can poke them back into the rest of my curly hair?
So on this day of turning 35, I’m checking for greys. The few I’ve got don’t justify a dye job. But I’m not shy to use a mascara wand across them to see what it looks like if they didn’t exist.