One word, Congress, one word: DISGUSTED.
Fast forward two years. I've been married for 16 months, which is just long enough for people to stop asking me, "So, how's married life?" There should be a news bulletin about how much newlyweds HATE that question. Especially me. That question brought on a harsh reality check every time someone said those four words with a sweet smile on their face. The truth was, I's moved 800 miles away from the only life I've ever known, I had no friends, no job, I missed my family terribly and I'd found that living with my husband was very, very different from visiting every few months. But who the heck wants to hear that? Instead, I became very well-versed in "Oh, it's great! It's an adventure, but I love it!" ::Cue cheesy smile::
So we've moved past that. I've made friends, started my own company, am going back to school and have learned enough about life here that I'm surviving. James even learned to (sort-of) help around the house. Slowly but surely, I see the, "So, when are you having kids?" question beginning to creep into my life. Thankfully, my friends from Ohio know me well enough to laugh that thought right out of their heads. As for everyone else, well, the sugar coating has apparently been sucked clean off this newlywed. I have started laughing, albeit polite laughter, when someone asks me about children. Then I tell them to ask me again in seven years.
When a friend told me that James and I needed to get busy so we could be pregnant together?
When my sister-in-law said she wanted a niece or nephew?
Seven years. Or find a new brother.
I suppose I don't mind that people ask, because I recognize that I'm definitely in the minority with my lack of interest in children. I thought that maybe as I get older, I'll become more interested, but it's not happening. As I hear/read/see more and therefore have a more realistic view of pregnancy and life with a child, I'm even less interested, if anything.
(Thankfully, I have extraordinarily unusual parents and in-laws, who all whole-heartedly support w.a.i.t.i.n.g. I don't know if they'll be as patient in a few years, but for now, at least they don't particularly care.)
What has changed is the fact that I now realize things may be different down the road. I know that there is the possibility that we may decide that it's time to grow our family. In fact, James and I have actually had conversations about babies (Ok, maybe not real conversations, just about how I want to be able to pick what my child looks like. I I want him/her to look like James. Seriously, he and his sister were the most precious children ever, and they grew up into lovely adults, as well.). So while we're not ready now, the point is that we're making progress. We know it's a possibility, and we know that it's up to US and when WE're ready, not when everyone else wants it to happen.
But I'm still Saying NO to Kids... for now.
I am also a non-fan of 98 percent of reality TV shows, especially those chronicling the lives of celebrities who are famous for little or nothing. Keeping Up With the Kardashians, The Hills, Paris Hilton's My New BFF, and even Run's House (which I do like) are pretty much publicity trains for people with little else going on in their lives.
Q: What's worse than these two things?
A: Trashy celebrity magazines that cover the so-called stars of reality TV.
Why then was I compelled to click on this story about Heidi & Spencer of The Hills? I plead temporary insanity, or maybe I was hoping the headline of "Heidi Montag's mom accuses Spencer Pratt of drugging her daughter" was actually true because that would at least be semi-news--young man drugs girlfriend, takes her to Mexico & forces her into wedlock.
The article did nothing but waste several minutes of my time and inspire me to write this blog (which, face it, is still not the most productive use of my day, but gosh! I'm dragging you down with me!).
Time out for background:I'm a HUGE fan of weddings and everything involved in them. I may be the only person on the earth who L-O-V-E loved every day of wedding planning and seriously didn't stress about, oh, anything. So naturally, I wanted to see Heidi's rock.
So what did I learn? This is quite possibly the worst wedding ring, ever. It's cool if your ring doesn't have diamonds, but what on earth is that thing?
Since I'm doing a lot more cooking, I've also been spending more time investigating the higher-quality, more advanced tools that I could and should be using. I've granted my husband one-time-only permission to give me an appliance for Christmas as I am sure I can't make it much longer without a food processor. Next on my list of must-haves is a instant-read digital thermometer, a la Alton Brown. As soon as I move out of our current apartment into a place where I have more control over water quality (our current water situation has stripped the finish off my pots, is killing the non-stick coating on my baking pans and leaves rust spots on my knives and silverware), new cooking pots and knives will be moved WAY up in priority.
And on that note, I want these.
What I do know, however, is that I love this florist, although I do not know where it is, and I have never been given any flowers from it (I'd remember, apparently, they come with a banana?). But I simply adore their description of the 'naner:
The banana's got it going on. Eye-catching color. Unmistakable shape. In a bowl of fruit, it stands out against the greenest grapes and orangiest oranges. Vibrant, original and immediately recognizable, the banana represents everything we strive for in the floral world. (Not to mention, those things are crazy good for you.)"
