Buy The Headdress

In all honesty, I've never really seen much of myself in my kids. Drew is a carbon copy of Jason, Reid is another version of Ryan, and Lily has always been just like my mother. I'm familiar with each of these personalities already so there was no adjusting, getting to know or understand them. We just sailed right along. Ryan and Reid had a connection. Reid told Ryan he loved him every hour on the hour and Ryan looked at him and interacted with him like he knew they shared that something. We talked about it several times. It's the way they look out their eyes, it's their bone structure, and facial expressions. It's their light, their energy. I knew from the time Reid was born that Ryan would have something special with him. He loved all my children but he saw himself in Reid and so do we. It was a real connection. He's funny, sparkly, charming, and knows it.

Drew is his daddy from the top of his head to the tip of toes. He looks like him, sounds like him, and has a pompous way of making a point just like his father. It's a very, "You've given your theory and now I'll tell you why you're wrong", type of arrogance. Neither of them could speak a word if you tied their hands behind their backs. Grown folks love Drew as they always did his father when he was that age. He's respectful, well-spoken, and will discuss topics and issues well beyond his years with an astute awareness. He's a history buff, has a million dollar vocabulary, and has taken me to school many times. You have to be on your toes around here with these two. Jason and I have agreed not to inundate our children with our beliefs; who we are took decades to form. My journey is not Drew's journey. I will never tell him who to be and what to think. When and if he asks, I share my take on things but always follow up by reminding him these are simply my findings. I will let him make his own choices and decide what is best for him. I think sometimes parents forget their children's lives are theirs. We can guide them but manipulating them into who you want or expect them to be is unfair. I'll let them find their way and I'll be proud because I'm their mother. End of story. 

Lily has been like raising my own mother. She shares all of her traits to the point my husband calls her "Little Shells". She was an extremely serious baby. She cried constantly and spent the first year of her life on my hip. If I put her down, she went into hysterics. She didn't coo, she didn't smile, and she fussed constantly. The pediatrician noted that she wasn't playful. I had Reid almost exactly two years after Lily. Lily did not talk and was always late on all of her milestones. When I had Reid, she completely regressed. Her doctor watched her closely and I waited for them to tell me she was on the autism spectrum but he never did. I was so scared when she started school. A mother knows and she just wasn't ready. She wasn't speaking like the other kids and her social skills were awkward. She wouldn't approach or engage with the other kids. She had stayed at home with me so I began to think I had hindered her rather than nurtured her at that point. I would talk at length with my mother about it and she assured me she was the same way and she would grow out of it. Lily cried at school a lot. Her teachers have talked to me about it many times and I'm never sure what answer they're looking for from me. She cries easily, that's all. Mom said she cried so much when she was little they just got used to it. Lily finally had a male teacher who wouldn't cater to her tears. She grew a lot that year and the teary episodes began to fade away. She went into speech therapy and began making friends. Her talent began to emerge and Lily has become an amazing artist. It is her passion. Her personality began to blossom and she's super aware of what goes on around her, seriously smart, and goofy. Lily is a goodie two-shoes and that is a bonafide Shelley trait. My mother will follow the rules to the letter. Over Christmas I gave my mom my discount card for Ulta. She presented it to the cashier and said, "This is my daughters and she gave it to me. Is it okay if I use it?" In my mind I was like, "Mother!!!!! HUSH!" GAH! This morning Reid came to me having a meltdown because he couldn't find his super smash brothers game. I saw Lily get up, go off somewhere, and return with it. I asked her where it was. She told me he was getting up in the night to play it so she took it away from him, hid it, and made him go back to bed. I was speechless. Classic, "Little Shells".

Afterwards, I went off to load the dishwasher and was in the middle of thinking about my kid's funny personalities. They're all so different and I know exactly where parts of who they are come from. I was in the middle of thinking how they aren't much like me when Lily came back downstairs in a costume. She had on bunny ears, unicorn stompeez, sparkly wrist cuffs from a previous Cleopatra Halloween costume, and layers of costume jewelry. She sat down and began to draw and I realized…….THAT'S ME! My mother has an entire album of me in the weirdest ensembles you can imagine. I love costumes and will parade around in something just for my own enjoyment even now. Seriously, ask my husband. I've loved it since I was a kid and its never lost its luster for me and I hope it never will. I'm all for a cheap thrill and if it comes in the form of a feather face mask from Earthbound, what's the harm in that? When I'm old and gray and someone out of my mind, I hope my grandkids will being me feathery hats, sparkly costume jewelry, and fuzzy faux stoles. I'll still love it. Age shouldn't have a limit on the silly little things we enjoy. I saw a list yesterday of "100 things I will teach my daughter". My list will be different but it will include, if you like that bizarre headdress and you want it for no reason but to play in it, BUY IT. BUY THE HEADDRESS! She enjoys her little costume and that's me in there. I may be in there in the smallest forms but that's me. I'm weird and I think differently than other people. Sometimes sensible is boring and sometimes fitting in, to me, feels mediocre at best. I let her wear those little consumes out because she's proud of them and its fun. She thinks she looks stunning and to me, she does. I let her wear it because eventually society will tell her she can't anymore. Do it before it stops being cute 'cause if I could still wear get-ups like that and get away with it, I totally would. People and age have a way of killing your spirit, but I love that I see some of mine within her. I'm glad I caught a glimpse of myself. I brought good stuff to the table, too. The love of a good get-up; that's from momma.

It's Not Really About The Food

Growing up, I never thought I would be the type to be a little Suzie homemaker. It took a while to morph into the domestic engineer I’ve become. Sometimes I hate admitting that I’m somewhat of a cliché. The beauty part is, I don’t mind it. Sometimes I’m genuinely the happiest in the simplest moments. I like being in the kitchen, making special goodies for my family. I put love into all of it. Here’s the kicker, I’m a total feminist. My mother never told me to grow up, get married, and bake. She never told me who to be or what she thought would make me the happiest. I think sometimes she waited with bated breath as to who I’d become. I was kind of a wild card. After Jason and I got married, it became pretty clear to me that I wasn’t much of a cook. Before the internet, it took a lot of phone calls home to grannies to get recipes and they NEVER have an exact measurement; it’s pinches of this and dashes of that. Weird things I didn’t even know what they were.  “What the hell is hog jowl?”  As time went on, I developed a passion for it. It makes me feel good when my kids ask for that one special dish or baked good. I love watching Jason chow down and say, “That was good, momma.” He paid his dues. He choked down many a burnt meal without complaint in the beginning.

Today I’ve baked all day. I get the warm and fuzzies when it’s just us here at the house and I take a moment to step back and let my blessings wash over me. The kids laughing and playing, the dogs running through ripping the house apart are all little pieces that make this ours. Life can be brutal. It can chew you up and spit you out. A lot can happen in a year and this year has been brutal. I try to find the joy in the things I always have. It took a while to find that joy again at all and then there’s a weird pang of guilt when I do. Is it okay to laugh? Is it okay to have any Christmas spirit? I admit, I think I over-decorated this year to compensate. I can’t seem to find my happy medium yet. But cooking and baking, I can usually always find joy in. I just focus on what I’m making and know that it’s how I show my family I love them. They can all be holed up in their rooms but once the smell of something baking wafts up their rooms, out they come. Lily loves to help me cook. She asks if I’ll teach her. I absolutely will. I want my kids to look back and remember coming home from school to special treats. I take pride in my home and my family and I’m a lot more of a big dorky square than I ever imagined I’d be. We’re a little unorthodox around here with our sense of humor and shenanigans but we’re fun. We have to keep things fun or else it would be boring as hell. Let’s face it; this whole parent/marriage thing isn’t exactly a riot unless you put some effort into it. You gotta shake it up.

I see moments with my children when I realize I’ve taught them well. I see Drew interact with adults and he’s polite, respectful, and well-spoken. He holds doors and makes eye contact. They’re good kids and we did that. I’ll start work soon but no matter how busy or stressful life gets, I hope I always enjoy making our house a home. Jason’s guy friends tease him that he’s spoiled. He jokes by going to a light switch, turns it on and says, “Look at that! Came right on!” Get it? He paid the light bill? *eye roll* If you didn’t really know him or his sense of humor, one might misconstrue that he’s a misogynistic asshole. He’s just obnoxious, is all.

