Pixie Baby, Pixie

Recently I have been thinking about my long hair. Probably because the year anniversary of when I cut it off is right around the corner.

The day I chopped off my hair still remains as one of the most liberating moments of my life. I had been thinking about cutting it off for months up to that point. I was planning on doing it right around my birthday. I had my reasons. I was turning 20 years old. Goodbye teenage years. Chopping off that part of my life. Not because I necessarily regretted it but because I was ready for a change, and how metaphorical. These were all my plans, yes, but would I actually have the guts to do it? Most women would agree that the idea of chopping off their hair is horrifying, and quite possibly the riskiest thing any woman would choose to do. However, the act of actually doing it wasn’t too intimidating to me. I mean, it’s just hair. It grows, right? Obviously, I am much less attached to my hair than most girls.

So, no, I wasn’t scared about cutting it off. What I was scared of was how people would react if I cut it off. Would people like it? So I started dropping hints around people.
“Do you think I could pull off a pixie cut? Hypothetically speaking of course.”
“Nahhh.”
“Not many people can, you know.”
“You aren’t thinking about getting a pixie cut, are you? Don’t.”

That was a majority of the responses I received. Yes, I did have a few positive responses, but most people are not a fan of the pixie. The pixie cut does not fit the gender schema. Girls are supposed to have long hair. Women are supposed to be sexy. Short hair isn’t sexy; it’s boyish. You know what’s sexy? Long, luxurious locks and a bodacious rack. Now, that’s sexy. And that’s how women are supposed to look, so they shy away from short hair. They remain hidden behind their long hair.

I was getting annoyed by these warnings. I knew I could pull off the pixie. I just knew it. And I want to prove everyone wrong. I was sold. I was chopping it off, and the more people who told me not to, the more I wanted to do it. I was sick of feeling constrained by my hair. I was sick of letting people rule my decisions. I was letting people define me as much as my hair define me. My decision was made.

I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be able to have a ponytail anymore.

I accepted the fact that people weren’t going to like it.
I accepted the fact that guys probably weren’t going to be attracted to me anymore.

And I didn’t care.

Did I cry? No.
I went in and said, “Do it. Chop it off.”

And there it went. And I was free. 

It was like I cut off years of insecurities and doubts.  

The best part of chopping off all my hair was that is was my decision and my decision alone. It was something I needed to do for me. Like I said, I was so sick of letting myself be influenced by other people. I was done with letting others define me. I needed to do this for me.

And I did.

And the Kathleen that had been hiding behind her hair for so long was released, and she was ready to face the world.

So do something. Do something for you, and you alone.

I know I need to because longhaired Kathleen is trying to resurface, and that’s not okay. 

Ben Franklin Bridge To I Don't Know Where

Long time, no blog. Yes, I know, it's been awhile. I guess you could say I have been uninspired (excuses), but when CSM presented this blogging contest, I thought I had something I could share. So here it is:

Going into week three of city hosting, I was extremely confident. After some extreme conflict with my map during staff  training, I felt we had resolved some major issues and a summer love had started to bloom. Directions were starting to become really fun for me. Oh, Map 54 K-1 to Map 58 B-2 you say? Challenge accepted. I also felt like I had been doing an exceptional job being able to connect with each of the two unique groups I had the previous weeks. To top it all off, I was having so much fun serving alongside my groups at all the different ministry sites. So as week three was approaching, I was on my high horse. I was made for this job. It couldn’t be easier for me. Little did I know.

            When I first met the two leaders of my serving group, I was slightly nervous but not shaken. They were quite the dichotomous pair. We had the extremely detail-oriented and the 40 year old kid. This would be an  interesting week but nothing I couldn’t I couldn’t handle. Like I said, I was made for this job. I had it down.  I can handle challenges presented by other people. I’m flexible. I’m available. I can be teachable.  Definitely F.A.T.

            Come Thursday, I realized that I was the most challenging part of the week. The students and leaders needed to be F.A.T. for me and not the other way around. I had misread the schedule and thought we weren’t supposed to be at our next site until 1, not the actual time we were supposed to be there, 12:30, and currently, I had led our group to I have no idea, New Jersey. We miraculously arrived but 45 minutes late. When we got there I escaped to the bathroom and sat in a stall crying. I had officially given myself the “World’s Worst Host” title. I know what you’re thinking. Overreaction. Late one day? It happens. But did I mention we had arrived 30 minutes late to our site the previous day courtesy of , you guessed it, me? I like to blame it on the vortex of what is the Ben Franklin Parkway of Philly, but if I am being real, I just use that as a means to not dent my pride.