Sexual Identity Crisis
A few weeks ago, James and I adopted a cat that someone had left outside one of his dad's apartment complexes.
She's an adorable little kitty, is quite affectionate and we simply adore her. James even bought her a pretty pink diamond-studded collar, a pink litterbox and a purple food and water bowl. She loves her pink and purple toys and is a complete attention whore. And, naturally, we named her Prada.
And then on Saturday, Courtney realized that she has balls.
Is it wrong that we are keeping all of his/her pink and purple stuff?
I just wrote this on my internship evaluation about what part of my JMC education has been most helpful...
"I have come to appreciate how much copy editing is pounded into our heads. Thanks not only to my copy editing teacher, but to all professors who wont let us slack off, I cant help but think no clichés! or comma which! or no comma in a series of three! while I'm writing, re-writing, editing and re-editing. And to be honest, I'm beginning to like that little voice in the back of my head and my writing is a lot better because of it."
Recently, I went for a ride in a bi-plane with my Dad. It was completly old school and amazingly fun, especially with the spectacular views of Sedona, Ariz., and the surrouding red-rock landscape. I saw beautiful formations, plunging canyons and high plateaus densly covered with evergreens, all from an open-air cockpit.
When I got out of the airplane, I had a terrible headache. It wasn't because of the pressure changes during take-off and landing. It wasn't because the pilot turned our plane on its side with the left wing pointing straight down and the right wing pointing straight up. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I was in a loud, windy seat with no roof.
It was because I have a big head.
This big head problem has been one that has plagued me for all of my life. My first softball helment, which I received for my ninth birthday, was a large--and it wasn't bought big so I could grow into it.
When my older sister and I got to the age that we wanted to share clothes, she often would not let me borrow her shirts becasue she said my big head stretched out the neck. And she was right, it did--the stretched out necks of my own shirts were proof.
During my freshman year of highschool, the same sister's boyfriend caught on to the Leslie-has-a-big-head game. She had been showing him photos of our childhood and he made a comment about what a large head I had then and still had at the present time. The two of them have long since broken up, but you better belive that six years later, he still makes fun of me.
To the casual observer, this head obesity problem isn't overly obvious. I was the athletic director's office aide during ninth grade. It was flag football time, and being the petite girl that I am, he was concerned about my safety. So he tried to give me a football helmet, despite my protests that it would be too small. And when he tried to put it on my head--it was, even though he promised me it was one of the biggest helments they had.
So, you ask, if people don't notice my big head, why does it matter? The issue is that people only don't notice my big head because I do things to draw the attention away. Like have big hair. Really. It helps.
Since I arrived in
But really, the part of
I mention all these numbers to make a point. With all the people, there just isn't room for tumbleweed. And believe me, I've looked. I started by looking along the highways. I was told by locals (which are few and far between because not many people are actually from here. In fact, I haven't met a single one. My locals are really just transplants from the
One day, I took the aforementioned 101 North until it heads West to a much lesser-developed area. By this I mean there are roads, the beginning of homes and only one Resort-Hotel. I thought for sure I'd be in luck. I was wrong. All I found were three very large, very yellow signs broadcasting the sale of "Luxury Condo's." Idiots. One would think that when trying to attract buyers to your condos, you'd at least learn proper punctuation. Or ask someone who already knows the difference between plural and possessive. Well, that's what I would do, anyway. Must be another "
Regardless, I was becoming quite distraught about the lack of tumbleweed. To get my mind off the crisis at hand, I drove to
I eventually had to make my way back to the scorching place we call
I've not been a fan of thunderstorms since I was about 12 and a funnel cloud went over our house, knocking down a large chunk of tree onto our deck, which narrowly missed our house. Now put yourself in a tiny car that weighs no more than a golf cart that is on the highway going 85 miles an hour. All of this is no good in a thunderstorm.