They are my life. They are my everything. I want their childhood to be filled with happy, warm memories. Some of my most fond memories as a child were not at expensive theme parks or events, they were in my jammies laughing at the weird language mom, Ryan, and I spoke. Every family has their own communication and way of interacting. A lot of it gets passed down to the way you raise your kids. A lot of habits that were acquired growing up, have trickled down with my kids. They are extremely close. I want them that way. They are forever. They will have each other’s backs when no one else does. If I’m lucky enough to go first, they are left to take care of one another. They are the mark I’ve left. I want them to appreciate each other and hopefully appreciate everything I’d tried to do for them. I fail all the time but God I’ve tried to be something for them. Even if it came in the form of cupcakes, movie/snuggle night, too many pets, cleaning up after them, telling them they’re beautiful, and a wicked sense of humor. I hope I’m irreplaceable to them and I hope no one ever makes anything that tastes quite as good as mom’s does. It’s more than cooking or baking. It’s way deeper than that.

It's Just Stuff

So I have this theory, and you may have to bear with me as I get there. I, along with the world, watch every year as Black Friday rolls around. We watch on the news as they give us the horrendous stories of people trampling each other like it’s the running of the bulls to fetch high definition televisions at bargain prices. Our jaws drop as we watch people act like animals and wrestle strangers to ground for the latest gadgets and electronics; all this is done out of the spirit of giving. Keep in mind I never exclude myself from my blogs. This isn’t judgment, its mere observation and something I’ve been thinking about. I’m guilty of overspending on the holidays. I spend to buy my loved ones gifts to bring a smile to their faces for that glimmering moment. I do my shopping at a different time because I’m willing to pay full price to avoid cooling my heels in the clink at Christmas time. I don’t do well in crowded situations. I get volatile. A trip the store puts me at risk for jail time on even the calmest of days.

I wonder why these things, these possessions, got so powerful. When did they get so important that we’re willing to act like heathens to have them? What purpose do they serve? I think they’re filling voids. They filling the spaces of human interaction we’ve lost as technology has advanced. In the place of people, we’ve put in high tech devices that give us entertainment and hold the judgment.

Yesterday, as I snooped through online sites, to find that perfect gift I’d like for myself, I began to wonder why I thought that overpriced pair of Tory Burch slippers was something I really needed. Is some woman going to pass by me and look down to the see the gold emblem on my feet and think, “Wow, she’s somebody. She’s something.”? Or is it to trick myself into thinking that when I look down at my feet? I already have black slippers, I don’t need another pair. What am I trying to accomplish here?

We get these things and we cherish them for a time and before you know it, that bluetooth speaker system we so coveted is something we’ll eventually call a piece of crap when it malfunctions in a way we don’t understand because we’re too lazy to read the instructions. Next year, it’ll need to be bigger and better. Yeah, that’ll fix it. That’ll make everything perfect. “This is too hard. Push two buttons in succession? Can’t they just make something that’ll read my thoughts? Piece o’ crap!”

As technology and these devices we have to have are advancing, our ability for human interaction has been obliterated. Every time I make a trip home, people make false appointments with me. The people who chirp the loudest are the least likely you’ll hear from once you’re there. We don’t want to see people anymore. We don’t want to deal with it. Why when we can be flies on the wall of other’s lives, play video games, or watch our favorite shows in our pjs? We can attend that fabulous party on “Real Housewives” without having to get dressed up or foot the bill. They’re prettier, wealthier, and more glamorous. Why go anywhere when you can snoop through Facebook during the commercials, to boot. It’s a bevy of distraction; distraction with zero effort.

While recently home, I got to see Sasha Loomis. We hadn’t seen each other since high school so there was a lot to catch up on. She told me she wanted to have a marriage like mine. I laughed and told her I hoped I didn’t project the perfect marriage image on Facebook. I hope people realize it’s real and I love him but I do think about smothering him roughly about once a month but there’s no one else whose murder I’d rather plot. She knew me well enough to laugh and not call the police. We all know that Facebook is a world of make-believe; a world where we can alter, revamp, edit, omit the bad, and exaggerate the good. Everyone is operating as their representative and we’re all full of shit. There was once a study done that said that a high percentage of people actually felt more depressed after logging into Facebook. “[So & so] is more traveled, has more friends, blah, blah, blah”. You don’t know what [so & so] deals with that doesn’t get posted but man we sure cling to that device that tells us an edited version or whatever story we’d like to make up to go along with it. Meanwhile we’re sitting at the dinner table with people who we do know their real story, all too happy to ignore them for virtual strangers, acquaintances, and friends we once had until we were given the option to do the bare minimum in the relationship to prevent them from completely abandoning us. We don’t see each other, we don’t call each other, on special occasions we can simply text or write on their walls. It’s a tragedy, really. We’ve completely opted out of social interaction, willingly. Hell, we prefer it. We’re bad friends, we’re bad people. Have you ever known you should’ve given a damn about someone or a situation and you almost did but then your show came on? For that hour it was you, Nene Leakes an’em and nothing else mattered.

We ignore each other and then it just festers. It’s a chain reaction. They ignore, so you ignore, and eventually we’re all just going to be making our lonely, narcissistic, passive-aggressive points from the comfort of our well-stocked pedestals of distraction. We can drift off and fade away in a world of our choosing. We can delete her or him, hide that annoying political poster, and go shopping all without leaving the house. Clothes have gotten completely overrated. I once had a friend who lost a boyfriend to World of Warcraft. It took a mere 6 months for him to become a rumpled pile of laundry sitting in a chair where a guy once was. I’d go to her place and there he’d be in that same chair with his headphones on. He didn’t work, he didn’t socialize, and he barely spoke. Once I thought he’d actually said something to me but I realized he was only speaking into the mic to whatever lifeless opponent was on the other end. I took my friend to lunch and because I loved her, it was time for the “you need to dump him” speech. “Molly, you in danger, girl.” As she explained the game, I realized what it was all about. In this 2D world he could be 7 feet tall, muscular, and king of the monkey people. (Okay so I don’t totally get the game but you can feel what I’m puttin’ down…) Why face his mediocre existence when he can be invincible in another realm? The “other world” had killed him. It was too late for him. He reminded me of that Asian kid I once saw on the news that just dropped dead in front of his screen from a bowel obstruction because he’d been playing his game and hadn’t pooped in weeks. Let that soak in. That’s some heavy shit, total pun intended.

We’re provided a safe distance with technology. We buy crap to fill the void where relationships and support should be. Relationships can come and go but that Netflix series has at least 5 more seasons. It’s like the modern day Stockholm Syndrome. It serves as a filter for which we aren’t seeing things clearly anymore. We’re looking at life through a screen. We have total perception issues. We’re not touching anyone, we’re not seeing anyone. We’re just buying shit and shutting the world out. So it begs the question, did we stop talking to people because Siri started talking to us or did we start talking to Siri because no one else was talking to us? Was it the chicken or the egg? I don’t know.

I guess my whole point in this weird trip through my head is that remember when you’re out buying gifts to remember the people you’re buying them for. Remember the same gift you’re buying them may be the same thing they’ll be engrossed in around the time they stop taking your phone calls. See each other, touch each other… You can’t take the stuff with you. Trust me, I now have a house full of stuff that isn’t mine. Remember to give them a hug and your time along with that pretty box with a bow on it. We worship things now and we’ve lost ourselves to it. We’re like drones in front of our phones and devices. They’re all designed to keep you connected but all they do is disconnect. People have never had to try less to maintain a connection with people and we’re even failing at that. It’s cold out there and I don’t mean the weather. Let’s hope those mega pixel flat screens generate enough heat to keep us warm…

Stripped and Redressed

Being as how a new year is about to begin -- and thank God -- it feels somewhat of a cliche time to do "the new me" shit. This has nothing to do with the turn of another year. This has to do with me having noticed a change within myself that I didn't even have to force. I would love to tell you I've sailed through life with casual hair flips, smart-assed quips, and simple shoulder brushes in response to the harsh battles of life but it's not true. I'd love to tell you I never let things bog me down or "get in" but that's a lie. A lot has gotten to me. I've internalized, I've wasted time and energy on undeserving issues and people. I used to worry so much I'd make myself sick. My anxiety had reached a fever pitch and it was becoming debilitating in the passed few years. If I couldn't think of something to worry about, I'd make something up. I willingly describe myself as somewhat of a neurotic headcase. I have felt that person diminish and I've emerged stronger than ever before. I've had an internal funeral for her. We've shared a lot of years together; me and that inner voice of doubt. She's gone now and I am in her place. I'm stronger, more assertive, less eager to please, more self-motivated, and I no longer care for or need any type of validation. I don't need guidance or my hand held. I'm not the same girl because those things got to me. I rolled around in it for a while and I grew tired. I'm done now. 

