Headache

Ok, so I know that I've essentially neglected this blog - at least for the time being - as I tackle a big, long-term project at work and generally try to keep my life in balance with all the traveling I've been doing.

BUT.

...OR SO.

This means that - for now - I'm just using this as a "personal" blog and not really paying any attention to the fact that I started it with the intention of writing about personal style, shopping, and other fun things that I've incidentally neglected as well during this Time of Plenty (of Billable Hours) and vowed not to write about my personal life (risking, I don't know, exposing myself to scrutinty from strangers or something).

Whatevs. My personal blog update consists of this: I can confirm a long-standing suspicion that I'm actually addicted to caffeine. For serious. For the realz. An unfortunate set of circumstances this morning (no creamer at the house; no point in making coffee at home; no time to grab a coffee at O'Hare before my flight left; no time to grab a coffee once I landed omgwtf) left my delicate and desperately addicted system without its normal and reliable caffeine drip throughout the morning hours. Meaning?

This [imaginary] device was clamped to my temples ALL DAMN DAY LONG. I think this is what they call a "withdrawal symptom," yesno?

Matters of the Heart... Burn.

Want to hear about my decidedly un-glamorous problem? Of course you do. I have been experiencing icky, icky heartburn pretty consistently for the last three weeks or so. First of all, I am appalled whenever I suffer an ailment like this because I consider heartburn to be an old person's health issue and I am a young lithe 26. And second, I am very particular and am really kind of insulted when I experience certain indignities, like, I'm just too pretty to have heartburn, do math, or have to do something really icky like go to the Currency Exchange.

Obvs, it's either stress or diet-related (or both, I suppose, but I generally don't feel stressed) and tragically, the only thing I know I consume consistently on a daily basis is... coffee. And omg, I refuse to believe or accept that coffee might be the culprit. On the other hand, I've been so afraid to trigger the heartburn that instead of cutting the coffee I've stopped eating anything even remotely offensive (plain bagel with cream cheese? too risky) and have inadvertently dropped a few pounds. On the other hand, this isn't completely a bad thing because you can't be too rich or too skinny, right? On the other hand, I'm not one to ignore blatant health problems and I can't live the rest of my life popping Tums, right? How pedestrian.

Anyway, ew. Any advice?

Really super

So, after finally realizing that the Cold Stone right down the street is not the same establishment as the godforsaken Marble Slab where they sing and dance and act ridiculous and I get really embarrased for them - and embarassed for myself because when I want ice cream, it's usually because I've just like, given up completely and I want it quietly, like can you please just assist me in your inside voice without alerting everyone that I'm a giant fat-ass? and then I light myself on fire right there in the store - I made R accompany me there for a cup of Cake Batter ice cream, or, as I like to call it, The Shit.

Somehow we got on the topic of: you know the only thing that would make this better? A tiny little bit of really cold whiskey and then that turned into: you know when I've had a really bad day? Is when you come home and I'm blending a pint of Cake Batter ice cream with a pint of Jack Daniels, which led to: do you know why we don't have working blender? Because of that time a bunch of girlfriends and I blew the wiring on the thing with our furious margarita-making. With smoke and everything.

I'm really something.

The story of my great hair, a very serious topic

Ok, so while I am an admitted fashion junkie, I am not much of a beauty junkie - I generally don’t splurge on super high-end hair or skin care products, I’m a huge fan of Benefit and Chanel make-up but don’t obsess over it, and - my beauty blogger friends will probably keel over and die when they read this but, I completely skim over the beauty sections in fashion and lifestyle magazines. If it has an interesting bottle I might pay it some fleeting attention, but otherwise… I don’t know. It’s just not my thing. Clothes and shoes and bags are my thing.

BUT! For the last few years, I’ve had awesome hair. Great hair. Really effing good hair. I'm now a believer of proper haircare and maintenence. I have drunk the Kool-Aid, and it is good. This was not always the case, though, and it took a major life tragedy for me to get here. Would you like to know how I came about it, readers (reader)? I think you do.

It goes back about 12 years. I distinctly remember getting ready for a party – most likely with the drumline, because really, what else did I do? – back in high school with my friend Kyleen. Kyleen had gorgeous, thick blond hair that would do anything she wanted and stay styled all day and all night, even in the West Texas heat. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky. My baby-fine blond hair would NOT hold a style for anything, and yet I dutifully washed it with volumizing products and painstakingly styled it every day with the same disappointing results. As I was slaving away with the curling iron, Kyleen turned and said to me, “Meg, you know it’s not going to stay styled. Why even bother?”

Fast forward about five years to college when I lived in muggy, humid Austin and was still observing this same daily, soul-sucking routine. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over expecting different results? Or something? Right. And yet. I curled, styled, sprayed, and… died a little inside every day.

Then I moved to Chicago. And for Two! More! Years! continued this madness before finally giving up on my hair ever looking the way I wanted it to. It sucked. But something was going on, something behind-the-scenes if you will, that would change this torture for me forEVAR!