But, you see, it rarely rains here, so it is very dry. Therefore, before the thunderstorm comes something else. At home, it's called wind. It brings with it the fresh smell of wet, pollution-filled rain and we all rush to close windows and put tops up on our cars. In
Meanwhile, I can't see anything in front of, behind or beside me. It's so windy, and there is so much dust and debris in the air that I'm thoroughly convinced I'm about to be sucked up into a tornado, but I can't get a hold of anyone who knows what's going on or can even check the weather. To make matters worse, I couldn't find a radio station that broadcast in English, so even if there was a severe weather bulletin telling all motorists to abandon their cars and head for the nearest shelter (or whatever I should do in a tornado when I'm in a car. I don't even know), I wouldn't have understood it. So I drove on at 35 miles an hour, clutching my steering wheel for dear life and seriously contemplating calling 911 and asking what the hell is going on.
This was about the time when I realized that all the "debris" hitting my car--those "sticks" and such--were tumbleweed. You see, I had in my head this picture of a tumbleweed out of a Tasmanian devil cartoon. It's perfectly round and just rolls lazily along the road. And it's all a big LIE! While tumbleweed may be nice and round and perfect sometimes, really, they're just a dried up weed that blows along in the wind. And I killed about 800 of them but was too busy freaking out to even notice.
So the lesson, my friends, is that tumbleweed aren't cool. They explode into tiny bits when you hit them, they make terrible noises as their brittle parts collide with your paint and windshield at high speeds and they don't even look sweet. I've yet to thoroughly investigate the damage these dried up sticks have probably done to my car because then I will just be angry. I pursued these somersaulting bushes for weeks and this is the repayment I get? The crushing of my media-fed Midwestern fantasy? Psh. I'm over it. If you want to see a tumbleweed, try the Tumbleweeds Cafe inside Chase Field. It seems like it'd be more fun to me.
did you know...?
That Interstate 40 in Texas has different speed limits for day and night? They are 70 and 65, respectively.
That Missouri has unmarked police cars that are Dodge Chargers?
That I can't think of anything exciting to see in Oaklahoma except the Oaklahoma City National Memorial?
That Yukon, Oaklahoma, has a water tower proclaiming it as the home of Garth Brooks?
That the Painted Desert in Arizona is so beautiful that it literally takes your breath away?
That seatbelts provide very good protection during car accidents, but do not provide good suntans?
That Texas is so in love with itself that it has Texas-shaped grills at its first rest area in the state on I-40?
That Route 66 crosses most of the Southwest and goes all the way to the Santa Monica pier?
That New Mexico has signs telling you to "beware of snakes?"
That New Mexico's signs warning of wind gusts say that "strong winds may exist" (it makes it sound like they could be fictional... like "ghosts may exist"...or maybe it's just me?)?
That New Mexico has "Safety Cooridors," (which I feel are only near civilized places so police don't have to patrol the boonies) that impose double fines for speeding and make you turn your headlights on, then remid you to turn them off when you leave the safety cooridor?
that's all I have for now...
720 miles + rush hour in st. louis + the arch = 13 hours and 15 minutes of road trip fun!
Thus far, I have learned that: Southern Illinois and Missouri only do construction during the day. At first I thought this was weird, because in Ohio, construction people work into the night. Then I realized that we do this because we have winter. Southern Illinois and Missouri have a lot more time to smooth out their roads.
I dislike semi trucks.
I also dislike the concrete walls that divide highways.
The St. Louis Arch is a design and enginering marvel. And it's beautiful.
I like road trips with my Daddy.
There are a lot of St. ____ towns in Missouri.
The Mississippi River is unimpressive in St. Louis. And dirty.
Indianapolis is pretty small. At least that's the impression I got.
I've seen cars from 32 of the 50 states in the union, plus a U.S. Government Car AND one from Quebec and several from Ontario!
I'd like to know...
Can stick shift cars have cruise control?
Where is the "Bible Belt?"
Why are roads in Missouri given letters instead of numbers?
I answered my own question!
A Missouri Supplemental Route is a state secondary road in Missouri, designated with letters. Supplemental Routes were various roads within the state which the Missouri Department of Transportation were given in 1952 to maintain in addition to the regular state routes. The goal of the secondary highway system was to place state-maintained roads within two miles of more than 95% of all farm houses, schools, churches, cemeteries and stores. The four types of roads designated as supplemental routes are:
- Farm to market roads
- Roads to state parks
- Former alignments of U.S. or state highways
- Short routes connecting state highways from other states to state routes in Missouri
Supplemental routes make up 19,064 miles (59%) of the state highway system.
I don't like goodbyes. Really, they're the worst thing ever. They're so final. So sad. I just dont feel as though they're appropriate for any time.