While in Fort Lauderdale, I was having too many drinks with Raelyn. As the drinks flowed, we discussed many things but we talked about who we are and why we are the way we are. She shared things about herself that put everything about her into perspective. I got a glimpse of her fearlessness and how it came to be. I admired fearless people. I envied their ability to be whoever they wanted. She told me she's noticed a complete change in me the past few months. A change she described as someone who evolved and commands respect. I loved that because I do. I demand it at this point in my life. I won't settle for anything less than that because I deserve it. If I sense I'm not getting it, I will cut people off so fast their heads will spin. I have no patience or time for petty shit, stupidity, false friendships, disrespect, ignorance, bigotry, or anything that doesn't suit me. Everyone has the right to their opinion and I reserve the right to think they're stupid. Same goes for them. Someone not liking you or disagreeing with you has no more power than your feelings towards them. Everyone has their own feelings and beliefs. You have yours, I'll have mine, and there's no law that says we need to interface. If by some misfortune we do, I'll respect you if you respect me. Don't start none, won't be none.

Here's the big one: I also don't diet anymore. If you know me, you know what a life-long obsession/struggle my body image has been for me. There are still assholes from high school, who send me friend requests I refuse to accept because they called me fat my entire school career. I've spent years working out and dieting only to lose and gain back the same 20-30 lbs. for years. You know what I did? I went and bought clothes that are my size. My actual size. I no longer buy clothes a few sizes too small that were a little bit too expensive just to guilt myself into fitting into them. I get ready and they slide right on. No more rationing out another 30 minutes of get-ready time for meltdowns and self-loathing. I'm this size; the size I stay eating whatever I want, whenever I want. I eat ice cream with my kids, I make cobblers and dumplins' and snuggle with Jason under the covers on lazy Sunday afternoons. He still squeezes my parts with love and lust whether that 30 lbs. is on or off. I still strut even if there's a little extra poundage along for the ride. I have a sassy walk and it's been pointed out to me time and time again throughout my life. I walk like I have nothing to apologize for and everything to celebrate. It's never come about because of a conscience effort, it's just there. Some people have commended me for it, some people have seemed offended that I have the audacity to think I'm fine anyway. What if I told you I've come to like my softness? I'm not going to diet, I'm not going to hide my body. This is me. This is how I come. I'm voluptuous and I'm going to admit that I like me just fine. I owe myself an apology for being the biggest bitch I knew. I've lived my life and put three beautiful babies on this earth. I've failed, I've conquered, I've learned, I've loved, I've lost, and I did it all in this body. It's mine and I will love it. It is my vehicle. I will love myself. I'll feed her, dress her sassy, and keep my strut. That strut might even be a little deeper these days.

That book is finally going to happen. Mom and I will be writing a book about Ryan for our own healing and to put funds into his foundation. I've been brave enough to reach out to celebrities to ask for their input and/or participation; celebrities I know are supportive of the LGBT community and will only contribute to the cause. Their voice, their power can move mountains. I've realized, if you don't stick your neck out there, you're guaranteed to never make it happen. A chance is a chance. If no one responds to show interest, what have I lost? But if they do…. Look what I did. I feel we can create change, we can make a difference, we can help. I will make something positive out of a tragic loss. I am not afraid to turn the spotlight on our situation. I'm not afraid to invite people in. There's nothing to hide and everything to share. I feel powerful. The old me might have never typed that letter or sent that request. The new me hit send with excitement, not reservation. People will learn who we are. It's a story worth being told. People will read it because we were brave enough to write it. We will open the flood gates. It could create drama but it could also help facilitate mending some broken relationships. It could bring about apologies and forgiveness or it could create war. It could go many ways. It will be honest, it will be beautiful and brutal in some spaces. Fasten your seat belts. I fear nothing where this is concerned. Most importantly, it will help those I wish to help; anyone lost, judged, or misunderstood. From us to you.

I cling to those who love me for me and recognize and eliminate those who don't. Unfortunately, everyone who smiles in your face is not your friend. Fuck 'em. If you hang your value on others, you will never surpass them. I'm not saying friends aren't valuable; they absolutely are but don't get caught up in people pleasing and their approval. People who need to move in packs will never leave that pack. They will always look next to them to make sure they're on the same pace. While they're busy looking to the side, they're going to trip. Will that pack slow down to turn around and help you back up or will they keep moving? My circle is small and I keep it that way. I'm not so hungry for relationships that I sacrifice myself. I think I have a lot to offer, I'm a good friend and I'm fun. If that's not enough to win you over, bon voyage. I will strut it out with or without you. You're either with me or against me. Don't let the door hit ya. 

I do things by myself. I used to hate going to the mall or eating alone. To quote Carrie Bradshaw, "I took that fear to lunch." I've ventured out into dining alone and trips to the mall as a party of one. It's not bad, actually. There's a certain dignity to it. Mystery. People seem concerned by it. You get approached and asked if you're okay. It was fun to say, "I'm great, thanks." A few men at a hotel bar nearly got the Julia Sugarbaker, Ray Don speech. Nonetheless, I can do all these things solo. There's a peace in knowing that. Having to travel in a pack or with a companion is armor. That armor started to feel heavy so I took it off. I'm here, I'm solid. 

I've stripped away the parts of me I didn't like and gained a few traits that might seem harsh. I'm not jaded, I'm not cold, I've molded into what life has given me to work with. I've adapted and changed to fit the path I'm on and where I wish it to lead me. My dreams aren't outlandish. It really will require very little to get me to the point I want to be at in life but for the first time I feel like I'll go wherever I want. I don't feel discontent but I know I want more. I won't be stopped to wallow in misery I can easily eliminate. I won't allow myself to be tortured by MYSELF or anyone else. In essence, I've been stripped and redressed and I'm loving this new outfit.

My Paul Mitchell Sisters And The End Of An Era. A Tribute To Us.

As I've reached the end of a defining period of my life, I feel compelled to journal it. As school has come to a close, I realize the vast changes that have taken place for me personally and professionally. I always knew I wanted to attend Paul Mitchell. Not long after Jason and I moved to Dallas, we lived in an apartment in Dallas proper. I was working minuscule jobs at the time, waiting tables, bartending, etc. I worked on Beltline Road in Addison and everyday I would drive passed Paul Mitchell. I would see the girls and the occasional boy outside, dressed in all black. They looked chic, artistic, fab. As I would pass by wearing an apron and a tie, I would mentally think how much I'd rather be in their stylish shoes. If we were in competition, they were winning. I'm not really sure why, but I filed it away as a goal to be accomplished at a later date. Somewhere in there I think I genuinely thought it would never happen. I toured the school once around that time. I loved it and it became a mild obsession. I would tour it several times before enrolling. Not long after, I had Lily and Reid and I made the decision to stay at home and give them every ounce of myself until the time was right. I decided the time would be right when Reid began school. I wrote a long-winded blog back last October about what I had to go through to get my GED. That, in and of itself, was a major roadblock. I did it and I waited with baited breath as I applied for financial aid and began the enrollment process. It was finally happening! It was going to be more than a stepping stone to a career for me. It was me venturing back out into society. What stay-at-home-mothers fear admitting to people is that you lose a piece of yourself in the process. You willingly forfeit that for the benefits but you become somewhat socially awkward and desperate for the sound of adult conversation. Ratty yoga pants become a uniform, a disheveled bun and bare face are the norm. I wondered if I'd lost my ability to interact with people. Who was I outside of this house? If I'm not just the kid's mom and Jason' wife, who was I? Did I even know? Was I still likable? Am I that woman that only talks about her kids because I have nothing else to draw from? God, please don't let me be her! I hate that woman! There was nothing to do but dive in and see what happened… This was my reemergence. The next phase.

Orientation day came. We all filed in like cattle dressed for a funeral. Everyone looked nervous and excited. We were being guided into a large conference room and music was blasting. The enrollment team was awaiting us. They were larger than life, perky, and dancing. They said, "You'll be dancing too by the end of the day!" I thought, "I bet I won't." At first I thought I wasn't going to be a good fit because I wasn't perky enough. I got nervous for a minute…  We were inundated with Paul Mitchell culture and buzz words. The majority were people entering cosmetology. The estheticians were a small group. Even smaller when you specify you're a night esty. As fate would have it, two of my future classmates were located at my same table. The day was long and I really just wanted to get to the nitty-gritty. One thing was certain, it was all about black patterned tights and black boots. I needed to reenter the fashion world, go out and buy both…..like, yesterday.

