A Cut Above

Ahh, Autumn.

The gentle time of year when the blistering sun is tempered by cooler breezes, the days begin to shorten (and we welcome the extra hour of sleep), and of course, it is the quiet before the speeding train that IS the Holidays.

And for many kids, it is the beginning of the school year.  I know I'm a little late with this revelation (after all, kids have been in school for a few weeks now) but as I sit here tonight, sipping some Mirassou pinot noir, and trying to conjure up something relevant and humorous to write about tonight, my mind wandered to an old memory of myself back in the last few months before I entered high school.  I had it in my head that I would start this new adventure of a new school and new people with a brand new daring haircut.

And if you've known me all these years, you know how this story ends.

But for those of you who weren't, and whom I never cornered at a party to relay this story to, here's how it begins.

Like most people entering high school, I was nervous about not fitting in.  I had spent the years of middle school perfecting an under-the-radar behavior that allowed me to seamlessly exist grade after grade.  I wasn't the worst kid in school, and I wasn't the best.  I got good enough grades to satisfy my parents and teachers, but I wasn't going to any Gifted and Talented programs.  

But with high school looming, and the vast myriad of people I was to encounter, all of whom by then will have developed ways to fit in by not "fitting in", it seemed unsatisfying to just keep going with my mediocre existence.  I wanted to stand out--and fit in.  And what better way to say, "Here I come world.  This is the new and improved Me!" than a makeover!

My mom had helped me on the clothes-front, selecting hip and stylish new threads, but I wanted to go for a really bold haircut, and I knew what I wanted ever since I saw Jamie Lee Curtis on the cover of Redbook.  She had this cute, pixie hair style that looks great on her and (bonus) looked incredibly easy to manage.  I was sick to death of my wiry, frizzy, thick curly hair- I wanted something fresh.  And what says fresh more than a 40-something actress on the cover of a magazine geared towards woman nearing menopause...yeah, I was never hip.

So my mom took me to the salon and when I sat down in the chair, I explained that I wanted it short.  Short-short.

"Really?" the stylist said.  "Want to change up your look a bit, eh?"

"Yep.  Starting high school soon, so I wanted to just try something different.  Bold," I said.

"Yeah but not too bold," my mother warned.  "I mean, once it's gone, you'll have to wait for it to grow all over again."

"Oh, its hair.  It always grows back!" the stylist assured me with a wink.

"Yeah mom...it always grows back," I said, trying to remain upbeat and pushing the growing knot of nerves in my stomach back down.  Sure hope this isn't a mistake, the voice in my head said as I began to see clumps of brown curls fall to my feet.  I'll be fine, I said back, it'll look cool.

When the moment of truth came, and my chair was turned back for the final reveal, I gulped.  Hard.  I was staring at a face I didn't recognize.  I was in such shock, I didn't know what to think.  When my mom picked me up, I didn't say much.  "It looks fine," my mom tried.  "And like you said, it'll grow back."

Fantastic.  It took me thirteen years to grow it the first time.  And in thirteen minutes, it was all gone. I called my friends for real opinions.  Opinions I could trust and be comforted by.

The laughs I received when I opened my front door were not promising.

"Oh man, you look like Pat Benatar!" one of them wheezed mid-giggle.  There was a time when I was heavy into 80s pop music that I would have found that a compliment, but at that moment, I was panicking.

"What the hell am I going to do?  I look like Hermie the 'Misfit Elf' from the 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas Special!" I lamented, staring at the odd swoop of hair.  It was ironic too, since I still had braces on my teeth as well- so the young, dentistry-inspired Hermie.

"Just wait it out.  It'll grow back," they said, trying to calm me down.

And so it was: for our 8th grade dinner dance, for graduation from middle school, and for the whole summer leading up to high school, my look varied from the "Love is a Battlefield" rock singer or a prepubescent male claymation character- it depended on which direction my hair was leaning towards.

In a way, I accomplished my goal to stand out.  And by senior year of high school, I was vying for the superlative of "Most Changed Since Freshman Year".  I didn't get it, but at least now I have a great awkward story to tell the little Benatars one day.

Neighbor Favor

I like to think of myself as a pretty thoughtful person.  I try to be aware of people, help them in need, and give when I can.  Of course, that statement should probably come with the specifications that I try to be so aware of people that I become obsessed with trying to predict their wants and needs till I'm immobilized with fear; I help if it's convenient for me; and I give a spare dollar or two (never more than that unless the person has a really clever sign- then I might up it to a fiver).