When I was, I think, a sophomore, maybe a junior, my great-grandmother died. She'd get pnemonia every winter and that year, she told my grandma, her daughter, that she wasn't coming home from the hospital this time. She was done.
I got to see her before she died and it was so sad. I think it was only the third time I'd ever seen my father cry. First, when his dad died. Second, when my grandma's next husband died. And then when she died. Great Grandma Shephard. Pearl. With her secret-recipe bananna bread, her sweet pineapple cookies, her pink carpeted sitting room, olive green living room, her beautiful afghans and endless potholders, her polyester shorts, her permed hair... all the wonderful things I miss about her...
In her last days at the hospital, she started telling my Grandma what she wanted done with her stuff, her money, her house. She told her secret ingredient for her fantastical bananna bread. She was so peaceful and calm about everything.
The last time I saw Great Grandma was one of the saddest moments of my life. We visited in the ICU and she was barely making sense. My beautiful grandmother, who went to college in her 50s and became a teacher, who lost her husband years before she died, who took care of her own elderly mother until she died at 102, maybe 103, was dying. My dad cried as we said our goodbyes... only she woudln't let us. She just kept telling us it isn't goodbye, it's until we meet again. She wouldn't let us say goodbye. She made us say until we meet again.....
And that's why I hate goodbyes.
I went to work today, tired, hungry and not looking forward to another day of doing the Elite Team's work. And sure enough, when I got there, there were quite a few cars in the lot, seeing as it was 915 and we don't open 'till 10. Dammit. And it appeared that the new DM must be there because all the managers' cars were there.
So I go inside, put my shit away and go about my morning routine of turning on TVs and the like while snacking on some crackers i happened to find in my bookbag. Sandra paged us to the front counter and I figured it was morning meeting time.
Only on my way to the front counter I realized that there were a lot of ppl in street clothes there and a bunch of CC people in company-issued button-ups, not fleeces like a lot of the Elite team wore. Ashleigh whispers that she thinks the store is closing.
"No," I said. "The Elite Team said last week that they weren't here to close the store." After all, they'd changed about 8.2 million things in my department and we were, suprisingly, doing quite well. Our department was 11th in the company in our focus TV category. Fantastic.
So then I look over at one of the women standing there, Julie, who is our HR representative and notice that the booklet she is trying to hold at her side, but is instead waving around.... says "Store Closing Booklet."
I mean, seriously, I've always known this was coming. It's been hanging over our heads for the last four years. Literally. It was four years on the seventh that I have been working at Circuit City. In those four years, I think that everyone had the time when we were throughly convinced that the store would be done. But we made so many switches, changes, improvements.... and I thought that in the last six months, things were looking a lot better. I mean, I still complain a lot, but mostly because I honestly felt that the manager had a personal vendetta against me. Not that I'm being crazy but some of the shit she'd say to me was rediculous. She told me that I should re-evaluate my employment at Circuit City because I was honest with her and told her that school was my number on priority, not work. She coached me and gave me a corrective and threatened my job because I was regularly 7 minutes late. Yet the people who show up 10 , even 20 minutes late, or just don't show up at all... nothing. And when someone put the SOP for scheduling on her desk because she couldn't seem to get it right... she accused my sister and I of doing it before she even looked into it.
The point of all that....
Really, as much as the scheduling sucks, some of the managers are not quite right... Circuit City isn't that bad. I mean, there were the perks... I made 9.25 for doing nothing more than most retial associates. I've gotten cool shit for cheep. I met James. I rocked out with my sister a lot. I am not a stupid girl; I actually know quite a bit about electronics, computers and the like. I met a lot of freakin' cool people. I became unafraid to talk to strangers. I developed some kickin' sales skills that could come in handy at a later date... I mean, the Regional Pres. of Pizer offered me a job two weeks ago!
So despite all the bullshit, packing everything up and saying goodbye is actually going to be a kind-of sad experience. I've spent four years of my life, that's 20that's the majority of my working years, in one place. It's errie, looking at empty shelves that I damn near killed myself trying to fill with products, to see product on pallets waiting to be shipped, to think that I'm going to walk out of that store on February 22 for the very last time. Ever.
Maybe I'm being over dramatic. But really, it's bittersweet. I think I'll miss the guys the most, though. I may laugh and joke about being the only girl in my deparment, but the guys I've worked with have been pretty cool. I came over there, knowing I had to prove myself, and despite their joking, I feel like they at least respect me a little bit. Sure I'm a little spastic about stand-build tags, but that's another story all together. I mean, I've been wasted in Canada with Josh and Nick (I need that picture off Steve's wall), been asked for advice about damn near everyone's relationships, whined to everyone, seen Rob off to Iraq and welcomed him back.... crazy shit. We've all grown up, that's for sure.......