Day one, we get our kits. It's referred to as "kit-mas". There's something that makes it real once you're fondling something tangible. Things you'll actually use. Products that read "professional use only" gives you a feeling of power even though you don't know what to do with them yet. Our core teacher was a woman named Chris. Chris was welcoming and had made us cupcakes. She was warm and had a very friendly energy. I immediately felt safe under her tutelage. You could say, "Chris, I have a question" and she would always pause, acknowledge, and say "Yes?" Unless of course this was something you'd been told a few hundred times over or something she felt you needed to figure out for yourself so you wouldn't have to ask again. You never didn't receive an answer because she wasn't interested; it was all part of her process. She was nurturing but didn't take any crap; all the qualities I like in a woman. She let us dive in immediately. She coached us and guided us as we took our first baby steps into our futures. I think we were better for having been her students. 

Our core room was a small room located towards the back of the school. I would be confined in this space with these women for a long time to come. I didn't know these women or anything about them. You can look around the room and try to get a feel for who they all are but it doesn't work. Getting to know these women would take time and we had plenty. When we began doing facials we were all so timid to get all up in each other's business. In reality, it's the quickest way to break the ice. You quickly learn that you better get really comfortable getting in each other's personal space because that's your new job. A guest speaker once said that people in our industry go where other people don't dare to go. We lay our hands on you, we enter a zone others typically cannot in everyday situations. Sometimes you don't realize you may be working on someone that is rarely touched and your touch is therapeutic. That's a pretty intense thought. We ladies began preparing for this by working on each other. We began learning about one another's skin but as time passed, we began learning what lay beneath. 

Let's meet the ladies….

My tablemate was the first person I really got to know. Miss Brittney Lamb. Brittney was quiet. Friendly, but quiet at first. We exchanged hellos everyday and mindless "gettin' to know ya" chitchat. Table mates would automatically team up when assigned partner facials. I've worked on Brittney more than anyone. I know her teeny-tiny face like the back of my hand. Our mindless chitchat grew into more in-depth conversations. Brittney always carried a large, elaborate pink and grey lunchbox. As my classmates and myself were stuffing ourselves sick with Jimmy Johns and vending machine garbage, Brittney would excuse herself and eat in the breakroom. I finally asked what that was all about and she explained she was a fitness competitor and in training. It was then I went home and immediately crept on her Facebook. My jaw hit the floor. She will get mad at me for this if she reads this because she's very low-key about it BUT her body is sickening!!! She's stunning in person but she's humble so she covers all that up real good. I had no idea how fit and fabulous she was. I went through pic after pic just in awe. Over a thousand followers!?!?! GEEZ! I was enamored of her. She downplays how hard she works and doesn't like people bringing it up because, from her experience, it invites haters. That's a damn shame. I once took a picture of her ripped arms and after I posted it, she said, "Just wait. Someone will say something hateful." Not on my watch, they won't. I don't eat carefully portioned out containers of brown rice and chicken and work my tail off and anyone who would hate on her doesn't either. It's work and dedication and she does it. Instead of that dedication and hard work being something she can walk with her head held high about, she downplays it because of people who like to break other people down. That's their shit. Don't like it? Then eat a salad and go the gym just like her. If I were her, I'd go to the store naked. I don't have her willpower and my big ass is mine and I'm cool with that. It's got nothing to do with her. I grew to love Brittney very much. Me and my good friend, the swimsuit model. We talked each other off ledges many nights. We nursed each other through many trials and we became fast texting buddies. She was there for me in a very dark period and made sure I was functioning. Brittney doesn't talk smack about people. She's always the first to tell me I may have misconstrued a situation or might be being irrational. More often than not, she's right. She's a genuinely good person. A beautiful, smart, funny, goofy, good person. If anybody can't see that 'cause she's fine, it's their very large loss. I'm so glad she's my friend and I'll watch her toned fanny compete and go straight to the top with pride. That's my friend and isn't she awesome?

Haleigh--

Haleigh and I got to know each other more once we got into creative. Haleigh and I enjoy bitchy humor and as time went on I could hear Haleigh's thoughts even when she wasn't speaking. When something annoying was happening in a crowded room, I had to make a conscious effort not to look at her because I'd bust out laughing. She's feisty but she'll also be the most generous person you'll ever meet if you treat her right. She thinks nothing of giving you something she thinks you'll appreciate; it's second nature to her. Her kindness is pure because she doesn't really even notice it. She's had nothing to gain from the nice things she's done for me. She sent me to L.A. at a very low time and that's not something you see everyday. It's still something that chokes me up and why Haleigh Hood can do no wrong in my eyes. Anyone who would do that has a heart of gold, plain and simple. She's feisty and funny but also gets things done. What's funny is she never looks panicked or like she's scrambling. She always looks cool, calm, and collected but never mistake that for inefficiency. Though it may look like she's just texting, she will have done a facial, spent $200 on Etsy, finished her stamps, done her senior project, booked a flight, and rented a house in Reno -- all the while with her boyfriend on Skype. As this goes on you'll say, "Whattaya doin', Haleigh?" "Oh ya know, hanging out, doin' stuff, bein' a princess." Don't let this princess fool you, she has the world by the balls and she'll go anywhere she damn well pleases with the greatest of ease. I admire that about her. If I ever have a question, I ask Haleigh because she knows everything. She'll solve all your problems in 5 minutes or less and then go get her hair done. That's a skill that cannot be taught, ladies and gentlemen.

Amila--

Amila is my little Bosnian sweet pea. She's our baby; the youngest of the group. Amila is effervescent with an infectious giggle complete with perfect brows and a pixie cut. She's the real, live Tinkerbell in a cuter outfit. I tend to shun affection. I'm not good with the hugs but every now and then someone gets in. Amila's hugs and pets are special. She's very affectionate but I don't mind with her. I love her hugs and she makes me feel loved. I came to feel very motherly towards her. I feel an obligation to protect her, to make sure she dates nice boys, and is home at a decent hour. I think I grounded her once or twice. I still don't think she's supposed to be out of her room. She's sassy and class wouldn't have even been even remotely the same without her. She kept things fun and you noticed her absence when she wasn't there. Everyone loves her and she makes friends everywhere she goes. She keeps things light and she sends me funny GIFS and memes just to make me laugh. She tends to favor animals in funny clothes or dancing. She makes me feel young and really old at the same time. Like I said, I can't look at Haleigh during crowded room scenarios but I don't have to look at Amila because she'll text me "I hate her" while sitting right next to me. I love her and I will miss her funny little quips dearly. 

Crystal--

Crystal will not be the loudest person in the room because she will not fight to be heard. I think it's a dignity thing. She will not get into a situation that doesn't concern her because she's focused on a achieving a goal and I respect the hell out of that. She will sit back, cool as a cucumber and get done what she has to get done. She works all day, goes to school all night, and has a son with autism she does it all for. She's shed light on what that struggle is like and she pointed out things that have never occurred to me. I appreciate the education on things like this. We could all use a little sensitivity training to understand what other people go through that we take for granted. Her son is non-verbal and she once told me how hard it is to hear other children speak or to hear mothers tell their children to be quiet because she would love to hear her son talk. My heart broke for her but you would never know her struggle even in being in close quarters with her everyday. She still does what she has to do to get done what she needs to get done. She fights a tough battle but she makes it look good. She doesn't get caught up in drama and she's forever changed the way I hear, "GUURL" in my mind. No matter what, her hair, makeup, and clothes are gonna be on point. She's a makeup, product, and Starbucks fiend. I wish I could be more like her in her ability to side-step the b.s. She's strong and I don't think much gets in her way. Kudos to her. Her son is making great strides and I hope so much that she gets to hear those words. Mother to mother, she deserves that. She's fierce, she's Mexican, and she'll make it all happen with a Starbucks in her hand and a MAC red lip. Believe that.

Raelyn--

Raelyn is like no one I've ever met before and I mean that in the best way possible. She's a free spirit. Her talents are many but she's not really bound to anything. She'll go where the wind takes her and she's not one to be tied down. When we all go to Florida, Raelyn may wander off and end up in another city and end up staying there for all we might expect. She can go anywhere and make it because she's built that way. She doesn't fear things, she doesn't hold back, and she's not looking for anyone's approval. I envy that the most. She marches to the beat of her own drum and enjoys her life. She's invited me to cool events and let me be a part of some awesome career opportunities. She knows her shit in the industry and I wish I had a fraction of her makeup skills. I could tell Raelyn anything and she'd never judge me or think any less of me. I immediately knew we would be friends when she knew drag culture, liked certain movies, and documentaries. We clicked and I always like hearing her insights. She's been willing to give me tips and I respect the hell out of her for her creative and artistic abilities. She's fun and spunky. I'd like to hang out with her more but I don't think I can keep up. It's like I've told her, I'll work with her or FOR her anytime. You can't sum her up or put her in a box and I think that's about the biggest compliment I could give her. We should all be so lucky.

