Kissing and Fashion

Let's talk fashion and love.

I was lucky enough this year to participate in Austin Fashion Week.  It started off by doing hair for a few models for a fashion show.  the show was exciting and I was quickly caught up in fashion fever.

I attended a few of the functions during the week and worked doing makeup for one other event.  The real thrill came last night.  The end of Fashion Week.  The awards ceremony complete with red carpet.

I was not up for any awards, but the owner of the salon where I work, was up for not one but two awards.  She graciously asked me to attend as her date.

As the weekend drew closer I was starting to regret my decision to go with her.  I kept thinking I would rather be home with a cheeseburger and no makeup on than go to an awards ceremony.

I even sent her a last minute text asking if there was anyway to get out of going.  The response was, "No, grab your hair and get over here,"

The glory of being a hairstylist is the constant changing of identity through my locks.  My own real hair is cut short, so to don a wig of long luscious locks for an evening is perfectly normal.

The day leading up to the awards was already an odd one as I had searched down an old friend and found out that her life partner had recently passed away.  I had not spoken to my friend in 15 years, but I have known her and her partner since I was ten years old.

Her partner was my first camp counselor and my friend was my first real girl kiss.  Reconnecting after so long combined with being hours away from walking on a red carpet, was surreal at best. 

As I put on my eyelashes I was suddenly brought back to the summer of the kiss.  The cool air of the Catskill Mountains, the girl sitting next to me, my heart racing.

"Those earrings are bad, and lose the bracelet" snapped me out of my revelry.  I quickly changed but really wanted to go home and relive those summers I spent at this magical place.  I wanted to replay the kiss.  I wanted to write about it.  Instead I was running around the salon in search of the perfect accessory.

Dressed and in the car the cool breeze in my head from the Catskills was replaced by the harsh reality of a Texas summer night.  Why did I wear black? 

We arrived and I dutifully stood behind my "date' taking pictures of her as we approached the red carpet.  Yes, it actually was a red carpet.  Complete with stopping every few feet for pictures from photographers that stood behind a rope.

My boss was a pro.  Not her first rodeo as she has previously won an award at this event a few years ago.  She had her picture taken as I stood back, and then without warning she grabbed me and pulled me in for the pictures as well.

"Damnit why didn't I stick with that diet plan six months ago.  turn, smile, is there anything on my teeth? God I wish I had that camera.  Wow, the flashes really are a bit blinding, please Lord don't let me trip.  Is that man wearing a skirt?  walk, stop, turn to look thinner, smile, yes I am sure there is something stuck in my teeth.  I wonder what editing program they use for their pictures?  Who are all these photographers? Oh that kiss..."

We had reached the end of the carpet, now I could step back and watch everyone else who was behind me that I was oblivious to.  Fashion Diva's of Austin.  Amazing clothes, outstanding hair, a ton of women coiffed to the hilt.  This was no ordinary Awards show, it was Austin, and we may have been in the chicest location surrounded by lights and music and cameras, but it still managed to attain it's Austin flair.

My boss did not win this year, but I truly believed was honored just to be nominated.  Her award being first we relaxed into the evening and watched the rest of the awards in stride.

When the awards for People's choice and Industry's choice for best hairstylist came up, I can not express how much I wanted to see my name up there.  Hear my name called out.  Without warning a drive came in me and I immediately thought, "That will be me next year."

At the after party hands were shaken, names were taken, pleasantries exchanged.  My mind shifted into photographer mode and I walked around taking pictures of the fabulous people.  Yes, they are fabulous. 

Being single made me momentarily sad, as I realized I had no one to bounce comments off of, or hold hands with.

Holding hands brought me back to that summer so long ago.  The touching of hands in a sweet and cautious way that lead to a kiss. 

The curious mixture of where I was standing realizing that half a country away an old friend was grieving the loss of her love.  I have stood in her shoes, and they are not comfortable or fashionable in any way.  I went outside and offered up to the skyline a wish that my friend finds comfort, and that my own feet would find comfort as well, as my shoes were killing me at this point.

I spent the evening in two places at once.  Reliving one evening, while standing in another.  Both evenings very different, yet in the end, both felt like me.

Someday I will write about the award I won, and my acceptance speech.  For now, I write about how one kiss can lead to an award show in a city I never knew existed.

These Boots

In between hot flashes, adult acne, and a daunting countdown to my 25th high school reunion, I have endured summer.