So it's not surprising that I put myself in situations where my want to be liked and helpful collides with my neuroses and selfishness.  Take what happened a few years ago for an example...

I had been living down here in Sarasota for a year and had gotten friendly with the neighbors in our apartment complex.  By friendly, I mean I was at a point where if I was out walking Georgia or getting the mail, I would at the very least politely wave and smile with any passerby.  For a select few, I was able to hold down a 5 to 10 minute long conversation, learn their names and some tidbits about them.  But I never really crossed the barrier into real "friendship" with anyone, which was fine with me.  It was a pretty transient complex, with people constantly moving in and out, so I figured I could get away with an amiable smile and quick chat until it was our turn to move on.

However, there was one girl who I think wanted to take our friendship to the next level.  

She was a sweet thing;  a mother with two kids and a husband who took far business trips.  Since I worked from home she often saw me in the morning when I was walking Georgia while she was out walking her mother's dog.  We would chat about the weather, our pets, our significant others, and whatever else.  Like I said, she was/is very nice.

I think I realized things were getting serious when she kept suggesting I come over to her apartment sometime for a coffee and tea to chat some more.  I always thanked her, but never went over.  For one, I had just begun working from home and didn't want my office to think I was already slacking and leaving my post.  Secondly, and this probably solidifies my assertion that I'm a crazy terrible person, but I just didn't see a future there.  We were such different people- she was almost ten years older with kids and a husband, plus when I asked where she liked to go out and do for fun, she said she didn't really enjoy going out.  That's fine, of course, not everyone enjoys going out.  But then I would try and feel out her humor endurance, tossing out a blue joke here or there and see if she reciprocated.  She would just politely smile and change the subject.

That was my final straw.  You're a mom?  Cool.  You don't like going out to events or partying?  That's fine.  You don't enjoy sometimes tasteless jokes or some level of inappropriateness- I got nothing for you.   Because that's me.  And if you can't handle that, then you don't really want to know me.

So I was content to just keep our relationship uber friendly and easy.  And then one day, she upped the ante.

She grabbed my attention one morning and explained that she had been feeding the local stray cats in the complex.

"But now we are leaving for that trip to Italy for a month and I'm worried the poor things are going to starve," she said with dismay in her eyes.  Uh oh.  There's the wind-up...and the pitch.  "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind feeding them for me while we're gone?" 

I could feel my inner voice screaming at me, even after I smiled absently and nodded.  She looked so relieved and happy, I couldn't take it away from her.  After she gave me instructions on where the food would be and how she would have it pre-measured for my "convenience", she said, "I can pay you for this, if you like."

This time my inner voice gave me the silent treatment when I waved off her offer.  "No, don't be silly," I wheezed.  She beamed as she thanked me profusely again and then walked off.  I meanwhile was simmering.  How the hell do I get out of this one? I thought.  You can't, you idiot.  Enjoy putting out smelly food for a bunch of stray cats for the next month, I grumbled to myself as I walked back to our apartment.

I immediately texted Joe, my voice of reason, on what I did.

"Silly girl," he texted, "just tell her you can't.  She's not supposed to be feeding those cats anyway.  She would get in trouble and so would you."

"But I already told her I would.  I even told her she didn't have to pay me," I texted back.

"Silly girl, you could've def taken the money.  It's a big pain to have you go to her apartment and feed cats for a whole month," he texted.  I felt stuck.  And awful.  I didn't want to go back on my word but I also didn't want to commit to something for the next month either.  And I would've felt like a royal ass to go knock on her door and tell her I changed my mind.  

So I did the next best shameful thing.  I wrote her a note and slipped it under her door.  In it I apologized but said I was just worried about us getting in trouble with the apartment complex and hoped she would understand.  I carefully pushed the letter under her door and ran like the dickens back to my apartment.  

I prayed that she would simply read the note, acknowledge me as either a weirdo or welsher (both of which were true), and toss it aside.  Instead, a few hours later I saw her leaving her apartment and coming towards mine.  I panicked and grabbed the dog and hid in the guest room.  When she knocked on the door, Georgia started barking and leapt out of my hands.  I considered hiding until she left, but considering I would most definitely run into her again once she got back from her trip, it would be best to clear the air now. 

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi..." I said.

"Hi, I just wanted to let you know that if you are uncomfortable doing that then that's totally fine.  I didn't want you to think I would ask you to do something if I thought it would get you in trouble.  I just wanted to make sure you knew that," and there it was.  That kind genuine smile.  It was like salt on the wound.  