I'm just concered about money because, while we get a good severance package (I will if they fix my hire date, anyway) I am obv going to need another job... and here's the problem. I'm going on Spring Break and cannot and will not back out. So I'm here for three weeks, gone for one, home for 5, and then I'm off to intern. Who's going to hire me for that? I can't collect unemployment b/c i guess good ol' Ohio passed a law that full-time college studnets cant file for unemployment anymore. Shit. I just hope Lou will maybe give me some decent hours when he re-opens April 1. Cross your fingers or Mimi might get repoed.
But oh well. All chapters of one's life must come to an end at some point in time. I guess this is it for me. Time to move on. So long, Circuit City. It's been a ride.
Too bad I want to write about clothes and Jess just wants to take pictures of furniture at Ikea.
Also, I had yet another random life occurrence.
I had to call the American Institute of Philanthropy, which is located in Chicago, to get quotes for an article I was writing. I was explaining to the woman on the phone who I was and where I was from and she told me she knew of the Kent Stater because she grew up in the town next to Kent.
I said, oh, I'm from Rootstown, where are you from?
She says, Ravenna. I went to high school with someone who has the same last name as you. Her name was Samantha.
Oh yes, that is my cousin.
Of all the organizations I could have called, and of all the people they could have transferred me to!
When I got home from work tonight, I went outside to look for the Little Dipper. I can always find the Big Dipper, but never the Little. Alas, it was too light from our security lights... so I sat down on the patio to enjoy the beautiful evening while I talked on the phone. As I was sitting there, I looked up at the sky through the arbor and I saw beautiful white roses gracefully poised over my head. I have been so rushed and so busy that I haven't taken two minutes to literally stop and smell the roses. I remember when my dad made the trellis for the little rose bush that mom so lovingly planted next to the patio. And now, it's a beautiful sight to see... The branches woven around the trellis, all the way to the top, spilling green leaves and white petals through the beams of the arbor.And I'd missed it. As I sat there, I remembered so many things that I had forgotten about my childhood and growing up. I won't even get into it now, but it was an extremly nice moment. Beautiful, serene and bittersweet.... All because of a rose bush.
* I think the worst summer job has to be carrying around a bucket of blacktop sealer with a little funnel attached to the bottom and sealing all the cracks in parking lots.
* The Indian man who's name is Sighne probably shouldn't look skeptically at my credit card and ask how to pronounce my name.
* The sign at BP for medium coffee said "$1.09 Pedium"
we're doing nothing
Who is this guy
the knight in shining armor
on his white horse
that rescues you from danger,
sweeps you off your feet
and carries you into the sunset.
He takes you to his castle
and makes you his queen
in a life of luxury
with talking clocks,
balls every night
and never a problem in his fairy-tale world.
I think he’s an urban legend.
the pink-popped-collar-polo boy
in his tricked out Honda Civic
who invites you to his parties,
gives you the "good beer"
and takes you home when you’re wasted.
He invites you to his house
expects you to stay the night
in his dirty mess
with five roommates
keggers every night
and school the next morning.
I don’t think so.
I just finished an absolutley amazing book - Whores on the Hill by Colleen Curran. Honestly, it just made me think about stuff like I never have before...
Summary: Three high school chicks in the mid 80's- all punk rock, some too pretty, some too rich, some just too fucked up for their own good, living too fast too young but having fun, at the last all girls school in a shitty Midwestern city, namely Milwuake. They're 15. Sophomores.
I liked it becuase for once, a book about teenagers was not written for teenagers. Elizabeth is reading "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" right now, and although it was a decent book, I wasn't a big fan. Too perfect, too ideal, too much like what everyone wants their teenage years to be. "Whores" wasn't a happy book and it didn't have a happy ending. It was real, raw and in-your-face. It didn't sugar coat anything. And wow, did it make me think.
What it made me think the most about was that maybe we shouldn't live so much in the moment. It made me wonder, are some of the things that happen "in the moment" (i know, i know, that's cliche), or things that we do without really thinking about it.. those aren't all just little random events. Everything that happens is part of the big picture. Everything will have a later effect on your life, whether it be big or little. Maybe it'll only be that you will relive that moment, or day... and what is sombering to remember is that those moments and memories aren't always pleasant. Maybe your night out with your best friends where you're "having the time of your life" ends up being the night that changes your life, for good or for bad. Maybe it just provides a haunting moment, something that will trouble you for years. Basically, I just wonder, is everything random and spontaneous that you do something that you're going to want to have to remember later?
