Mouseketeers and Molly Ringwald

The Best Friend is looking pretty hot these days. Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been gorgeous, she just has a little extra ‘va’ to her ‘voom’ lately. Now that we have a couple hours distance between us we don’t see each other as often. We have to keep up via facebook and the like. I’ve noticed a trend with the pictures she’s posted as of late – her hair keeps getting shorter and she keeps getting prettier. It made me wonder – very briefly – if that theory would work on me.

I’m impressed that The Best Friend had the guts to chop her hair again. I remember when she first experimented with cutting her hair short. We were in the days of The Mickey Mouse Club churning out pop stars. The Best Friend, whose curly hair beats mine any day, excited told me one day that she was going to go to the salon. Her mom had booked her a hair appointment the following day and she would be returning with long, golden locks ala Christina Aguilera. She did, indeed, return with the hair of a Mousketeer. Unfortunately, her short, curly hair with bleach-blond highlights was more along the lines of Justin Timberlake than Christina Aguilera. I can’t help but giggle at the memory, though I, too, have had my fair share of wearing the hair of a pre-pubescent boy.

The first time I cut my hair short I was in junior high and on my way to an ice skating party. I brought a friend with my and swore her to secrecy – I wanted to show up to the party with a chic new haircut, surprising everyone. My mother, who at the time still rocked an 80’s perm, took me to her hair dresser. I should have known that this wouldn’t be good, but childhood innocence left me in the dark. It didn’t dawn on me that I perhaps should have picked a different hairdresser until I was perusing the books in the waiting room… one 80’s cut after the other. I attempted to explain to the hairdresser what I wanted, but, being as young as I was, I didn’t realize that she needed more than ‘cute’ and ‘short’ to get a better picture. I walked out of that place with my curly hair chopped short and angular, then teased to a volume I’ve never seen before – a volume only Molly Ringwald could appreciate. My friend attempted to stifle giggles while I attempted to hold back tears. I spent that ice skating party tugging a hat as tightly over my ears as possible, though I swear my hair was teased and sprayed to the point that the hat stood three inches above my scalp.

The Moral of the Story: Today I Love Mouseketeers and Molly Ringwald. I just don’t want to look like either.

Baseball Fields and Summer Nights

Have you ever had a friend that slipped into your life so easy it felt like you’ve known them for years? It doesn’t happen often, but when it does you know it’s special.

I met him at a friend’s barbeque this summer. We spoke a little that night, not much, but later that week I found myself hanging out with him again. He was only here for a month or so, but we made so many memories together. We had a routine. A baseball field at night and a pack of Camel Lights. We would lay in the field and talk. We talked about everything and anything. I told him things I’ve only told my best friend. It sounds romantic, I know, but the amazing thing was we didn’t have to worry about attraction. It was intimate, yes, but only in a friendship way. Looking at the stars, opening up to each other, laughing at the craziness of life. The little time he was here felt like a lifetime.

I’ll never forget our Fever Pitch summer.

The Moral of the story: Today I love Baseball Fields and Summer Nights

The Mistake of a Lifetime

I almost married someone I wasn’t in love with a month ago today. This morning I looked at a lotto ticket that has been sitting in my wallet since Saturday. I knew that today they announce the winning numbers, so I pulled it out, and that’s when I noticed the date. It’s the 22nd. I’m surprised how fast the time has gone by, and at the same time I feel as though it’s been a year since I almost married into what surely would have been a disaster.

I called off my wedding almost exactly a month before the date. I’m happy I came to my senses when I did, yet a little part of me wishes that I had that Runaway Bride moment, escaping minutes before the ceremony starts in my full Bride getup in the back of my best friends pickup truck. See, she had it all planned out. She knew that this marriage would have been the end of me. I told her and her husband one morning around 2am, after one drink too many, that I didn’t think I could go through with it. After I finally admitted it the words rushed out. I told them all the gory details of how unhappy I was. They told me they would support me no matter what. Turns out her way of supporting me was not what I expected.

After my 2am confession I had to go back to reality. The next day I drove home, confident in my decision, ready to call things off. The problem was The Ex’s sister and her boyfriend were staying with us for a long weekend. I didn’t want to say anything while they were there, of course, so I ended up playing the part of the doting fiancé. I didn’t realize how easy it would be to slip back into that role. And stay in that role. I decided it would be easier to just go along with things as they were. I was willing to compromise my happiness to avoid one difficult conversation. Looking back I realize how incredibly ridiculous this is.

I remember when I told my best friend that I was going to go through with it. The Ex’s sister had just left and he and I were on our way to go wedding veil and shoe shopping. I was too scared to speak to her because I knew if I did I would have to face the fact once again that my perfect little fairy-tale wedding was in fact a nightmare. So I texted her. She told me that she would stand by me in my decisions but let me know she didn’t agree with me. Then, a couple days later, she called. She told me she could not stand up next to me in my wedding knowing how unhappy I was. I was crushed. It’s hard to face a friend who is willing to say the things that you’re not. I was mortified, too. How was I going to explain to everyone that my best friend, my Maid of Honor, was no longer in the wedding? Needless to say, it didn’t get to that. I called the wedding off.

My best friend since the day I was born and I weren’t speaking. The night I finally got up the guts to call off the wedding I was surprised how easy it was. It came down to one question, asked by The Ex: “Do you still want to marry me?” Once I gave my answer, a simple “No”, it was over. He left the room to call his family, no questions asked. I picked up my phone and called my best friend. I hadn’t spoken with her in over a week. She answered and all I said was her name. She heard my voice, the wobble in the second syllable, and said “I’m on my way”. She picked me up and on the way to her house she told me her plan. If I had decided to go through with it she was going to sit in the driveway of the house on the day of my wedding, pickup truck running, waiting for the call. Because she knew it would come. If only I had known maybe I would have waited to call things off. You only get that photo-op once. (Kidding, of course)

The Moral of the story: Today I love mistakes nearly made and friends who know you better than you know yourself.