Not that summer is over according to the temperature.  Our hottest days lay ahead still.  The calendar dictates that summer is over as the kids have gone back to school, and suddenly my schedule is filling up with people returning from their holidays.

My clients sit in my chair and regale me with stories of travels far and near.  Out of kindness they ask what I managed to do this summer.

The question always reminds me of that first paper you have to write in second or third grade about what you did over the summer.  Sometimes for me it was as simple as, "I went to fat camp."
Often the paper was filled with stories of hanging out at the lake with my friends, and slathering baby oil all over my skin so I could get as tan as possible.

The smell of coconut Hawaiian Tropic still makes me smile.

Not this summer.  This summer I did not go to the beach, or lay out, or even go to the pool much.  This summer I lost myself and found myself.

Not exactly the thing a client wants to hear, so I usually answer that I worked, and as my kids are older they all did their own thing, which is true.

I however lost a job, found a career, and for a short time lost my identity altogether.

I spent many days and nights pondering who the hell I was.  How did I become the person I was seeing in the mirror?

I dug so deeply into myself that the rest of the world around me became a blur.  I became disconnected not only with myself but with my friends and family, and when I opened my eyes I did not like the place I had landed.

My eyes did open though, and I realized that I spent way too much time trying to figure out who I was then actually embracing who I am.

While contemplating writing a book a friend told me to dig deep.  I related this to another common friend and she said, "That's excellent advice, you should.  What did you do today that took up some time and thought?"

The honest answer was, "I spent over half an hour laying on my bed watching the ceiling fan."

My friend, who happens to be a therapist said, "Not exactly a book I would pick up."

But do I really want to dig deep?  Do I want to go to those places that other people may or may not find interesting?  I spent almost an entire summer living in my head without my toes touching sand even once.

I feel almost like I literally lost myself within myself, and just in the past few weeks I have been able to climb out, look back and say, "Lesson learned."

I found myself and then some.  I found the part of me that knows I deserve good things, the part of me that loves and adores my children and friends and family.  I found a part of me I did not know existed before, a part that has business and networking savvy.  Once I gave this part of me permission to reemerge  it has come out in abundance.

I feel excited again, and more alive,  more me. 

I may be speaking in vague terms because the details are not important.  What is important is tonight I sat on the bed with the kids and talked, laughed and told stories.  I was present.  Completely in the moment.

I may not lose one pound before my high school reunion. I may show up wearing cowboy boots that will be oddly out of place, I may have gray in my hair.  But I will show up being me.  A better me than I was 25 years ago, a better me than I was a year ago, and a better me than I was even this morning.

The part of me I lost was the trusting in myself and my confidence.

The part I found was even more trust and faith in myself and a confidence that I hope is as infectious and sexy as it feels to me.

I may be the fat girl at the reunion wearing cowboy boots, but you can bet I will work those boots unlike any other.  Because that's who I am and what I do!

Eviction Notice

With new found enthusiasm I was over the moon at the idea of learning to love myself again.  Ready to take on this momentous project, and dare I say, the lingering idea of turning it into a book?  Who does not want to learn how to love themselves more?  Best seller for sure.

I see a fit healthy new me that glows with exuberance sitting along side Matt Lauer, (I gently move my long curly hair to the side a litte) "Well Matt, yes it has been a journey, but one that did not require me leaving my children or duties.  Sure anyone could go to India, or Italy [I had to add a dig to other authors somehow] to "find" themselves.  But the truest journey is when you go within.  When you seek love, absolution and forgiveness from within.  I believe that the turning point for me came when...."

Matt interrupts, "That's all we have time for, thank you Amy Evers,  your book "______________" has been on the NY Times Best Seller list now for 32 weeks, coming up next, Do we really have to suffer with ingrown toenails?"

I giggled for at least a day over such scenarios.

I fell asleep starting to make lists of how to go about this, make it a reality.  I could taste it as clearly as the entire tray of brownies I had consumed earlier.

Then I woke up.  Literally.  I woke up and walked to the bathroom and there on my visage were not one but three zits that blossomed to a full bloom while I slumbered.

Really?  ACNE?  I thought I was in menopause.  Okay maybe perimenopause, but all the same, three glorious zits?

Pause.  I love myself remember?  Look again, See further than the acne, look deeper.  Oh My God, that is one long giant ass chin hair!  And it is white.  Just sign me up now for a part time job as Santa in the mall, I am sure by then it will turn into a full beard.  Acne and chin hair.  I am turning into a hormonal teenage boy minus the testosterone.