"Oh, I know.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said yes when I wasn't sure..." I stammered, trying to avoid her eyes, but she reassured me that everything was fine.  I felt so much better; I had wormed my way out of a monthly task and I didn't have another neighbor hate my guts.  I was a winner.

"Would you possibly mind doing something else for me, though?' she asked.

So, in the end, I got away with just going into her backyard and watering her numerous plants for her.  She even left out jugs of water that she had pre-filled for my "convenience".  And it wasn't all for nothing after all.  

I got about four pounds of Italian chocolate for it.   

New York State of Mine

In honor of September 11th, I wanted to write something about New York City.  I considered describing my personal experience that day, but instead, in honor of a city that is so often the setting for so many great stories and memories, I thought I'd share a few of my own.

1.)  The Rockettes
My earliest memory of New York City is being taken to see The Rockettes with my grandmother and sisters at Christmastime.  I remember it being stinging cold, but clinging to my Nana's jet black fur coat, I warmed up quickly.  I remember the theater being unlike any I had ever seen.  I can't recall all the numbers and performances, but I remember the smell of peppermint and chocolate, and the bright colors of the huge toys on the stage, and of course, the Rockettes (who are probably responsible for setting a bar of femininity and grace that I would never achieve).  

2.)  "Rocky Horror Show" with Sebastian Bach
Back in high school, my boyfriend surprised me with tickets to go see the "Rocky Horror Show" which was featuring Sebastian Bach as Riff Raff.  His friend Mark was responsible for teaching me the ways and wonders of hair metal back then, so going to see the lead singer of Skid Row in a funky Broadway production was awesome.  We made a whole day of it; walking around the city and window shopping, grabbing dinner at nice restaurant.  It was the first time I was able to take advantage of the fact that we lived so close to the city and do something so adult.

3.)  Girls Trip
In college, my three girlfriends and I decided to take a road trip to the city to go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center.  Right off the bat, it proved to be a memorable trip; Ashley's drive shaft got stuck just as we were getting onto 95.  We pulled over and while she got it figured out, the three of us went to get something to eat at McDonald's, only to be told that they were out of meat and dairy.  We scratched our heads at the insanity of a business that makes its money off its cheap meat and cheese, and rejoined Ash who had gotten the car fixed.  We finally made it up the rest of the way with no incident.  We had a great time looking at all the display windows decorated for the season, and when we finally got to the rink, we witnessed over 11 marriage proposals.  Which made us all wonder- how bad do you feel for the guy that was marriage proposal #8?  

4.)  Getting Pizza at "Original Ray's"
On the only trip to the city that Joe and I took together, we made it our mission to find THE Original Ray's Pizza before we headed over to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex.  Being from New Jersey, I am a bit of a pizza snob and I know good pizza.  But to get a slice of true authentic NYC pizza was exciting.  However, when I went up to the counter to order, I handed the girl my card.  "Cash only!" she yelled over the din of the crowded parlor.  As I shrunk away in search of an ATM, it was the first time I had ever felt some of that no-nonsense attitude of New York.  You get it and harden to it so you can survive in the city.  Of course, I still cursed her under my breath (I'm still from Jersey, after all, and we don't always take kindly to that attitude).

5.)  Beck's Bachelorette
My cousin had her bachelorette a few years ago in the city.  She wanted to have a day at the spa, followed by dinner at a cool underground place, and then drinks afterwards.  I was so honored she invited me along and we had a ball.  As luck would have it, she was marrying the brother of an old friend of mine that I hadn't spoken to in years, so while the girls were upstairs getting massages, we caught up on old stories and mutual friends.  We had dinner and then headed over to a bar that the bride's sister, my cousin Ali, knew about.  As we sat there goofing off and drinking, Beck grabbed my shoulder and nods in the direction of the bar- one of our favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan, walked in with his wife.  We were all a little buzzed but I think Beck was the courageous one who actually went up to him, with the rest of us who knew who he was following close behind.  I am happy to say I actually managed to tell him how much I loved him and they even posed for a picture with all of us.  *Beck, if you are reading this- please tell me you still have that pic!  A day at the spa, fancy dinner, and celebrity sighting- it was definitely a New York night.