Amy and I had another stupid Amy and Leslie adventure last week. In all honesty, it never fails to amaze me the ridiculous predicaments that we find ourselves in. We were talking about being roommates one day.... oh goodness, can you imagine the daily irony and insanity with which we would live? :)
Anyway, I had to go pick up our Starbucks shirts from Primal Screen and did not contemplate the consequences of trying to put both a person and a large box in the front seat of my car. So we put Amy in the car, and the box on top of her. I thought all would be well until I tried to shift into reverse... and my shifter would not move due to the LARGE BOX in my SMALL CAR.
So we decide to take the t-shirts out and put them in the trunk, fold the box and re-construct it at a later date. Amy proceeds to stick the tape from the box on my convertible top, for which i scolded her, and I threw mine on the ground (litter bug!). As it turns out, the now flat LARGE BOX still would not fit in my SMALL TRUNK.
So I gave the box to the man from Primal Screen and we went on our merry way. As we start driving, I start hearing this THWAP THWAP THWAP noise, which became more frequent the faster I drove. Well, since I'm an asshole and haven't rotated my tires in 10,000 miles, they are quite bald. So I hear this noise and am like, SHIT, my tire is flat!! So I quickly pulled over into the first available driveway and ran aroud to the back of my car to see what was going on.
There definitely was a long piece of tape wrapped the entire way around my tire, and the THWAP THWAP THWAP noise was the end of that piece of tape hitting my car.
It’s way too early
But I'm up anyway, enjoying my coffee as I watch the sun come up. If I look over the formerly abandoned projects and past the old folks high-rise (They're under rennovation now. I hope they're not going to be projects again.), it's quite nice! :) I got a note from our property manager in the door last night, sometime post-10:30, and it brought two questions to mind. One, who the hell is wandering around sticking notes in our doors at that hour (not that it's that late, but goodness, the office closes at 5! Someone must have stayed VERY late!) Two, WHO THE HELL IS ROBBING PEOPLE AT GUNPOINT IN MY PARKING DECK? (well, visitor parking anyway). And as it it wasn't bad enough, the perpetrator took not only the man's wallet, but also his dog. Talk about fucking up someone's day.
Botz told me about this Web site called FindYourSpot.com, which is supposed to help you figure out where you want to/should live. It asks you all kinds of questions about your life, hobbies, interests and preferences for everything from government to climate.
While I have no opportunity to move at any point in the near future, I found my results intriguing.
Augusta, GA - quite close to there, actually, but not the city I'd prefer.
Phoenix, AZ - I love, obv.
Tuscon, AZ - Never been, but I love Arizona, so I'm sure I'd like this, too.
Chesapeake/Virginia Beach, VA - I found this interesting. I think it's because of my preference for weather, convenient mountain/woods/beach terrain & culture.
Orlando, FL - No clue why? Warm? Beach?
Charlotte, NC - I think this is along the lines of Virginia Beach
I won't go through all the rest, but I found an interesting trend--one of big ol' Texas-size proportions. Nearly 1/4 of the cities on my list are from that state. I also hit the three major cities in Tennessee as well as three in Florida. Similarly interesting is that an Ohio city came up on the list before Atlanta.
I guess I mostly learned that the south is where I belong (I consider that Cincinnati nonsense a fluke), and other than Texas, the southeast, especially.
Fort Worth TX
Oklahoma City OK
El Paso TX
West Palm Beach FL
St. Louis (dangerous!) MI
San Antonio TX
Ms. Jessica Wojcik can truly appreciate my affinity for hair products, I do know that anyone who has lived with me (which is a lot, thank you Chi Omega house) is aware of my dedication to AquaNet. I know where to get it (not sold everywhere!), how much it costs and that it pairs perfectly with a teasing comb. Surprisingly, I have found something better. If I possessed enough celebrity to benefit financially from product endorsements, I would whole-heartedly support BigSexyHair Spray & Play Harder. It's firm but not helmet-hair inducing, holds well and has thus far surpassed all prior hairspray experiences. And combined with the same brand's Root Pump Spray Moose, I really do have BigSexyHair.