why are the ice dancing costumes so ugly?! liked the French glove-masks, though
Diana's expression is the only reason I am posting this photo of us enjoying our chocolate fondue.
One would think that the final seating arrangement for an airplane would be finalized by takeoff. "Excuse me," a woman in her mid-fifties mumbled after the "fasten seat belt" sign had been unlit as she greedily eyed the open seat between the glass-blower from MassArt and I. Not being one to argue, I let her squeeze in between the two of us, where she proceeded to squirm for the next five minutes, unable to find a comfortable slouch without her jacket or her appendages draping into another seat. Eventually she nudged me, "This seat just doesn't have enough leg room. If you let me out, I promise not to come back." She moved out into the aisle and disappeared into the sea of heads, but I am still confused; how can one just wander around an airplane, switching seats?
Outside of the three hour delay due to high winds that prevented the plane from landing before 3am, my flight home for mid-winter break was pleasant. This was my first time flying with JetBlue, and I'd expected them to cut every possible corner. I can't complain about service; the employees were friendly, the snacks were numerous and edible, and the television was free.
Home, however, has thus far been the relaxing respite I've needed; two days ago I slept late and watched movies, yesterday we bicycled on the Interurban Trail and I baked a quiche, and today Diana and I went out to brunch and browsed at the mall. The biggest excitement has arisen from my hair. Ever since I can remember, I've desperately wanted curly or wavy hair, and so I purchased a mousse recommended by artsy_freak to make my hair wavier. Having never put any sort of product in my hair before, I enlisted Diana's help, but even that was of little use in the end.
The instructions said to put a "generous" amount of mousse in my hair, so I squeezed out a palm-full of foam. This was of course after I finished reading the directions and saw that my hair should be towel-dried, not sopping wet, so Diana had to dry my head while I tried not to drop the mousse. I worked it into my hair, but saw no results and turned my head over to Diana, who proceeded to put in another few fistfuls of mousse to the point where there was probably so much product in my hair that the weight would keep it from curling. I used my calling card to phone artsy_freak, who advised me between fits of giggles to flip my head
"I got my teeth cleaned today
And do you know what that makes me say?
It makes me say, 'I have clean teeth!! :D
And I love meerkats!
Hip! Hip! HOORAY!!!!'
Yup..."
Sorry, Diana (cheeekan), the self-dubbed "poetic genius," decided she really wanted to type her most recent poem out for the world to see. Anyway, flipping my head upside down did little good. We decided the best course of action would be to salvage the wreck and wash it all out, so I bent over the rim of the bathtub and Diana rinsed my hair for a good five minutes. At the most, half of the mousse washed out, leaving my hair with a most bizarre texture. It started to kink on its own once it began to dry, so being unable to stop meddling, I kept crimping it with my hands until one side had beautiful waves and the other side was straight. Oops?
While I am vain, I have a love/hate relationship with beauty products. I value natural beauty, and thus do not admire, nor like to wear noticeable or abnormal colors such as blues or purples. The only two physical alterations I wear daily are the unnoticeable highlights in my hair and a marginal amount of mascara because my blond eyelashes frustrate me. While I adored how naturally my new-found curls bounced, the moment I touched them, I was dismayed with their gummy feel. The whole process is too much effort when self-beautification isn't even necessary in the first place.
Getting away from the dormitory has only reinforced my interest in leaving college behind. I don't dislike classes, but I am sick of homework. I would not mind spending eight hours a day in class or at work, but I want to leave behind my responsibilities once the minute-hand hits 5:01pm. I am sick of living in a dorm, where I can hear everything from phone conversations to turning on and off light switches and water faucets through the wall. I want barefoot showers and a kitchen where the oven door is all one piece. Most of all, I am ready to leave the college social environment behind. Although few in number, I have some great friends at college, but I still feel high school pressures of popularity measured by numbers, some days that alone causes me to feel lonely and inadequate, as if I've failed at these years which are supposed to be filled with parties and people.