6.)  The Skyline
This might seem cheap and easy (like me!), but the single most important thought or memory about New York City to me was and is the skyline.  It was the backdrop to so many good moments for me.  I had a lot of family up in the Atlantic Highlands region of the shore, which is a town built up onto the cliffs looking out onto the ocean and it's dominated by the Twin Lights lighthouse.  We would go to my grandparents' house or my aunt and uncle's house for all kinds of holiday parties, but my favorite was when we'd go for Fourth of July.  They had decks that faced the water and on clear nights, you could see all the way to the city skyline.  I loved watching the pops of colors from the fireworks set off all around, from all the way to Sandy Hook to the edge of the city.  I picture that, and suddenly the rest of the memories start to flood back; the smell of my male relatives' cigar smoke or the mixed and muddled perfumes of my aunts, or the giggles and inside jokes coming from my cousins, and usually the music of Carole King or James Taylor playing in the back.

Everyone has their own personal connections to the city and I would never presume that ones' experiences outweighs another.  New York City to me was always this distant relative that I visited and was familiar with, but never really got to know.  We took for granted that we lived only a ferry-ride away.  It was a presence, like how Bruce Springsteen is seen- something I don't think we ever realized how significant it was, because to us, New York will always be simply "the city" and Springsteen will always be just "Bruce".

I'll never forget seeing the smoke drifting above our heads as we stood outside of the Hofbrahaus in Highlands, standing on the lookout with dozens of other people, quietly whispering out of fear and disbelief, watching helplessly as our beloved skyline changed forever.  All we could do once the shock had worn off and the grieving completed, is remember the good things from before, our thoughts and memories of trips and visits, meals and museums, epic nights and adventures.  And to remember there are many more great experiences to be had.

Never forget that.  

Doggie Doo-Wop

I really don't mind contributing a portion of the monthly mortgage payment to the town of Lakewood Ranch in order to pay for maintenance of the parks and common areas.  It keeps the neighborhood looking tidy and neat.

The only problem I seem to have is constantly timing my walks with Georgia to happen the same time the landscapers and lawn mowers are out.  And the reason this is a problem is two-fold; Georgia hates any loud mower sounds and clanking trailers, and I feel totally in the way.  These guys are just doing their job, yet I can't help that they're thinking, Here comes the disheveled red head in those same Victoria's Secret Pink yoga pants and that ratty stretched out tank top.  And her little dog, too.

Usually I can hear what area of the neighborhood they are working on and I can simply go the opposite way, giving them plenty of space and not bothering them.  That was the plan yesterday, but it didn't work out exactly.

Georgia began whining at my feet.  "Yeah, ok, it's time," I told her.  I got her leash on and my pooper scooper set with a fresh bag and walked out.  

Bzzzzz.

Lawn mower day.

I walked out of the house and towards the main road that met with our side street.  I could see them in the distance working in the park.  Ok, so we won't go that way today, I thought, and led Georgia to the right, towards the small park on the other side of the neighborhood.

I should probably also mention that I am terribly paranoid about getting yelled out for my dog doing her business.  I don't really know why.  I keep expecting one day for a woman in a blue bathrobe with pink curlers in her hair, running out of her house and shaming me for not getting every bit of her poop.  She would then order me to pick it up with my bare hands.  And I would.  Because I'm weak and obedient.  

Still, dogs do dog doo, and really if she doesn't relieve herself, I'd be worried something was wrong with her.  So the compromise is, I make sure she pees and poops, but only in the park areas.  Never on the lawns.  And I always bring my pooper scooper and bag to pick up after her, but if I can't get it all, well, at least I tried.

Anyway, I was nearing the park area and we were doing the same ol' dance; Georgia sniffing everything, marking, or looking around, while I waited, looking for woodpeckers and willing her bowels to move.

At last, she finally went and just as I picked it up with the scooper, I heard it.  Bzzzzz.  And it was suddenly getting louder.  I saw one of the lawn mower guys driving towards us.  I didn't have a chance to deposit her bag in the garbage.  I just yanked Georgia away from her fascinating blade of grass and hurried her to the cul-de-sac.  The other problem of trying to discreetly walk your dog in the morning is that you almost always have an audience.  People are leaving for school or work, bringing their garbage to the curb, or bike riding.  I really don't know why I have this absurd modesty...on behalf of my DOG...but I just fear judgement, what can I say?

As I watched and waited for the lawn guy to finish mowing the park, I heard something else.  Aaaack.

Georgia puked on the neighbor's yard.  Wonderful.  I stood there for a few minutes, holding a loaded pooper scooper, unsure what to do.  I considered trying to pretend to clean it up, but what good would it really do?  Instead, I kicked a little grass on top of it and hoped no one saw.

After purposely "pretending" to fumble with the very complicated pooper scooper, the lawn guy finally drove off and I was able to throw away the bag.  We were just getting home when I heard the sound of another law mower coming towards us.  Maybe they are just messing with me...