Taking a moment to reevaluate my situation, clearly the first step to my love project was not going to begin on the outside.

The outside will reflect my inner beauty once I have learned to love and accept my flaws and changes.

 After that trite cliche came to mind, I thought, and how many books were written like that?

This was only day one, did I expect miracles to happen overnight?  No.  But nor did I anticipate acne and chin hairs either.

Gathering up my gusto, I continued on with my day.  Doing all the things I would normally do. The shuffling of children, stressing over money matters, trying not to pick at my zits which I was tempted to name after Great evil characters of destruction.  One was particularly large and could not decide if it should be Voldemort or Judas.

A day ago I was hyped up to claim my life back, to start fresh, to travel within to find the love of myself. Now less than twentyfour hours later I was sitting in line at Jack in the Box thinking of names for my zits.

This was not the plan I had been mentally putting in place.

It has been a few days, Voldemort, Claudius and Cruella have all but gone back from whence they came.  It was a short derailment and learning opportunity that I am sure I learned nothing from as they will annoy me every time they appear.  Perhaps the lesson is not to learn to love everything about myself flaws and all.  Maybe I need to learn how to deal with those things that pop up (pun very much intended.)

I do not want to turn into some sweet little lady who drips with euphemisms and platitudes.  I want my spark.  My feistiness, my fun to return.  That may always involve naming facial eruptions, and cursing at them when I dare to glance in the mirror.

As for the chin hair, I will rip them out as violently as they appear until there are no follicles left to produce.  If I can not reproduce, then my chin can't either.  Those are just the rules around here in the body of Amy.

I may be offer to a wobbly start along this inward journey, but be sure of this, I have started.

the Love Project

In a conversation with a friend I said something sarcastic that hit to the bone.  Sarcasm is my usual defense when feeling cornered.  He replied with , "Well I will go further in life than you ever will."

At the time of the conversation/argument I agreed with him.  "I am sure you will."

But then I started to think about what that means.  To "go further".  Knowing this person it meant monetarily.

I have been there.  I have had dinner with a the captain of the Queen Elizabeth II.  I have had diamonds that could buy a car.  I had a wedding that could have bought a house.  I have bought two houses.  I have had more cars than I can count (tho not at one time).

I have been poor.  I have pawned the diamonds, and sold cars to get Christmas gifts for my kids.

Money is a pain in the ass, when you don't have it.  Or so the saying goes.

But there is one thing more important than money.  It's love.  Yes I know that is cliche and douchey, but also true.

I have been going through some trying times in the last few months and for the most part have not let many people in on it.  Seriously sometimes bitching about my life just gets tiresome, even to me.

Yesterday I made a decision  to focus on love instead of strife.  Be better to the ones I love.  My children, my siblings, my friends, my parents.  That is how the list came out in my head.  After looking at it, I realized someone was missing from this love list.  Myself.

I do not think I have truly loved myself since Eric died.  My identity was how he saw me.  How he loved me.  How I loved him.  I lost that identity when he took his last breath almost 8 years ago.

Now I am faced with gaining back the love of myself.  Becoming the person I once was only better.  I just am not entirely sure how to go about it.

I don't want a big house, or a fancy brand new car.  I have no use for diamonds.

I want to pay my bills, put food on the table and know what it means to love myself again.

When I can do that, I will be free from the lingering depression that has become a part of my identity.

 When I do that I will be able to offer even more love to my children, family and friends.

I hope I do fall in love again someday.  I hope I do get to experience the kind of love where I am accepted as is.  A love that allows me to be strong, weak, tired, scared, powerful, fun, and playful.

Should it never happen again, than I hope to love myself enough to be alone, without sadness.

My daughter is reading a book about a woman who went about a year of claiming happiness.  Even though I have a distaste for the "year memoirs" as I call them, I do like the idea of finding happiness and creating it.

Maybe I need to map out on a conscious level what would bring me back to loving myself, without the need or desire of a partner to help identify that,

Maybe I need a "Love Project."

Maybe this is the idea of something bigger than myself.

let the Love Thyself Project begin!

Going out of Business

I have been dealing with some medical issues of late, that have gone from . "Well, given your family history it may be cancer..." to "Hmmm, have you tired vitamins?"