My students were starting to notice. When students start to notice, it is not a good sign. And they started to only remember all the times I got them lost, and not the times I actually got them places in a timely manner and with no wrong turns. Those times outweighed our lost times, but they didn’t remember that. Naturally. I was sick of the “Why can’t we just use a GPS system?” and “Why are we always lost?” So I had to finish strong. I had to prove that I knew where I was going. It was Friday. If I finished this day without messing up, then they would only remember that last day. A good day. Our first site that day was 30 minutes outside Philly. Okay, that’s fine. I have directions. We missed one turn, and we immediately got back on track, but the kids didn’t miss that wrong turn for a second. They dubbed turning around “Kathleening.” “Oh, we’re just Kathleening again.” Cute. But then it started to hurt. It was really a blow to my confidence. We got back to the city fine for the most part. They got to explore the city on their own for a few hours that afternoon. I only had one major place left to get them that night. Our restaurant. It was only 2 main turns from Old City Philly. Easy enough.

“Kathleen, do you know where you’re going?” “Yes.”

15 minutes later we were on the Ben Franklin Bridge to New Jersey. This officially made it the worst week of my life. Really, God? You were supposed to throw me a bone here. Instead, I am  now in New Jersey. I was really beginning to hate New Jersey. It gave me nothing but trouble. We eventually joined the groups at dinner. Late. I was so discouraged. I did not want to hand out those CSM evaluations that night. I didn’t want to know what they had to say.

Still super discouraged and with a bruised ego, I reluctantly gave them their CSM evaluations. What I read that night after they were all turned in was not what I expected at all. I can’t tell you how many students wrote how much they appreciated me and my hard work. They noted my directions weren’t perfect, but they still appreciated me. And they still got so much out of all the sites. What? How? It was God’s way of telling me, “Chin up, my dear. You are relying too much on yourself.  There is no way this summer is going to work if you keep that up. No, this week wasn’t perfect. And you messed up a lot. You’re not perfect, but that’s okay because I am. And I will use all of your mistakes for good. And I did. And I will continue.” What started as the most discouraging week of my life ended with so much encouragement. I was so humbled. I fully expect more challenging weeks like this to come. Fortunately, God can use my mistakes as much as my victories.

Now I can look back say, “Hey, remember that time I accidentally led a group into New Jersey?” and laugh. I mean somebody had to cross that bridge first (pun intended).

But the group that comes in on Sunday doesn’t have to know about that. Thank God for fresh starts. Never again will I underestimate 2 Corinthians 5:17. The old has gone. The new has come. Because really, the new group is coming, and as far as they are concerned, I am a directions expert.

Band Names

I’m really into music, but that’s old news.  Does that count as a hobby? It’s all perspective. And that’s life.

Although, I do enjoy doing one particular thing that I know absolutely counts as a hobby. Obscure as it is, it is still a hobby nonetheless. In fact, I would love this to be my career, but who actually makes a living out of their obscure hobbies? Mark Zuckerberg (made a living out of screwing people over. Obscure enough? … I still love you Marky Z!) He is the exception, not the rule. I digress.

Anyway, I know you are squirming in your seats to read about my obscure hobby, so I won’t let you suffer any longer.

And that hobby would be…

Creating band names!  So. Much. Fun. And all humility aside, I would say that I am pretty rockin’ at it. (See what I did there?)  

The name is the heart and soul of a band. I mean who really cares about the music and lyrics anyway? Psh. It’s all about the name. Shakespeare didn’t know what he was talking about when he had Juliet say, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Does anything Juliet say really have any validity at all? Homegirl was 14, so I’m going to say no. Not to mention, she killed herself over a pretty boy. Girl, please. I digress again!

Band names. Heart and soul.

But really, people should hire me to do this stuff for them.

But since people are not hiring me to do this stuff for them, I have found other ways to put my hobby to use.