Amy--

You will never hear someone say the phrase, "I can't stand Amy". Everyone likes Amy. She has a kind word for everyone and is the first to make a thoughtful gesture. She arranges special events and makes sure everyone is on the same page. She's a mother of two, works multiple jobs, and still came to class every night. Though, I saw how hard it was on her from time to time, it wasn't a burden she threw on the table every night. She would take client after client even though I know she had to be exhausted. I was often exhausted just watching her. Amy is already a success in all facets of her life. She's a wonderful mother but she's professional, driven, impeccably dressed, with a blowout for the gods. I would be happy with what she's already accomplished but she wants more and that's amazing. She makes it look easy and I've often wondered where her energizer battery is hidden to be able to get all this done. I've met her daughters and they are wonderful girls so somehow she manages it all and does it well. I take my hat off to her and I have nothing but respect for a woman doing her thing and handling her business. I want to be her when I get my shit together.

Adrienne--

Adrienne has an unmistakable laugh that is so distinctive you would know it's her no matter where you heard it. Another planet? Don't care, that's Adrienne. It's such an awesome laugh that it makes you laugh. It's genuine, it's from the gut, it's loud and beautiful. Adrienne is studious. She takes notes, she knows what, when, where, why, and how much. You don't have to ask, she already emailed you the info. Adrienne: "Didn't you read my email?" I only started checking my email after I felt bad for missing one she'd sent once. If Adrienne doesn't know, the details haven't been released yet. Adrienne used to be on Kidd Kraddick In The Morning. I remember thinking that was the coolest thing ever. She has that radio voice. It's clear, demands to be heard, and respected. She's clever, funny, and just plain likable. I was so pleased to discover her mutual bizarre obsession for all things Amanda Bynes. We once missed someone's run at school because we were in the creative room watching Amanda Bynes go on a rant at LAX on TMZ. I think she's fun and I think she's got a great life ahead of her. She'll excel and be the first to finish anything she touches. We tested out several weird makeup looks on each other and she never complained. "Adrienne, I'm gonna do this, okay?" "It's cool. Whatever. I don't care". She was so easy-going and her bone structure is perfect for being a model but she won't sit still to get it done for shit. Her makeup skills have reached an amazing level. It was a thrill to literally be able to watch her talents grow. I think she's a freaking riot.

Alex--

I had to pass Alex every time I wanted to go to the vending machine for a soda. Alex is very anti-soda. I playfully called her the soda gestapo. She would see me fishing for change in my bag and I would try to sneak passed her. "Getting a soda?", she'd ask. I'd immediately justify my reasons. Her looks of judgements were painful at first but I think she eventually gave up on me. Eventually it became, "Drink your damn soda, I don't care." I said nothing to her when she ate pop tarts. Alex is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Her skin is like porcelain but she always tells us of imaginary skin flaws no one else sees but her. Alex doesn't talk a whole lot but when she does, it's hilarious. You never what she'll say but she'll say exactly what she's thinking. She's a perfectionist and very detail oriented. She also has the cutest assortment of boots you've ever seen. I've gotten to have Alex do a few of my facials and she gave me a few details about her private life during them. I was glad to get to be privy to that. She's not the type that's going to immediately tell you her life story. To get details, you have to be in her circle for a minute. She doesn't mix her personal life with school and that will take her even farther. She's drama free, she's professional, and she'll be hired immediately. She's shared some of her weird fruits and foods that I'm not really sure what they are with me and I've enjoyed our smart-assed back n' forth.

Kayla.

Kayla was my teacher but Kayla was a major part of my experience. When we moved into creative and started getting to know Kayla I wanted to be extra charming because I thought she was fierce and I wanted her to like me. I was trying to be funny and said something a few days in. Whatever it is I said is irrelevant. Kayla turned around and gave me this weird look. I thought, "Oh shit, she hates me." I eventually came to realize Kayla makes faces and not to read too much into it. I quickly developed a deep admiration for Kayla. I wrote her a sappy letter after graduation and apologized if I'd ever blurred the teacher/student lines. She's friendly and warm so it's easily done. She never taught through intimidation or made any of us feel inferior. She was always supportive, laughed with us, and cut us a little slack -- but not too much -- when we were on hard times. I learned so much from her and I will miss her as much as I'll miss anybody. Truth is, I'm hoping we can hang out now that I'm graduated so maybe I won't have to miss her at all. She was an influence that came along at an important time in my life. I needed her support and guidance and her approval meant a lot to me. She taught me makeup, brows, and pointed out that I needed to trust in my abilities and learn to take a compliment. I once did a makeup job and I asked Kayla's opinion. She said it was great. I wasn't happy until I'd all but begged her to pick it apart. I don't know why I do that. She's a big reason I came to school every day so a large portion of my success is due to her. She knew when to hold my hand and when to let go. She never hovered over me or doubted my ability to make a judgement call in the treatment room. I grew to adore and respect her very much. I hold her in very high regard and she was a great influence on me. Nothing would have been the same without her. She was huge piece of the puzzle. I'm not a huggy person and neither is she but I found myself hugging Kayla a lot towards the end. I love her and I just wanted her to know it. Life's short so here's a hug 'cause I love you and shit.

All these women have had such a profound effect on me. I've seen traits and qualities that exist within them that I'd like to adopt for myself. We went on a journey together and we finished it together. We've all seen each other through good times and bad times but I've loved looking at them the past few weeks and seeing the look of self-accomplishment on their faces. I've learned there are things I consider a struggle that might be a walk in the park for of them and vice versa. Where you excel someone might struggle. I learned to never get caught up in professional jealousy. If someone is better at you in something, be humble enough to ask for their advice rather than hate on them for it. I've grown to love these ladies in a deeper way than I ever thought I would. I know their stories, their struggles and I was present for some of those struggles but I was also there for their triumph. I see something in all of them that I can learn from and work on within myself. The past 8 1/2 months have been a whirlwind and I don't recognize the girl on day one unwrapping her kit at "kit-mas". I've been through life-changing events since then and I've come out the other side a completely different person. All my products marked "professional use only" still give me pride because I know what to do with them. I'm a real live esthetician and so are they. I watched their journey and watched us all grow as a group. You're my heroes, ladies. Thank you for the lessons, the laughs, the love. I couldn't picture it with anyone else. I will take a piece of each one of you with me into my future. I hope I can tell you all about it over drinks for years to come. Here's to us.

 

Two Months

Today is 2 months. Two months of a new normal that isn't normal at all. Two months of tearful outbursts, two months of feeling lost in a nightmare no one will wake me up from, two months of realizing one of the most important people in my life is gone. Before all this, I'd always said there were a handful of people I'd be lost without and would probably need to be issued a straight jacket if something ever happen to them; my kids, Jason, my mom, and Ryan. This is my circle. These are my people. No one offered me that straight jacket and a stay in a mental health facility has sounded like a nice break. But alas, life beckons, and I must answer. I kept waiting for someone to say, "She's lost it" and come get me. 

You don't realize the things that will hurt the most. It's the first time something happens that you can't wait to tell them and you pick up the phone to call or text. Then it dawns on you, AGAIN, they're gone. The weird part is you lose them all over again every single day. I log onto Facebook and someone will have made a lovely gesture and posted his picture but BOOM, there it is, first thing in the morning. My coffee with a side of gut wrenching pain. I know it sounds mean, but sometimes I don't want to see his face. Sometimes seeing his face makes me have to hold back an animalistic sobbing whale from rising up from my insides. If my feelings could make a sound I feel like it would something like a wounded animal in the wild. No real words to speak of; just the sound of pain and desperation because no words are fitting. I have no words for what I feel. It's a pain that's mind, body, and soul. It's all consuming. I remember his hands, every mark on his body, every scar, his thick beard, his tattoos, his keloids…. I take on physical symptoms I fear he felt. I wonder if he was in pain. I wonder if he was scared. I wonder if he knew I was coming. I can only allow those thoughts to creep in once in a while because it's just too much. I fear I will die, too. Maybe it's because I don't think life goes on without him. Human life is so fragile. I thought he was superhuman. I guess I'm not, either.