In my head I have run through the cancer route, given it is a topic I am acutely familiar with.  Diagnoses, maybe surgery, chemo, loss of hair, throwing up.  Looking at the upside, I could use some new scarves, I would probably lose weight, and the drugs that come with surgery don't sound all that bad.  

The downside of course would be death.  Leaving five children behind, three of them having lost all the parents they ever had.  A depressing thought to be sure.

For kicks, albeit morbid, I imagine my funeral.  I am curious who would say what about me.  Apparently even in death I am vain and narcissistic.

"she will be missed."

I hear the obnoxious whispering from a few people I do not even recognize, "Oh those poor children." If my ghost could smack them it would.  

After some poking, prodding, and numerous blood tests a verdict was reached.

"It seems that you are entering menopause Miss Evers."

The Earth stopped revolving.  I was already eyeing a Chanel scarf for my hair free chemo head.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Well, given your symptoms and blood work there seems to be no other explanation."

I said, "No other explanation?" I looked at the wall to see where this crackpot know nothing Doctor got her degree, which online school of medicine printed out a fake certificate.  Harvard.  Great.

I started to tune out and her words faded away, "You can expect mood changes, irregular periods that could last as long as...."

My head was saying what the fuck? menopause? I am 43 years old.  So what, all my eggs are gone?  am I dropping the remainder all at once like a going out of business sale? mood changes? I already have mood changes, I live with teenagers.  

Snapping back to reality I looked at her with wide aging doe eyes and asked, "Are you absolutely sure it isn't caner?"

She thought I would be thrilled it was not cancer.

When I got into my car I cried.  Then I questioned if my crying was just a symptom of my impending lack of estrogen.

A young man smiled at me and I wanted to smack him and tell him I was no cougar, more like a dinosaur.

Yes I know there are wonderful books on this "stage" of life, yes I know what women will say to me.  Yes yes yes.  Fuck Gail Sheehy and her passages.  Can we please just slow everything down for once?

It is time to take up arms and not go gently into this dark night.  No way.  I refuse to learn how to crochet, I refuse to stop wanting to wear tiaras every day.  (I don't really wear one, I just want to.)

I will not buy a rocking chair or start covering my flabby arms.

Have I mentioned that I am only 43?

Yes my behaviour has been a bit erratic the last few months, and I suppose I could blame it all on my new found "Hormonal imbalance" but that is a cop out.  I have done and said things I am not proud of, but I am not ready to don a tee shirt that says, "Don't blame me, I lost all my eggs."

One upside I have noticed is that I have developed a certain hard edge that was not previously part of my self description.  I have little to no tolerance for certain attitudes, or people who are hell bent on blaming me for every pain in their lives.  Deal with it.

I have also noticed that along with my short temper has come a larger amount of forgiveness.  I am now able to express my feelings of hurt, but then move on and forgive.  These could be useful tools to have.

I have not yet, however forgiven my body for selling off all my eggs and hormones without discussing it with my first.

Maybe I need a second opinion.

Pay It Backwards

I remember this movie where a boy started a project at school and called it "Pay It Forward".  I have no idea if it was based on real life events or not, but I can tell you the movie left an impression on me.

Not because I finished watching it feeling the urge to pay it forward, but the movie managed to send out the opposite message.  If you do something good, something bad will happen.

A rather pessimistic look on things.  I would love to believe that for every good action there is an equal good reaction.  That does not always seem to be the case.

One of my many pet peeves, and I honestly do not have that many, is people who litter.  In my naive teen years I was known to clean my car out on a highway or two, until a sad Indian with a single tear drop changed all that.

If my daughter sees someone litter she will stop and pick it up and put it in our car until we get home.

Tonight I should have done that.  

I have noticed a change in me, I seem to be becoming less filtered with my ideas and opinions.  Some have said this is the beginning of menopause where we just don't give a shit anymore about keeping up with appearances.  Maybe this is true.  I may just be turning into Tawanda from Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.   Minus the insurance.

While in search of my diet coke I pulled up to a McDonalds.  I noticed the car in front of me roll down their window and throw a cup out on to the grass.

I got out of my car and picked the cup up.  

Not being able to leave well enough alone I walked over to his car, noted the small children in the car and with as much sugar in my voice as I could muster I handed him the cup and said, "Here, I think you dropped this."

He took the cup and said, "Thanks."

