For the last... I don't know- fragment of my life, if I received a dollar for every time someone referred to me as a hippie, I'd probably have a nice wad of cash.
Today, I finally said goodbye and made peace with my mane. I personally am not one of those people that gets super attached to their hair, I actually happen to neglect giving much attention to it at all, and before I know it I am able to tuck it into my waist belt and or/ tie it over and around my lady lumps, sporting my locks as a halter top. Even when Andrew and I distance ourselves, hovering over opposite sides of the bed, I still find myself demanding he ought to "Get off of my hair!". Through my agent harassing me to sever off a minimum of 4 inches, my split ends dusting off Andrew's nightstand, and fellow lovers of Peace, not war- asking me for a doobie: It was time to Leave my hair with the dust in the wind, at Woodstock '69.
While I was leaving the salon, a woman and her daughter entered with an extreme response to the shag carpet I had recently installed. *GASP* "WOW! SO MUCH HAIR!!!"
As If they thought "Hair" secretly meant "Dentist" and "Salon" was code for "Office", expecting to be welcomed in by the redundant melodies of Sheryl Crow, the aromas of sour bubblegum & rubber gloves, and instead of seeing the floors sporadically upholstered by freshly chopped locks , they expected to see the Walls smothered by photos of Awkwardly smiling teens freshly liberated from their damaging alias "Brace Face".
Hair? In a Salon? Noooo!?
I contemplated informing the woman we had finished watching 101 Dalmatians in the backroom, and through inspiration; murdered a golden retriever in hopes to make a nice fur coat for Fall/Winter '08.
(please, Vegans and Vegetarians, I am one of your kind. And have been for quite some time. I just dabble in tasteless humor from time to time. Please forgive me.)
The unforgiving glare she tossed over at my moccasins, told me she wouldn't so much appreciate my comment, for once I thought before I spoke, and went on my Jolly way, realizing: I now may have to wear a bra, because my hair no longer covers my little breasts.
As far as fashion goes, I'm all about exploration and innovation. I love to see a crazy kook wearing some extravagant hot mess that they dare to wear. why not? Life's short, and you always have tomorrow to wear something boring and/or normal. I rarely find it appropriate to shove anybody's style or outfit of choice into a "Do's & Don'ts" category.
HOWEVER.
Tonight, I am her to tell the world; WHAT NOT TO WEAR.
This morning I absolutely could not find my deodorant. So, I scrambled about, in a hurry for a quick alternative...
A while back, Andrew's best friend Vince stood on his worrysome pulpit and preached like that brotha' from anotha' motha' on a Sunday morning in a Souther Baptist Church. Vince was there to spread the gospel: Regular deodorant submits cancer through your armpit and into your brain, via the iluminum ingredient you can find in most deodorants. But no need to panic! He had found the light, and he found it at Trader Joes.
"Trader Joe's Unscented deodorant (with cotton) paraben and aluminum free".
If you tell Andrew that Rubbing Alcohol is the most effective way to lubricate your dry, irritated, red eyes, he'd probably do it; One drop in each eye. Of course Vince's sunday school lesson on how important it is to convert to the aluminum-free-pit-stick, lead us through the valley and the shadow of death and over to the selective (but obivously eco-friendly) toiletry section of Trader Joes. I didn't pay much attention to these silly shananigans, I admittedly welcomed the advice into one ear and Shooed it out of the other like it was a dirty old fly. It was mainly a cheap form of entertainment, I was able to ring out a few good laughs like It was a used up washcloth. These two get together and get worked up about any damn thing such as, Well...deodorant.
Suddenly it's June 24th 2008, and now, this underarm armor has got me taking notes.
Today I scurried home after a long day and quickly disrobed my clothing, seeking a more suitable wardrobe for something with more of a breezeway, something of comfort. I grasp the bottom of my T-shirt and quickly deploy it from my body. As my shirt teams up with my arms,together, they create quite the potent gust of wind.
"Oh My!"
I furrow my brow and tuck my tail between my legs. That can't be me! No way. Absolutely not.
I bow my head, and take to the worldly advice of Mr. Toucan Sam, I follow my nose.
Definately me.
It's as if I've unknowingly smuggled an onion patch under my arms, and I unfortunately failed to notice that somone had slaughtered those puppies to smithereens!!
Never have I ever produced such a stench. And when I do go into sweat production, out comes a scent more comparable to pine trees. Yeah you heard me, pine trees. It's been confirmed on numerous occasions by several people I hold dear to my heart (and armpit).
This odor wasn't foreign to my nostrils ( My poor nostrils, feeling like they'd just been assulted). I have been given many opportunities to get a good whiff of this aroma: In dance class, the locker room after gym class, and sitting in seventh grade Math Class next to the kid who was still wearing sweat pants. I always wondered when my day would come. The day when I could formulate my own natural defense mechanism, if I were to be mugged by a man on a street, all I'd have to do is get him in a quick headlock and he'd be out like a light.
I'm sorry Vince, for the inability to be vacant to this product, but I feel even more remorse for your wife, may she never snuggle up into those armpits of yours.
I'm going to San Francisco this weekend. One of my very very best friends in the world, Jenn lives there. She asked me what I wanted to do when I got there. I told her that I'd like to re-enact the opening scene of Full House.
She thinks I'm kidding. But wait until I show up with my topsy tail, tye dyed biker shorts, and my perfected hand gestures insinuating she ought to "CUT-IT-OUT!"
Sometimes I get these cravings. I don't mean the flavors that my tastebuds long for, it's almost a nostalgic, sensual, emotional craving.
For the last hour I've had a craving. It started out at the thought of a glass of water. Soon, I realized that wasn't enough. I envisioned an extremely large body of water. I was craving being engrossed in the rhytmn of the pacific ocean's waves.