I don't like breaking down in front of people. I didn't want that to happen but it has. At my final pow wow at school, everyone commended me on finishing school amid all this. I couldn't stop the tears. People tell you how strong you are. I don't think I'm strong. I certainly wasn't as tears rolled out uncontrollably and I sobbed like a baby while sitting on a stage in a room full of grown women. At the end, you're given the mic to say something pivotal. To offer words of wisdom to the future grads. I had poignant things to say planned. I was going to move them. I was going to push every woman in that room to love one another, to grab the world by the balls, to be unstoppable. All I really did was sob into the mic and inaudibly babble that I'd lost my brother so be nice to each other. Whoops…. I was still coherent enough to look down into the crowd as I wept and saw two girls tapping away on their iPads as my soul was raw and exposed, drenched in a spotlight. It crossed my mind to call them out but the truth is, I've fought more battles in the past two months than I care to admit. I've had public brawls and had several not-so-shining moments. I've been like that drunk, white trash woman at the county fair that came for two reasons; to drink beer and fight and she just ran out of beer. I'm tired of fighting so I let them tap. My mother is a gentle soul and doesn't care for public spats. This makes it all the more odd that the two of the mouthiest people on earth are her children. She's gentle; meaning she will handle things slowly and methodically and hit you from behind after you think things have died down. You have to respect that kind of approach. I tend to swing first and ask questions later; it's not my best feature. Problem is, you always see me coming. I don't have to attend every argument I'm invited to. I'm trying to decline as many invitations as I can these days. It's not cute and I'd like to be a lady so I'm doing my best to gag that county fair woman. A few brawls that have occurred, I will not apologize for and that's just the way it is. In extreme circumstances, I did what I had to do. In areas that matter, my opponent and I will take it to the woodshed and one of us isn't going to come back alive. That's just me and Ryan would've been the first to tell you that. Had be been able, he would've cautioned them from jump: "I wouldn't if I were you." I had already decided that if the situation got out of control, I'd have to have my own t-shirt fundraiser. I was going to do a very Courtney Love photo cradled in text reading "Free KILLER's Sister". It was for attorney's fees, etc.

My anger phase is beginning to dissipate and I'm experience a weird drive. A drive from within to fight and conquer and deep lack of concern for many things. I feel like a piece of him has crawled inside me and he's decided to finish out the ride by taking me up a notch. Maybe I've made that all up in my head…. Whatever works, right? All my doubts and fears have faded away. I don't scrutinize or doubt myself anymore. I jump into things with both barrels and I've had a lot of experiences in the passed two months I might have otherwise missed. Why miss things? I'm going to do things and do them the way I want to do them. I don't care who's watching or what they're thinking. I've been friended by a lot of people who only came to be a looky-loo…. To watch the train wreck in slow motion. I've heard the rumors of people back home asking if he was a "transvestite". I laugh really hard at that; he would, too. Ordinarily, I'd delete these people. Nah….  Come on in. Have a look around. It's all pretty fabulous, lol. If you can't see that, chances are I don't like you anyway. Mom and I discussed how our book would help the LGBT community and do well in areas like the one we grew up in where there are kids going through Ryan's same struggle and feel judged and alone. It will also maybe crack the door and let a little light in for the local yocals. Even if it doesn't, they'll still read it 'cause they're nosy and it will contribute money into his foundation. Either way, it's a win-win.

I'll go days and not feel his presence and then one day I can feel his energy. Ryan was like a father figure to me. He was aggressive with me but because he saw me as his responsibility, as an extension of himself. Ryan was loving with me but stern, as well. He wasn't afraid to shake the shit out of me, either. When he's with me, it feels like he's trying to push me. I have bad dreams and one night I dreamt he was standing behind glass and I was clawing and screaming trying to get to him. He was trying to say something to me but I couldn't hear him. I woke up sobbing and screaming his name. My heart was pounding and I sat up and caught my breath. I rolled over, decided I couldn't face the day, and went back to sleep. I woke up moments later, shoving at something because I felt like I was being booted out of bed. I got up and I faced the damned day and I got a lot accomplished. You see, I couldn't quit school. He would've killed me for that. He would never want me to let this put me into a holding period. Using this as an excuse to quite life would've just made things worse.

We had an awesome guest speaker at school. She was an expert in Chinese astrology. I looked up all my loved one's energies as she spoke. Ryan was a dragon. The only animal in the zodiac that is a mythical creature. Villagers would live at the base of mountains because they believed dragons lived behind them. If the village was ever attacked, the dragons would descend over the mountains and protect them. Dragons protect fiercly even if they know you're wrong. She said, "God help those who mess with a dragon's person". He was my dragon; my beautiful, protective, mythical dragon. My dragon would never leave me, he protects me in a different way now.

At night I lay down and try to sleep. I allot an hour of sleeplessness for heavy thoughts. I think of him every night and, yes, I cry every single night. Sometimes it's one tear, sometimes it's convulsions. Last night, was no different. My thoughts drifted to my brother. I feel asleep around 2:00 but my dream was very different than the disturbing dreams I've had prior. I dreamt I was auditioning for some sort of stage appearance. I didn't get it and I left pissed. I walked out thinking they wouldn't know talent if it hit 'em in the face. I left and walked into the parking lot and saw a vintage '57 chevy. I thought, "I like that one. I'll take that." I got into the car and blasted off down a beautiful scenic road that was new yet so familiar. The air was fresh and crisp and I could smell that old car smell; musty and engine-like. Out of nowhere I lit up a cigarette. I haven't smoked in almost a year but I was sure enjoying that camel. I hit the gas, the engine revved, and the horsepower pleased me ever so much. The wind was in my hair and I felt free. I blasted with nowhere in particular in mind, just enjoying the ride. Maybe this was him subliminally letting me see into things. Maybe he was too much for this life. Maybe he metaphorically walked off stage and blasted off in a vehicle of his choosing.

Two months and I've pictured him in a thousand different ways: reincarnated as a fox, forever on a stage doing what he loved, a white light surrounding us, being very James Dean in that car forever on a joyride. Two months and I've lost him everyday since. It hurts less to think of him in a beautiful state and forever with me. I will never see him again. I will never talk to him again. I have to figure out how to make decisions without his guidance. But like I said, my dragon didn't leave me. I question less because I feel like I'm being steered internally. I'm free because I've been given the knowledge that your life is yours alone. No one can live it for you and no one is judge and jury. No one is going to crawl into your coffin with you so remember that the next time you debate how others will feel about YOUR choices. How will you feel when you've altered who you are for someone who won't be following you? You have one life. Live it true.

 

I have to find him in other ways now. I have to listen, I have to be open, I have to be willing to be outside the box. I will not close my mind or care who finds my choices out of their realm of understanding. Yes two months, I've lost him everyday but I find him everywhere. I find myself everyday.

WWRD

Today at 2:24 PM

I will be really glad to see 2014 go. It's been a year that has brought about the most change in my life. It's had it's positive aspects and it's been absolutely brutal. I've suffered major loss while trying to achieve many things. The harsh parts are pretty obvious but I've decided not to lose my brother without finding a lesson in it for myself. I have to take this and make it push me harder instead of letting it push me down to the depths of anguish so deep I'll never recover. I have always been a look before you leap kind of girl. I've made snap decisions in the past but over minor things like hair dye and rearranging furniture. The big things are thought out to the point of exhaustion and I've made sure to suck every last ounce of joy out of it. I've held myself back for fear of making myself look like a fool for raising my hand to offer up my "talents". In my mind I assume it'll be met with, "Who does this broad think she is?". When we first started taking clients at school, it was obvious most of the girls were interested more in the makeup than facials. Facials are a necessary part of the curriculum so you tow the line. It's pretty rare that a client comes in for makeup but it's always an exciting buzz behind the scenes. Some are already well-established artists and don't need the hands-on experience because they're already solid in their skills. I'm not necessarily one of these people. I would stand back, start to step up to the plate, and then find myself backing away. There are several jobs I let slip through my fingers because I was afraid. Afraid of what? Failure; of being watched and scrutinized. All makeup clients are taken in the forefront of the salon where clients and other students are free to walk by and observe. Every time I'm working on someone (even in the back) and I can feel someone watching me over my shoulder, my pulse speeds up and my hands begin to shake. Not something you want happening during a liquid eyeliner application. No, no, no.