When I got back in my car I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Until I saw the man ceremoniously dump three half full slurpees out of his window and on to the ground while giving me the finger.  I pulled up to get my own diet coke and asked the girl, "Did you just see that?  There is a trash can five feet away and he has children in his car!"

She blew it off and said, "He's and asshole". 

I concurred and drove around the corner.

I wish I could say my story ended there.  I am not happy with myself for what followed and even writing this shames me.

The man was waiting for me.  He had my car blocked and he began to dump every piece of trash in his car out of his window.

I honked and gave him the finger.  My window was down, as was his, and he yelled, "Why don't you clean it up?"

I screamed, yes screamed, "This is what you are teaching your children? Great exapmple!"

His retort was, "So clean up after me you white bitch."

Now I really wish that is where the story ends.  I really wish I had gotten out of the car and cleaned up after him.  What had I started ?

Where was my path of least resistance when I needed it the most?  Where was my zen?  Where was my brain?

My brain went immediately into racist mode and I screamed back at him, "Why don't you go the fuck back to Mexico."

Yes.  I did.  I said that.  No, I yelled that.  In a parking lot. His children probably heard.  

Where did that even come from?  I am not racist.  Or so I thought.  Was my mind just looking for the first insult it could muster?  And if so, why a racist one?

Everything I did was wrong.  If I could go back I would have picked up his trash and put it in my car and been silently pissed off at the stranger who littered.  At that point I did not see him as a "Mexican Who Litters"  I just saw him as a Litterer.  

Instead of my original good intention to pay it forward, I left a parking lot filled with more trash, literal and verbal.  Feeling not at all good about myself.

Pay it forward?  I think not.  All I did was cause harm, mostly to my own psyche as I sit here now and question my knee jerk reaction. Emphasis on jerk.

When I was a child there was an elderly lady who sat out on her front porch in a vinyl woven lawn chair and would yell at every passing car.  She would yell to slow down, or speed up, or call them names.  Clearly she had lost her filter long ago.

I do not want to be that old lady.  I was scared of her.  She always told me I was up to no good whenever my brother and I walked past her.

maybe she was prophetic and I am up to no good.

My trying to pay it forward resulted in disaster.  My own mostly.  

I am ashamed.

Been A Long Time

One of my daughters has a friend who happens to have a hot Dad.  I shared his picture with my friend Hilary.

Her response was, "Please tell me he is single and you are interested."

He is single, and as much as I like to tease my daughter about it, I am not interested in him.  My response to Hilary was different.

"I am afraid darling that I am out of his league."

She sighed, and said, "Remember when no one was out of our league, and it was the opposite?"

Yes, I remember.  

It is not a matter of how thin I was (though in this culture that helped) or how long my hair was, it was not that I thought of myself as the best looking girl/woman in the world.  What made me feel that way was confidence.

This feeling was back in a time when my height and weight were proportionate, and perhaps that helped give me the confidence to be the person I was.

Was. 

Proud, strong, optimistic, spontaneous, sexy, flirty, fun.  

I can hear the naysayers in my head now saying that I am still all that and more.  I can hear the voices clearly, the ones of my friends who love me no matter what.  How I love them for that.

I wish it was enough.  I wish that all their voices would give me back that confidence I once had.  If you met me now, you would not think I am a woman lacking in confidence.  I am extremely good at faking it.

There are areas of  my life where I am honestly confident.  My work.  I know I am good at what I do.  My writing, my photography.  All those aspects I never question or doubt.  They help make me feel alive and defined.

Much of the rest of the time I feel invisible.  This is a theme I have been writing about for some time now, and I know that I am the only one who can make myself visible again.  

I cut my hair today.  No one noticed except for one of my children who happened to be with me at the time it was being cut.  I am not talking a trim, I am talking a big giant cut, a big change.

I can not help but feel sad that no one noticed.  

I am even more sad that I care so much about it.

Sure I could post a picture online and scream, "LOOK I CUT MY HAIR". and let the comments roll in. But that is not what I am seeking either.

What I am seeking is the Nike motivation of "Just Do It" that does not seem to be happening.  That inner oomph that kicks my ass out of bed with gusto.

I want to rid myself of the excuses and fears and be all that I can be, without joining the Marines.

I want to be noticed.

Not by you, or strangers, or my daughter's friend's Dad.

I want to be noticed by myself.

To look in the mirror, or at my body, and say, "Ahhh there you are.  I have missed you and welcome back."