It was late 2005, and I had just completed my first hellacious year of attending grad school full-time. And working full-time with a demanding internship at a financial PR firm. I was making $350 a week. Pretty stressful, but generally palatable and coming-of-age, right? I forgot one detail, though. I was supporting my alcoholic boyfriend while he was secretly seeing another woman.

Secretly, that is, until I found some emails between them and the charade was up. He never gave me the full story, but I used his sad addiction to my advantage by reading their text messages while he was passed out night after night and filled in the blanks myself.

It would be a total understatement to say I was devastated. Ruined. Changed. I stopped going out, stopped having fun. I would cry randomly in public. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I stopped washing my hair every day. I just didn’t care.

One of her messages to him read, “You make me feel young and sparkling.” Young. And Sparkling. I was enraged. I must have stopped breathing for a good two minutes. I think I actually threw up. I wanted to draft a reply, one that said, “See how young you feel after seeing an alcoholic for three years!” and sparkling? Hard for a girl to feel sparkling that hadn’t washed her hair in THREE DAYS.

But…my hair? That I hadn’t washed in three days? … looked GREAT. It was bouncy, piece-y and didn’t fall as soon as I stepped outside. You see? I was learning one of life’s most valuable lessons. The lesson I’m referring to, of course, is that a woman with fine hair should never wash her hair everyday! Fine hair needs that build-up of product and oil to maintain a style. I had lived my whole life up until that point not knowing that essential piece of information!

I never sent that vindictive reply. I pulled myself together and soldiered on with my life. I graduated with honors and landed a great job. Then I got an even better job. Eventually, my little wounded heart healed and I got an amazing boyfriend too. I took the high road (if the high road means still bitterly blogging about it two years later. Ok. We’ll call it the almost high road) and left the young and sparkling assholes in the dust.

But I think I’ll keep the hair, thanks.

Family Time; or a summary of my trip to Texas in two words: Diet Coke

(edit) I am now writing you from the glorious DFW Hyatt, after my flight was cancelled (predictable; yet infuriating). Texas just couldn't let me go, I guess. I'm wrapped in the Hyatt robe with a glass of wine, so I guess it's not the end of the world. I'd really like to see my boyfriend and kitty, though, thanks.

I am writing you from DFW, where my flight to Chicago has been delayed from 9 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. One wonders how certain airlines can remain in business with such a terrible record of on-time departures. And/or safety. You know, whatever.

But anyway. Texas. My most recent business trip took me to Midland, where I was able to stay with my grandparents. And my mom drove in from El Paso, so it was a great week. I'll be in Waco next week, with two personal trips to Austin on the weekends before and after. I'm a lucky little Texan.

And speaking of little Texans, this trip reminded me that if there's one thing the women in my family do well, it's drink a lot (like. a LOT) of Diet Coke and spend a lot of money at Target. I found a bunch of tights on crazy clearance (no need for tights in May, Midland?). Any girl living in Chicago knows that tights are essential winter (and fall. and spring. sigh) wear. I got opaque black, brown and charcoal grey.

Other items of note: my Mee-Maw gave me some beautiful vintage jewelry (her mother's - my great grandmother's) this week. Gorgeous and very glam. I'll try to post some pictures, like, someday.

Still discontented after five weeks

Remember February 13? When I wrote about being sick? Well, readers (reader), I AM STILL SICK! At least once a week for the past five weeks, I have had recurring cold symptoms.

I don't get it. I take good care of myself. I take a daily multi-vitamin, get 7-8 hours of sleep a night (more on weekends), work out, eat my vegetables, and I refuse to believe that my body has just decided at 26 years of age that wholesale betrayal is a better option than, say, feeling human for more than 48 hours at a time.

So this morning I realize I have probably let it go too far after another fitful night of completely unsatisfying sleep as I am pressing my cell phone to my face because it feels so nice and cool. So I do the only thing left to do: administer a self-diagnosis on WebMD. It's like I'm my own doctor! Or dentist! Like Tom Hanks in Castaway when he had to take out his own tooth with an ice skate, except, you know, more dramatic than that because this is me we're talking about. And speaking of toothaches, I've had recurring toothaches for five weeks too! That's a weird coincidence. And omg! It says that "dental pain" is a telltale symptom of a sinus infection! A sinus infection that can last up to 8 weeks, with persistent cold-like symptoms and I just diagnosed myself I should have gone to medical school I am self-sufficient after all!

My doctor confirmed my suspicions and wrote a prescription and I'm feeling better already. Easy as pie! Now I can concentrate on more important things, like living life like a normal person. And, you know, the red-eyed, runny-nosed, mouth-breathing look wasn't great for me anyway.

O, then I see Nyquil hath been with you

Everyone is so very kind to suggest Nyquil, except that it gives me scary hallucinations.