You are currently browsing the monthly archive for January 2008.

You want the truth? I’m not doing well this week.

I’m completely overwhelmed at work. I’m second guessing myself and my place here and I hate that.

My stress level is through the roof. I’m swamped with projects, I owe an overly understanding person a story that I keep forgetting to send her and my house needs to be cleaned.

I dreamt last night that they brought out my wedding dress for my fitting and it was the wrong one. Some horrible, one-shoulder monstrosity covered in sequins that they insisted was mine and refused to send back for my actual dress.

My actual fear is I will stand in the dressing room on Saturday weeping while the saleswoman informs me that the dress is too small.

And I’m tired of eating salad.

Is anyone else tired of the blog wars? Because I am. Seriously. Maybe we’re all in a funk because it’s mid-winter and crappy out. Or maybe we’re on edge because How I Met Your Mother has been in repeats forever. Whatever the reason, a lot of feelings have been hurt, a lot of egos have been bruised and you could cut the tension in Blog World with a knife.

So, here’s your chance to let it out. Whatever is on your mind, whatever is bugging you. Mad that your J Crew package hasn’t shown up yet? Pissed that the cat–well–pissed–on the floor again? Annoyed that the rain if preventing you from wearing those super cute shoes? (Sorry, SDM, I had to!)

Or maybe I just bug you. Whatever it is, say it here, say it today.

And tomorrow, let’s just let it all go, OK?

I’ll go first and it relates to my past post on gym grievances: If you want to use the machine I’m on, don’t stand next to me and glare when I rest between sets. I will get up when I’m done. Get out of my face. Thank you.

Seventeen rows up, the seat on the end. My shoe dangled as I bounced my foot, head bent over the exam. Confident, without hesitation, I filled in the bubbles.

Paralyzed. Can’t breathe. Room getting fuzzy. I looked down and the bubbles swelled and ran together, swimming on the page into one big blur. What was happening? I raised my hand and stood at the same time, mumbling words to the TA about going outside. When the cold air hit my face I inhaled sharply, feeling my heart gradually begin to slow.

What was that?

My first brush with an anxiety attack was painful, scary and out of the blue. And then it happened again. And again. The gasping for breath, heart-pounding feelings could last anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes. Tightness in my chest was always the first sign. Unable to stop them, I would curl into a ball and cry, waiting for it to stop.

I’m still not sure what triggered these attacks. I can speculate– college was demanding, the death of Michael’s father affected me more than I realized, the future beyond school was upon me– but I never had a clear answer. The only thing I knew was that I had to learn to control it, or it would control me.

I took vitamins. I exercised. I practiced the art of deep breathing. And most of all, I forced myself to push through them. No more tears, no more defeat.

It’s been about three years since I’ ve had a full blown anxiety attack. I know the signs now and I cut them off before it gets too bad. I don’t always know what triggers them, but I no longer let them win.

Last night I lay in bed, feeling my heart race at an all too familiar speed. I took deep breaths and willed myself to clear my head, pushing the worries of tomorrow away. Soon the racing stopped, my heart returning to a normal pace.

This morning I took a vitamin. And tonight I will push myself at the gym.

The anxiety may never fully go away, but it no longer has a hold on me.

I think it’s important you know I feel very exposed right now. Like I just stood in front of all of you and dropped my pants. While my anxiety is a very personal thing for me, talking about it– writing about it– helps.

I looked up from my book annoyed. What? What do you want? Why are you nudging my book?

He looked at me with those big brown eyes and I shut the cover with a muffled thud. He put his head on my lap and turned it slightly, giving me perfect access to his floppy ear.

Scratchy, Mom. Give me love.

I conceded, because even though all I wanted to do with my Sunday was curl up on the couch and read, I’m a sucker for a boy with brown eyes.


I looked up from my book annoyed. What? What do you want? Why are you nudging my book?

He looked at me with those big brown eyes and I shut the cover with a muffled thud. He crawled onto the couch with me, put his head on my chest and turned it slightly, giving me perfect access to the top of his head.

Scratchy, baby. Give me love.  

I conceded, because even though all I wanted to do with my Sunday was curl up on the couch and read, I’m a sucker for a boy with brown eyes.


I really love those brown-eyed boys.

(Oh Dad, I love laying on you. And I have my squeaky pheasant, Dad. Do you see it? I’m watching it.)


(Hi, Mom! Look at me on Dad. I am King of the Mountain!)

– Wipe down your machine. Please wipe down your machine. There is nothing worse than going to sit down and seeing the stripe of your butt sweat.

– Do not play Shania Twain over the loudspeaker. Ever.