I worked on someone the night before Ryan passed. She was a friendly woman who gave me carte blanche to give her glamour. She was wearing black and going to a dimly lit place for a small cocktail affair. She was comfortable with a dark eye and had worn heavy makeup in the past. Asking is crucial because my version of slightly heavy may be considered Vegas showgirl to her. There was a little girl running around while her mom got her hair done. She made several trips by to observe my situation. I had freshly dyed pink hair and was elbow deep in a charcoal smoky eye.  The lady had a very deep-set eye and I was struggling to blend the line. I remember repeating in my head, "You did not come all the way from Flippin, Arkansas to flake out and mess up this eye. Get it together!" Then my classic go-to, "WWRD?" (what would Ryan do?). I continued to watch this little girl dance around in my peripherals but she certainly wasn't my focus. 

 

Knowing when to quite and stop retouching is another thing I need to work on. I'll pick until I've made it worse, not better. I'm usually one lifted lash away from a bathroom meltdown. If I see a flaw, it's all I'll see; not the good contour work, not the not the good blending. I'll just see those few flaws that make me feel like she will later wear a sign that reads, "Misty was my makeup artist, come closer and see where she failed". 

I finally wrapped up and the lady seemed to like her makeup. She tipped me very well and went on her way. I stayed behind to clean up my mess and the little girl was on her way out with her mom. Kids, who don't know not to point or talk about people in a low tone said, "Mom, I like her hair. I want to do makeup!" I smiled to myself knowing she thought I was cool. I know this because I was once like her. There was a girl back home that was in her early 20s when I was little. Her name was Kim Wilkins. She was everything I ever wanted to be; she was beautiful, blonde, tan, athletic, drove a mustang, and dated what, I thought, was the most handsome guy in town. I wanted to be her when I grew up. She was my first real girl crush. I would watch her in awe when she would play sports but I wonder now, did my idol ever have doubts? Did she ever question her abilities or go home and rip herself apart after I'd just sat in bleachers thinking she was the coolest thing since sliced bread? I would've never imagined her doing that because I thought she was the bees knees. If that little girl could've heard the thoughts in my head, tearing myself to shreds while doing that makeup, would she have still thought I was cool or just pathetic? I'm glad she couldn't hear my thoughts and I'm ashamed of myself for having them and I'm not going to do it anymore.

Lately I've become somewhat of a "yes woman". I don't avoid things anymore due to feeling unqualified, afraid, or out of place. It starts with "Misty you want to……?" and it's met with a "YES". Life is too short and I will not miss experiences or opportunities because of self-doubt. I could be gone tomorrow and there are things I will have missed out on over limits I've created in my own mind. These limits aren't real. I've imprisoned myself and shame on me. I'm going to dive in and live my life to the fullest. I will go hard professionally and I will slow down and savor those precious moments with my family just a little bit more. I will find the balance. I will be confident but hold on to my humble. I do not need reassurance to conquer and I refuse to be my own worst enemy. WWRD? Funny, when I've heard his voice a few times during my sleep, one of them sounded an awful lot like him telling me to get my ass out of bed and pull myself together after I'd spent a few days in bed. I know it sounds silly but sometimes when I'm working on something, I look down at my arm and think, "Guide my arm foxy". I feel like I metaphorically took off my chains. What's the worst that can happen? I've experienced the worst that can happen and you aren't given the option to throw in the towel. When people say, "I don't know how you are doing it." There isn't a choice. No one came and said would you like to take the next 5 years off? Life goes on and those around you aren't going to stop and wait for you. While I'm in bed, someone else took my gig. I have to regroup and rebuild and I have to make him proud. If that requires taking who he was and applying it to myself to feel like I'm continuing his legacy then that's what I'll do. Mom and I have several things in the works that we will be presented as they reach a certain point. Mom has changed but as odd as it sounds, in a good way. I'm proud of her. Neither one of us will ever be the same people we were. In a weird way, we've only improved. Our struggle reads in everything we do now; it is present in our faces, eyes, and decisions. Sometimes being slapped with a gut-wrenching loss evolves into the most freeing experience of your life. We're going on vacation soon because we need one and we aren't worried about money, work, or opinions. We'll make Ryan proud and I will never hold back ever again.

What He Meant To Me

Today at 10:13 AM

Jason says that I have to purge. He says I have to write it all down and get it out of me. He said that I've written my blog about the loss of my brother but now I have to write what Ryan meant to me. Jason says I've been tough to deal with lately and for that, I'm sorry. I get lost inside myself and my fuse, which was short already, has been cut in half. I'll be the first to admit that I'm irrational and I pity anyone who's had to deal with me, namely Jason. In trying to talk me down out of the rafters, he said something that really hit home. He said, "Misty, he was my brother, too. I lost him, too." In that moment, I felt like an asshole. He was absolutely right and I'm sorry. Watching my son lose his cool when we walked into the funeral home, made me realize I had hogged the agony for myself. Jason said he's been surprised that I haven't written much. I've had no strength. It's all I can do to get through my daily routine, let alone be funny or witty. He said, "Write or you have to go to counseling". So here's a lighter one… What Ryan meant to me, what he taught me, and the funny stories that have no purpose -- they're just damn funny.

Ryan and I have always been close. I was enamored of Ryan from birth. He was my big brother and I thought he hung the moon. Mom said he would carry me around and never hold my head so it would just be flopping around. He never did learn how to hold a baby's head. He held my kids like aliens, each and everyone of them. I digress… I followed him everywhere he went. I know he got sick of me, 'cause well, he told me he did. I slept with him until he all put physically picked me up and put into my pink frilly bed down that hall. I don't think I ever forgave him for booting me out. We would lay in bed at night to the sound of our big box fan and tell each other stories to make each other laugh. I laughed so hard once I puked all over Ryan's helium Snoopy balloon he'd gotten for his birthday. We got in big trouble that night. We would play the game where you draw a picture on each other's back and try to guess what was being drawn or written. I'd wear him down and he'd let me go back in and sleep with him every now and then. I'd wait till it was late and his resistance was down because we'd stayed up watching "Twin Peaks" or "Unsolved Mysteries" to ask. I think sometimes he was secretly creeped out, too.

I don't think it's any big secret we were poor and mom had to work tons of jobs just to keep us afloat. Ryan took care of me; he fed me, he made sure I did my chores, he cleaned up my puke, monitored my outfits, taught me right from wrong, and shielded me from mean boys. You can't begin to count the number of glasses of sweet tea and chimichanga heat-'em-up meals he put in front of me. I once had a friend remark after being around Ryan and I together, for the first time, that they'd never seen anyone be able to make me "mind" except Ryan. Ryan was like a father figure to me and yes, he could put me in check like no one else on this earth. His opinion mattered and disappointing him crushed me. Don't get me wrong, we were kids at one time and tore the house down while mom was away. We broke things, we raised hell, and had a blast. Here's a list of funny stories that are prime examples of Ryan and I as kids.

Let's start with the favorite: The hair in the vacuum cleaner story…

Ryan was the golden child. He was more responsible and least likely to garner mom a bad phone call from the school. Me? Not so much. I was rambunctious, loud, wild, lawless, and least likely to have completed our many chores before mom got home. Ryan called me the "O.G. Bad Girl". Mom drove a little blue escort and the bottom of her car would drag the top of the deeply-dipped driveway on her way into the carport. When you heard that sound, time was up. If your chores weren't completed, well, it was your ass. I'd hear that sound and scramble. Ryan would sit cooly and calmly with a smirk on his face knowing he'd already done his.  Asking for his assistance at this point would simply be met with a, "Tough noogies, kid." One day in particular I was avoiding chores, as per usual. I was splayed out on the floor with my t.v. tray, engrossed in a riveting episode of "Fraggle Rock". Ryan was vacuuming and dared to ask me to get up off the floor so he could vacuum where I was laying. I said no and without warning, Ryan rolled the vacuum over my hair and sucked it up, clean to the scalp. I think this was a rare instance he immediately felt bad. I had to wait like that till mom got home and I had to be cut loose. Ryan didn't get in trouble much. Mostly, me. This time, I think mom asked him what would posses him to do such a thing. If I remember correctly he called me a turd and I think mom probably quietly agreed. I was no walk in the park, I admit it. I know this story made the rounds among his friends because they've mentioned it to me laughing in my adult years and saying, "Now, tell me your version of the vacuum story". Clearly, he didn't feel badly enough for the story to lose it's humor. It's a classic.

