Think Less, Live More


Cosmetology school is hard. Not “bachelors in psychology” hard, not “this statistics class is so confusing” hard, not “I live in India and have had E. coli for 3 weeks” hard, but it’s hard. It’s a different form of learning and living.

I don’t always want to touch people. A lot of times, my anxiety is through the roof and hearing a thousand blow driers doesn’t exactly help. Sometimes clients are rude, ungrateful, weird… Sometimes I don’t want to give a hand massage to a total stranger. Sometimes I think I never want to give another haircut again in my entire life.

But I try to remember that every moment is temporary, so I can choose which ones I hold on to. I can constantly think about the client who was rude to me after I gave her the raddest highlights ever, or I can think about the client who squealed and hugged me after I colored her hair cherry red and gave her a cute bob. I remember my nice clients; they come back to me, and they’re excited to see me and chat. I don’t need to hold on to the bad experiences, because they’re just memories…neither of us wants to see the other again.

I’m lucky to have some amazing friends, both at school and in other parts of my life, who give amazing advice. They remind me that I’m new at this, so nothing will be perfect. They remind me it’s totally normal to be scared, because if I wasn’t terrified I probably wouldn’t try very hard. They tell me I’m gonna be a badass stylist someday (and they’re right). They tell me they’re scared too. They say, “Think less. Live more.”

Analyzing the unknown is futile. There are too many possibilities to predict what could happen, and it would be a waste of my life to even try. So every day, I’ll work harder to just live. I’ll prepare myself the best I can, but the rest is out of my hands.

This might be tricky, but I’m gonna try it out.

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Pregnancy Cravings


I’ve been eating like a pregnant woman (I swear I’m not joking – I’ve got the food baby to prove it), and my friends are totally fuelling my bad habit.

Here’s the deal: We’re the Cheetah Girls, and nothing, not even a food baby, can stand in the way of our happiness. Katie, Shannon, Maddie and I will eat our way to joy…and I’ll eat the leftovers. I feel like most outings (and nights in) with these girls end with me laying on the floor groaning because I’ve eaten so much. I’m beginning to be okay with that.

I guess what this all comes down to (in a terribly round-about and not entirely sensical way) is that it’s really great to be able to be yourself. Some people can do it no matter who they’re with, while others have to find that niche group. So really, happiness and friendship + self-love = being able to watch the movie Prom in a theatre with three other strangers, snort loudly, make terrible jokes, and just not care.

I’ve learned a lot this year. I’ve learned (and promptly forgotten) how convex lenses work, what happened during the 100 Years War, and what metonymy is. But I think the most important thing that I learned is that friendship and love are essential to happiness. But you have to be your own friend first.

I know, I know. It’s so corny. “Cappy, you need to shut up and start listing something semi-funny about how to not pee your pants at the zoo,” you shout (though why you’re shouting at your computer I don’t know). I know! I tell myself that every day. But I recently had a birthday and grew up a little, and I feel like y’all should get some of my grown-up wisdom. Be your friend. Because if you wouldn’t take the time to be friends with you, why the hell should you expect anyone else to? You should love yourself and your food baby the way I do. Because I’ve named my food baby Charlie. Can’t give much more love than that.

But really, I think the most important lesson here is this: don’t eat Doritos, barbecue chips, Girl Scout Cookies, lemonade, and candy and expect to feel normal afterward…

Rocket Science


I’ve had to take a few yoga breaths and channel my inner buddha in order to do this, but I’m ready now.. Lots of my friends read this blog. In fact, I’m pretty sure about 50% of all my readers are people I know personally (and one of them is my father…hi Dad), so this post is a little too personal for my liking. But if I’ve learned anything from blogging, it’s that I love who I am and what I’m like and I am going all-out honest today.

Ahem.

I’ve decided to drop out of school to become a rocket scientist.

I know what you’re thinking: don’t you need a degree for that? Well, technically you do, but how hard can it be, really?Why else would people say, “It’s not rocket science!” when something’s really hard? …Or is that when something’s easy? Shoot.

Here’s the deal: I know I said I really wanted to be a writer forever and whatnot, but then I realized that I am so much better than that. Who needs to read, anyway? Rockets touch so much closer to home. Whenever I see a rocket (which is like, every day), I think I wish I knew how that thing worked. So I’ve decided to work for NASA. Cuz I’m that smart.

Science is soooo my thing. How else would I have gotten a C in AP Bio last year? I know, I know, you’re jealous that I got the highest grade in the class. Please don’t cry too hard, I’m sure you can do other stuff better than me. I can’t do push ups to save my life. Maybe you can.

And I’m really good at math, too. 2 + 2 = 4. That’s a really hard equation and it only took me like 20 minutes to figure out. And no, I didn’t use a calculator.

So I’ve decided that school is for fools and NASA is for people like me…plus, I’m pretty sure I’ll get to wear a lab coat. Please don’t miss me too much when I’m off being awesome. Oh, and because I’ll be researching the science of rockets, I will no longer be blogging. Sorry…