– I understand you’re getting in shape for spring break. But why must you come with a gaggle of your girlfriends, dressed in identical skin-tight clothing (really? I didn’t need to see your ass-crack) and take over all the equipment? You’re barely even breaking a sweat. The gym is not an extension of your sorority house. And also, you know it’s January, right? Your fake tan is really, really obvious.

– While you’re resting between sets, please don’t watch me weight-train. It’s very unnerving to look up and see your shiny, bald head directed at me, your eyes boring a hole into my chest.

– The grunting is unnecessary.

– Please change just one of the flat-screens to something other than the news. It’s much easier to work out when you can watch something mindless. But a cooking show? Now that’s just mean.

– Deodorant! Wear it! And if you don’t, you better stay the hell away from me.

Got any grievances you’d like to share–gym related or not?

So yeah, yesterday. Religion. Heavy. But today! Shoes! Light! Especially since it’s Thursday and not Friday like I wish it was. And before we get into it, I’d like say thank you to everyone that nominated me for three 20 Something Blogger Awards. You are all too sweet and I love you dearly.

Now…on to the good stuff. Or should I say, the bad stuff.

Attack of the butterfly! Don’t worry, when you kill it, you can preserve your specimen in the lovely attached clear viewing container.


Mr. and Mrs. Jones were concerned at first, but the doctor assured them that nowadays, circumcision is the norm.


Real or faux, your crocodile shoe should not actually look like a crocodile. Those eyes!


Every month Real Simple shows you new uses for every day things. I don’t think using your cheese grater as a shoe was what they had in mind.


All that’s missing is the matching wind pants and the light-up visor. Atlantic City, here comes grandma!


And then Pocahontas dried the hide, then cut the hide, then wove it together with twine.


Tired of making puppets out of your old stockings? Try a shoe!


Santa Crocs. Two words that should never, ever go together. (I’m sorry, Ashley. I’m sorry.)


Right after Michael and I got engaged I threw myself head-first into wedding planning. The were highs and there were lows, specifically breaking into hives from a stressful reception venue search. But things came together and before I knew it, we had a venue, a caterer, a photographer and my dress. I was floating around in the engagement happy bubble and decided that with the holidays coming up, I would put the planning on the back burner until January.

Well, January is here. And is more than half over. So, um, time to resume planning.

Next big items on the list are save-the-dates and invitations.

And oh yeah, a place to actually get married.

Our reception venue does hold ceremonies, but because of the set-up I’m not completely sold on holding it there. So that leaves us with finding a church. Which if you remember, we weren’t going to do.

Michael was raised in a very religious home. Raised Catholic, he grew up attending church and Sunday school, received his confirmation and said grace before every meal.

I didn’t grow up that way. My religious background is one I discussed a long time ago. You can read about it here. In short, while I was raised with values and the understanding that there was something bigger than myself, it wasn’t within the structured walls of an organized religion.

As you can imagine, this has never settled well with Michael’s mother. In her eyes, my life will never be complete unless I accept Jesus Christ into my heart. I tend to disagree, seeing as though my life is pretty good. Let me make it clear–I’m not anti-religion. Not even close. I believe in a higher power, the beauty of nature and the importance of being a good person. But finding religion–whatever religion I end up finding–is just something I need to do on my own.

Needless to say, when we decided to start looking at churches I was very apprehensive. Would we be able to find one that fulfilled Michael’s beliefs while also allowing me to feel comfortable?

We have plans to visit one near our house. I’ve checked out their website and like the message they’re sending. Accepting of all backgrounds, promoting community. I also like that they hold two services: a traditional and a contemporary–leading me to believe that the laid back atmosphere I’m looking for actually exists.

I think finding our ceremony site will be the beginning of a personal journey for me. A journey that will hopefully lead me in a clear direction.

Only time will tell.

Lying in bed:

“Get up. Get up, get up, get up. Yes, that first digit on the clock is a six. It doesn’t matter. Must. Get. Up. That’s it, one foot out from under the covers. Ignore the sleeping boy next to you! Do not be dragged in my his warmth and sexy tousled bed head. Well, maybe just five more minutes. Mmm the down comforter is so nice and the pillow so soft and…MOLLY GET UP. It is the Year of the Bride. You have no excuse to not be in that gym. Go.

OK. Up. Good. This isn’t so bad. Ready to go and, oh. Hi, Kodiak. You have to go out? You can’t wait a little bit? Of course you can’t, what am I thinking. Sorry, baby. Alright, let’s go. Leash, hat, Michael’s big coat. All set. Holy CRAP it’s cold. Thirteen degrees? Are you kidding me? I better start the car or it will never defrost in time. Kodiak, no. You cannot go in Mom’s car. Stop it. Seriously, dog. Stop it.