The time I blacked his eye with a lemon…

Most of our fights centered around chores. Ryan was doing laundry and yelling at me that I hadn't done my fair share of the work. Mom was making real lemonade and had lemons all over the counter near her cutting board. Ryan was standing in front of the washer and he'd been having a go at me for a pretty good while. He was just yelling at me and yelling at me and I finally snapped, grabbed one of those lemons, turned around, and chucked it clear across the kitchen and through to the laundry room. That lemon couldn't have clocked him square in the eye again if I was a trained, lemon-chucking professional. It was a money shot. He had a shirt in his hands which he immediately dropped and grabbed his eye. My mom runs to Ryan and asked what would posses me to do such a thing. If memory serves, Ryan told her I was turd and she probably quietly agreed. I was around later when a friend of his asked him where he got the shiner. He side-eyed me and said, "Oh ya know… My sister beaned me with a lemon". I think I was told I was a turd but it was still a nice shot.

The time Ryan's pyro phase got out of control and he blamed me and got away with it…

Like all little boys, Ryan developed an unhealthy obsession with fire. He frequently lit small pieces of paper and let them burn down in dad's ashtray by his recliner and he would watch in awe as it would burn down to ashy remnants. A particular occasion Ryan had burned a bunch of matches and various other things and left them at the opening to the basement below the house. Mom found them and went to Ryan first. He looked her dead in the face and blamed me. I took my licks like a champ and went to my monkey swing to sniffle and think bad thoughts about mom AND Ryan. Ryan came out of the house and approached me slowly. He had the nerve to pat my head and say, "I'm sorry, sis. I just didn't want to get in trouble." I said, "Oh like YOU would EVER get in trouble!" Then I told him he was a turd and went back to swinging.

Mom, Ryan, and I were like our own little gang. At the end of the day, we had each other. It was rare but we are family and disagreements arise. When one was mad at the other, sides would get taken. Mom and Ryan once made me so mad about something but I was really young and couldn't spell yet. I remember I felt like they were ganging up on me and the madder I got, the funnier they thought it was. I was fuming. I went to my little pink, frilly room with the white whicker furniture and slammed the door. I filled Easter baskets with all the things that mattered -- my Miss Piggy and my Cabbage Patch Kids. Who needs clothes when you're a rebel? I'll be like Annie -- dirty and street smart. I wrote a note about my plans to leave and stuck it on the outside of my door. That'll show 'em! I could hear mom and Ryan standing outside my door laughing at what I'd written. I was LIVID!!!! Apparently, what I thought I had written wasn't so beautifully conveyed. It went something like… "I hate me mudder. I hate me brudder. Lick navy." I'm not sure what I was trying to get across but it didn't compute. They laughed and laughed.

………………………..Turds.

The last physical brawl…

Ryan and I grew into what I would consider classy adults but deep down we were both scrappy. We were no stranger to physical fights with each other. Ryan didn't take it easy on me because I was a girl when things got heated. He would come at me like a boy and it was sink or swim. I could always hold my own with Ryan right up until his freshman year in college. I was dating a boy Ryan couldn't stand. I was going through a bad boy stage and Ryan highly disapproved. He was home from college for the weekend and a fight broke out about the boyfriend. Ryan came at me and we started wrestling around in the living room. Mom, being no stranger to this, just moved things around us and stepped up to the upper level away from the sunken living room and let us duke it out. I remember her standing there, arms folded, dish towel in hand, disgusted look on face. There was just no other way for her to handle it. I wouldn't have recommended getting in the middle of it. We were heathens. I ripped Ryan's shirt clean off his body. Not over his head, through his body. I ripped it clean in half across his back. We landed on the coffee table, breaking it. As Ryan began getting the better of me, I remember thinking, "God, he's really grown into a man!" I had the strong desire to raise the white flag and scream, "TIME OUT!" I think mom finally broke it up and sent us to separate ends of the house to cool off. I later came to Ryan crying, told him I was sorry, we hugged, and knew no fight between us was ever the last word. 

When Ryan started college, we went through a weird period of trying to adjust to him leaving our little town and believe me, he left skid marks getting out of there. Our area growing up wasn't accepting and extremely judgmental. I didn't blame him a bit for wanting out. I wished he had taken me with him. He swears he remembers his coming out story to me. I don't remember it that well because it wasn't an issue. He claims I was digging in my closet, (yes in the closet), for something and he said, "Hey Mist, I'm going to the store and by the way -- I'm gay." He said I leaned out of the closet and said, "Get me a coke and DUH". Despite being different from what's considered normal in our small little town, Ryan was already somewhat of a legend. His talent was too much to ignore even by the most conservative standards. He took the local school plays and turned them into award-winning dramas. He wasn't always understood where we grew up but he was still fascinating to everyone because he was an effing star. His talents and good looks made everyone keenly aware he was someone, going somewhere whether you understood him or not. As he aged and spread his wings, the world began to notice even more what a special gift he was. It was proven to me that I wasn't just a little sister with a biased perspective of how awesome her big brother was. The world saw it, too, and I had to share my rock star with the world. A part of me always resented it just a little bit. He wasn't mine, alone. I had to share him. Though, being Ryan's little sister wasn't always easy. In fact, my name was, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", for most of my adolescence. My whole life I struggled to be as funny, quick-witted, talented, and as smart as Ryan. But alas, there can only be one Ryan and believe me, the world knew it. I would whine to him about my legacy of not being him, but he would joke that I was the Janet to his Michael. I would joke back that I was more like the Ashlee to his Jessica. 

Ryan was a fierce protector of me and it never wavered even as we aged. There was an incident on an outing in Dallas where a guy touched me inappropriately and Ryan went ape. There was a masculine side there and it wasn't shy to make an appearance. You couldn't touch me when my brother was there. I felt safe with him. He would never let anyone hurt me. We fought each other's battles many times. When Ryan was treated like crap from jocks in school, I would wonder how hard it would be to kick a teenage boy's ass while i was in grade school. I thought I could take 'em and tried a few times. Mom said when I got my first shots as a kid that I took it like a champ but Ryan cried. Ryan and I shared a connection that we hurt more for the other's pain. He hurt, I hurt and vice versa.

Ryan continued to grow, as did our relationship. We developed a beautiful friendship but he always parented me. I would not be who I am without Ryan; not even a little bit. Our bond was unbreakable and we relied on each other through everything. We NEVER told one another how to live the other's life. We listened, we supported, and lived by the philosophy that if you're happy, I'm happy. My job was to pick him up when he fell and applaud his triumphs. I was so proud of him in everything he did. I sat in awe, like everyone else at every performance. I would sit with him on FaceTime while he beat his face, showed me new outfits, and went over routines. I had to watch via video when I couldn't be there but I was there in spirit for everything. I would stay up to help him find audio snippets for his acts. He'd never use anything I suggested but whateves. I once thought an excerpt from "Soap Dish" I'd collected had pleased him but no cigar. Ryan could never do anything or be anyone I wasn't proud of. He could never disappoint me and I would never not love every part of him. He is a part of me and I was lucky to be his little sister.

Ryan gave me life skills that have served me to the fullest in my 34 years. He taught me to always walk with my head held high. He taught me to never suffer a fool. He taught me to get ahead by being smarter, quicker, and to make them too intimidated to even think about firing the first shot. Be fearless. Be independent. Be fierce and never apologize for being just a little bit too much. Be tough and never let 'em see you sweat. Suck it up and power through. He taught me to never compromise my beliefs or who I am to pacify others. Always fight for what I believe in and stand up for those I love. Life your life as you see fit -- opinions will vary. Let 'em talk and make them eat their hearts out. 

I can never do this blog justice on what Ryan meant to me. He meant everything. He was everything wrapped into one complicated, beautiful, talented, artistic soul. His pretty, flirty eyes, wicked grin, enviable and limitless talents were something the world has lost. He was good at everything he did and that was a lot. He was a son, a brother, a friend, an uncle, a comedian, an actor, a performer, a vocalist, a musician -- he was everything. The world will miss out on who he was and who he was going to be. I didn't lose him, alone. Everyone who knew him will suffer for a long time. This loss is beyond words to everyone. The world lost its sparkle. Its darker, its less funny, it has less spirit. I still hear his voice and his laughter. I still feel his energy. I hope wherever he is, he is at peace and performing on a big stage somewhere making them eat it. I will cling to the memories and laugh at our inside jokes. I will never doubt if he knew how much I loved him. He absolutely knew. Ryan's plate was never empty if mine was full. What was mine was his and he knew that. Our last words were "I love you" and I'm so grateful for that. I love you a bushel and peck and hug around the neck, Rynoceros.  Always and forever. Until we meet again I will carry your memory. I will never let it go. So to the question, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", I proudly say YES. Yes I am.