But that wasn't quite enough.
I wanted to be at Turtle Bay Resort, on the North Shore of Oahu. I want to hop from the ocean, to the pool, back to the ocean, to the pool. And I want it to be 1996.
Although I lived on Oahu for years, I've got a specific instance that I aspire to acheive, that ultimate bliss that I once experienced.
It was 1996. My first trip to Hawaii. Me and my long blonde leg hairs had just graduated the fifth grade, and my sister had just graduated high school. She was off to attend Brigham Young University over there. And my family followed suit.
I was ten, my brother was fifteen, and my sister was eighteen.
In preparation for my hawaii trip I watched "My Father The Hero" (vintage Katherine Heigl) about twenty seven times. Every time Nicole dipped into that listerine - blue water, my toes tingled with excitement all the way up and through to my perma-grin smile and googley blue eyes. I smiled, knowing that I would be walking around on a tropical island diving into pools and floating in the satly sultry sea.
This movie was to me, and my Hawaii trip, like "Gonna Fly Now" by Peter Wolmarans, was to Rocky. You know thee "Rocky".
It pumped me up. I knew that in a matter of time, I too- would have the pool, the sand, the ocean, the fruit drinks, the tan, and an even tanner Hunk of a man. Ok, most likely my pre-pubescent self matched with my hairy legs wasn't going to land me a dreamy local boy any time soon. But I could feel it, it was soo close.
I remember the smells immediately off of the airplane. The sounds. The wind. I remember seeing the first sunset hover over the fluorescent waters. I'd previously never understood how beauty can captivate one's emotions, but I remember - even at my premenstrual age, I felt it. I felt the beauty surrounding me. I was overcome by it. It was no longer a vision: It was a feeling. I was convinced that I was just sweating tiny droplets of the sodium packed ocean out of my tear ducts. Not me- I wasn't crying.
I remember my dad buying all of us beautiful lei's to wear. I felt like a Hawaiian princess. Spreading my plumeria scented aura amongst the land. Behold, Princess Brynn Akuhnakikahu Lau Lau had arrived.
To the outside world, my family was a bunch of tall, skinny, blonde, pale as powder- TOURISTS. But I didn't see it that way. I was on my own island, owning it. I felt fireworks. With every waking moment, my dreams were coming true. I no longer pictured myself as an akward gangly girl who could be out-weighed by a gallon of milk. I was bronzed, I was beautiful, I had long black flowing hair.
When I reminesce my latter years, when I was actually living in Hawaii; they are very significant, but nothing really brought such electricity to my soul, as the trip of '96. I look back at my years as a resident of Hawaii and smile at the good times. But when I think back to my trip of '96 I still actually feel it. My throat grows a lump, my eyes produce a subtle swell, followed by a wistful case of the goose bumps.
I think this trip to me was so life changing because it was the first encounter I had with "Possibility". I acknowledged the possibilities that the world had out there for all of us. The tropics were not just for the movies, the fancy cruises, or those stranded on a desert island. They were for family vacations and College kids too! It didn't have to be a distant dream to let your toes mingle with the orchestra of the soft, yet, exfoliating sand. I was doing it. I was living it. It was possible.
This trip also proposed to me: "Growth". My big sister was leaving us. What some called my sister- I viewed as my idol. She really was a princess ( Portland Rose Festival Princess- it was a big deal in the ninties). She was beautiful, virginal, humorous, intelligent, a prom and homecoming queen that oozed with integrity and honorable values. She was my Madonnna, my Britney Spears. And I knew that after ten days, I'd have to let her go. We were leaving her on this island.
Where was I going to find my new dance moves? Who's hairstyles would I copy? Who's dates would I tag along on?
I realized my sister had to grow. She was "grow"-ing up. And it was time for me to grow as well.
Just a few days into the trip, my family and I found ourselves kicked back, maxin' and relaxin' at the Turtle Bay Resort. Out of nowhere- I come to realize myself being smothered by four pairs of blue eyes throwing daggers at me, followed by a chuckle here and a giggle there. Can you imagine? All of them! Just gawking at me! My own flesh and blood! My sister (brother, dad and mom) had caught a glimpse of the beautiful shinning sea of golden locks, that swayed back and forth with the Hawaiian breeze, on my teeny, tiny toothpick- like legs.
It was time.
two disposable razors and an hour later. I was nude. Ok, I wasn't nude. But I felt like a skinned cat. What had my sister done to me? I remember so vividly that night. My legs caressed the hotel's white thread count, and to me it was the most awful feeling of all. I wanted my leg's golden comfort blanket back.
The next day, I was teased by my brother and my dad. It was a catch 22, a lose lose situation, I was teased either way. I was either Harry with the Hendersons, or I was mocked by the uncanny resemblence of my legs to Uncle Fester's head.
I remember indugling into a heaping mound of shave ice, freezing my brain with a tasty Dole whip. I helped break open, and cut up coconuts and pineapple, and when doing so- my mind told me that I was living like they did in the ancient Hawaiian days. We attended Luaus, and I became extremely mesmerized by the ocean like motions that those beautiful women created as their hips shifted. But I couldn't get myself to stray for very long from the thought, that all I wanted was to be back in that water.
I would always end my days with a peaceful swim in the evening. The way the moon hit the water and bounced off of my sibling's sparkling shoulders, was unreal. It was that sparkle that you'd sometimes see on Ariel in the little mermaid. I soaked it all in. Everything was captured and tucked away in my ten-year-old memory card.
I sometimes forget about the Brynn 12 years ago. That young girl was completely consumed by the feelings, enthralled by the beauty, absorbing it all.
She wanted to live there, She wanted to love there, She wanted to grow there.
And I did.
( circa 2005. Our 1st valentines day as a married couple)