Good boy! You peed. Now poop. No, don’t sniff the tree, poop. Stop looking at the ducks, it’s cold. Please poop. No? OK, we’re going in. Dad can take you out later. Yes, yes, I know there are ducks. Please stop looking at me forlornly. Some of us don’t have a built-in fur coat.”

At the gym:

“I made it. Wow, is that really the time? It’s early. Wow! I weigh two pounds less in the morning. Sweet! Hi, Jen! Yes, I didn’t want to get out of bed either. Did you know it’s 13 degrees? Good morning, elliptical.  This is probably the cleanest you’ll be all day. Let’s go!

Oh, In Touch, you make the workout so much easier. Is it bad I feel a little smug that I’m sweating up a storm while Britney stuffs her face? Nah, you’re working it, girl. You’re fit! And healthy!

And…wow. Tired. Really tired. And my legs are sore. And, huh. What do you know? It’s time to go home.”

Back at home:

Hi, Kodiak! Oh man, Dad is still sleeping? OK…let’s try to poop again. Seriously, dog. I mentioned it was cold, right? I’m beginning to think this was just a ploy to see the ducks again. We’re going in.”

While getting ready:

“OK, I thought about this in the shower. Turtleneck. Check. Textured stockings. Check. Need skirt. What about this one? No, Michael, this is not a new skirt, I just haven’t taken the tags off yet. Not sure, not sure. Too long? Yes. New skirt. Yes! I like this skirt. But which shoes? Am thinking the slouchy boots. Do they go with this skirt? Yes, they do. But isn’t it supposed to rain? I don’t remember. Why does this feel like a deja vu? Alright, no slouchy boots. Purple heels. Yessss. Love the purple heels. Time for work!

Wait, only 8:45? I think it’s going to be a long day…”

…don’t leave me a bitchy comment. OK? Thanks.

For the record, I know my forehead looks like a wrinkly mess in the pictures below. When I raise my eyebrows I get Grinch forehead. What of it? My mom and I even joked about how bad the picture was.

But if you want to make fun of me, anonymously at that, that’s your priority.

Just do it somewhere else.

Alternately titled: I love you guys enough to post myself looking like a total fool.

Because many of you have been requesting it for awhile now, I’ve finally put together the Molly Curl tutorial. To begin, you should start with the following items:


1. Hot rollers in three sizes. It’s important not to use all one size for this particular look. While jumbo rollers are great for volume, they won’t give you the curl you’re looking for, and while small rollers are great, a whole head full will leave you looking more Shirley Temple than Kate Hudson.

2. Volumizing curl mousse. Probably the most crucial product aside from the rollers. If you can’t find a combination volume/curl, go for the volume.

3. A texturizing product. I use a texturizing foam wax because it doesn’t make my hair too sticky, but if you have a product you prefer, go with that.

4. Hair spray.

Step One:

After washing hair, I apply two good palmfuls of mousse. The amount of product you use will vary depending on your hair type. I have fine hair, so the mousse is important to obtain the volume I’m after. Distribute evenly through damp hair, making sure to really rub it into the roots.

Blow dry upside down to achieve maximum volume. Don’t worry about a perfect blow out. Working with your natural texture makes the style even better.

When fully dry, apply a quarter-sized amount of texturizing product. Distribute evenly, this time avoiding roots. My hair tends to get a little tangly here, so I gently run a brush through the ends.

Step Two:

Position hair with your part the way you want it when curly. Begin with a medium-sized roller and a two to three inch piece of hair. Pull taut and roll away from your face. Secure with roller clip.


Step Three:

Work around the top of your head in the same manner. Do not worry about making uniform lines or if the ends stick up a little. We’re not going for a perm-look or something too fussy.


(My head does not usually look like an old lady’s. For some reason I was raising my eyebrows without thinking.)

Step Four:

Continue working around your head, adding smaller rollers (in white) around the frame of your face where tighter curls would naturally occur.


Step Five:

Continue rolling, using largest rollers for bottom layers of hair. These rollers will produce big, soft waves that will provide a good base for the rest of your curls.

When fully rolled, spray entire head with a good misting of hairspray.

Let sit for 20-25 minutes until rollers are fully cooled.


(Dorky face optional.)

Step Six:

When cool, slowly unroll rollers, being careful not too pull hair too hard. Pulling equals frizz, not curls. When all rollers are removed, flip head over and shake out the curls. Lightly spray with hairspray.

Note: at this point your hair is going to look BIG. Lion-esque, if you will. Don’t worry. In a few minutes the curls will begin to relax.

Gently play with your hair until you’ve achieved the desired position. Give it another spray for good measure.

Ta da! The Molly Curl!





You like?

Ask me anything!

Tweet, Tweet

Alltop, all the cool kids (and me)