The most obvious way is that I create fake bands. Easy enough. I get real with the members. The Golden Rods are my love child. We have Luke Lawrence- lead vocalist and guitarist, Alex Banner on bass, Jared Uldridge rocks the keys, and Derek James owns the sticks. Solid band.

Another way I like to put to use band names- You are in a group of people and something happens that you feel the need to include your commentary, but you don’t want to be too blunt, so you throw out a band name.

For example, your friends Ricky and Leah have been extreme flirting all night. You’ve got the classic banter and the obvious tension.

So what do you say? “Hey guys, have you heard of that band Sexual Tension? They are owning it this year.”

Another example would be when you are talking to those people. And by those people, I mean the ones that you don’t really connect with at all and find yourself fighting the Mongols to make conversation. So what do you say? “Hey, this reminds me of this one song, ‘Forced’ by this amazing local band, Small Talk. Have you ever heard of them?”

Band names. They are great. Great for a band’s integrity. Great for conversation. Now if only people could pay me to do this. But they aren’t, so I’m in college, studying liberal arts.

Ball of Shame

Do you ever have those moments where you relive all of your most humiliating moments in a span of seconds? Yeah, me neither.

However, if I did ever have those moments, I could only guess what those moments would feel like. And based on my extraordinary imagination, I know those moments are quite the phenomenon of shame that I like to call the “Ball of Shame.”

In my studies, I have found that the Ball of Shame is most likely to occur due to humiliation, but it is not limited to only that and may occur in two other circumstances.  

1.    Ball of Shame: Humiliation Edition

This is the phenomenon most previously noted. These only last a span of seconds, but you somehow are able to relive every embarrassing moment you have ever had since shame entered your life. The most embarrassing of those moments from your life seem to be played in HD in your mind. I don’t know how it’s possible for this to happen in a span of seconds, but it does, and it’s rough. Those seconds last for an eternity. Unfortunately, this most often occurs spontaneously, and the trigger is often irrelevant.

For example, you are walking to class one day and you see a mailbox. The mailbox reminds you that you need to send back your Netflix DVD. The Netflix DVD reminds you of how you spent your Saturday. You watched the movie that night, but most of your Saturday was spent at the homecoming football game. At that homecoming football game you got hungry and went to buy some fries. You got in line at the concession stand and realized you were standing behind the guy you sit next to in your Economics class. The guy turned around and said hey. Excited, you returned his greeting. He gave you a confused look and then gave you a slight but awkward head nod, and then proceeded to have a conversation with the guy standing behind you. All of this occurs to you as you are walking to class because of that stupid mailbox. You think of that one humiliating moment that happened the last Saturday and every other embarrassing moment you have ever had flashes before you in a matter of endless, excruciating seconds.

2.    Ball of Shame: Regret Edition

This happens when you are reminiscing about life and you think about something you most recently said or did that you regret. This most often occurs when you are alone and finding ways to waste time. Normally the trigger for this occurrence is much more obvious than the Humiliation Edition because you are clearly asking for it. For example, you are probably sitting alone in your dorm room and Facebook stalking yourself. This is self-destruction at it’s finest. You will find and remember things you regret, and then you find yourself in the Ball of Shame.

3.    Ball of Shame: Gob Bluth Edition

Do the words, “I’ve made a huge mistake,” ring any truth to you? This is very similar to the Regret Edition, but on a much more immediate and on a larger scale. This Ball of Shame occurs immediately after you've made a huge mistake and you realize you can’t do anything to fix it. It’s done and all you can do is the Ball of Shame.

The Ball of Shame looks a lot like this:

The Ball of Shame: A real and frightening phenomenon.

You’ve been warned.

Mountain Man's Guide to Manliness

So I know you guys are used to my writing, but in spirit of the holiday season, I decided to spice it up a bit. This is my first video post! Yay! I did this as a Christmas gift to my good friend Chris. Special thanks to Kelsey for helping me out!

I present to you "Mountain Man's Guide to Manliness."

Kathleen’s Not So Efficient but Exceptionally Effective Study Process

People>Studying. Always and forever. I think most people would agree with me on this opinion. However, my finals don’t understand that. And neither does Nathan Deal. So that means I must study. Eventually. At some point. It’s going to happen. Not now. Eventually. When I have no other choice.

I have a study process. I think it’s pretty effective. I mean, it has gotten me this far in my education; obviously it’s getting me somewhere in life.  It goes a little something like this:

Kathleen’s Not So Efficient but Exceptionally Effective Study Process:

1.     No Stress. Your finals don’t start until a week from now. That means people time. People. People. People. Finals? Why are you people even talking about finals? Who studies this far in advance? Get out of here, and go to the library. I don’t need you and your stress around me at this moment. You can go read while I have all the fun. Oh, hey, more people. I need to be around people!

2.     Finals are approaching. I am completely aware of their impending presence. Don’t think about it. Can I hang out with more people already?

3.     Okay. I really should be studying at this point, but I really don’t want to, so I'm going to complain. Wah! I don’t want to study. You know what I really don’t want to be doing right now? Studying. Wah! I really don’t want to study. Wah! Wah! Wah!

4.     More complaining about how I don’t want to study.

5.     Even more complaining.

6.     Okay, I should really start studying now. Let me open my laptop. Distractions.

7.     I read one page. I can take a study break. Oh, hey Facebook.

8.     Another few pages. Hmm… let me start thinking about my future: I am moving to Europe, when? Oh, right, I’m supposed to be reading.

9.     But I really don’t want to continue. I am going to take a lunch break.

10. Wait, I have two finals when? In two days? When did that happen? More complaining! Wahhhh! Wahhhhhhhh!

11. Okay, but really. Studying starts now.

12. Crank it out. Final Countdown style.

Ehh, perhaps not the best process, but a process nonetheless. Finals. They’re real. They’re ugly. They’re coming.

Backhanded Compliments

I don’t know when people decided backhanded compliments were an acceptable form of praise and encouragement. Worst idea ever. This coming from possibly one of the most (tastefully) offensive people I know, myself. If you’re going to compliment me, please go all out. It’s most flattering, and expect me to be especially thankful. If you want to critique me, please, by all means, go all out, and expect me to respond passive aggressively. It may burn, but I would rather it burn than feel the weird sensation of icy-hot that is backhanded compliments.

Examples, you ask? My pleasure.
(All of the following are dramatizations unless otherwise noted)

1. Me: So, remember that guy Ryan I told you about? Well, he asked me to go to dinner with him this weekend.

“Complimenter”: Really!? No way! I never thought a guy like him would ask a girl like you out on a date. He’s way hot. Props!

Time-out: I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to take this. A guy like him? Are you saying a hot guy can’t ask me out for dinner? What kind of girl does that make me? Not hot? And props? Really? Props? Who uses props (other than thespians) anymore? Icy-hot.

2. “Complimenter”: It’s too bad we can’t be roommates at Harvard. I was really looking forward to it. But you know, UGA’s not a bad school. I mean, it’s no Harvard, but it really is quite prestigious if you’re from Georgia.

Time-out: Are you really rubbing the fact that you got into Harvard and I didn’t into my face? I mean, that’s okay, you are making me feel better by telling me the school I did get into, even if it is no Harvard, is decent, if you’re from Georgia. But doesn’t the state of Georgia have one of the worst school systems in the nation? So I guess this does make me smart by Georgia standards indeed. Icy-hot.

3. “Complimenter”: You’re not as big as you used to be!

Time-out: So you’re saying I’m still big? Icy-hot.

4. Me: Just got a personal best on my mile! 7:30, baby!

“Complimenter”: Hmm, 7:30? Not bad! I must say, today was not my best day at all. 5:55 is not gonna cut it.

Time-out: Okay, it started out decent, but did you really have to go on? If 5:55 is not going to cut it, then what is my 7:30 to you? Thanks for making my personal best look embarrassing. Icy-hot.

5. “Complimenter”: You’re pretty now, so I can introduce you to my friends!
Time-out: (This one is a true story, no exaggeration. However, I’m not going to throw the person under the bus who said this to me. You know who you are.) So you’re definitely saying I wasn’t pretty before. I’m glad you think I’m pretty now though. But was I really so hideously troll-like before that you couldn’t introduce me to your friends? I am glad I have made such a miraculous transformation. Icy-hot.

So there you have it folks, backhanded compliments galore. Aren’t they fun? (Sarcasm bell) Give me the compliment or give me the critique, darn it! I don’t want this ambiguous backhanded compliment. Have the balls to say what you really mean! I can take it. I promise.