Don't stop believin'

It's been exactly 3 months. 3 months since I stepped on a plane and moved my entire life to another country, continent - hemisphere.

I'd done a lot of planning before moving. But there were many things that were up in the air until the very last day. I planned and planned and planned (I'm a planner). I negotiated a contract for a new job. I bought new furniture. I went to the dentist. I researched neighborhoods. I bought a shower curtain. A new trashcan. I contracted Jet Pets. I got my work visa approved. I got a haircut (a bad one). I was deliberate. Calm.

Well, mostly. The bad haircut almost put me over the edge. Of all the things - THAT is when I almost lost it.

I'd gotten the same haircut before - same place, same stylist. I'd been very specific. And I loved the cut. It was perfect. She's even showed me how to get my hair to lay flat. By using a men's comb when drying my hair. I thought she was an angel. She understood me. My burden. The burden of untamed hair.

About 6 weeks later I went back in to that same stylist and said - please give me the exact same haircut. I absolutely love it. Actually, I said. A little longer this time.

And guess what - she F'd it up! It was so terrible. And I saw it happening. You know when you see it happening. Snip. Snip. snip. And there's nothing you can do about it.

If you don't remember what kind of haircut you gave me last time - TELL ME. Ask. Please ask. And if you can't look at my hair and tell what kind of haircut you gave me 6 weeks ago - GET GLASSES.

Indeed, she did exactly what I'd specifically told her not to do the time before...

Layers ABOVE my ears. My hair gets big, people. It gets BIG.
Layers in the front that we shorter than the back. I HATE THAT. That is called a mullet. I am not JOAN JETT. And I am not Kristen Stewart.
And just too short. Everyone loves to cut my hair short. It happens all the time. What do I need to do to ensure this doesn't happen again? Get a tattoo on my neck that says DO NOT CUT ABOVE THIS LINE? Its tempting. It really is.

But, of course, I smiled. Cheesed. Said thank you. Paid the $100ish. And then threw a temper tantrum 2-year-old style in the car. DAMN IT. DAMN. HER. WTF. But I composed myself quickly. I knew it was a slippery slope. There was too much to stress about - and I was holding it all together so well. So I quietly put it in a ponytail. And there it stayed for 3 months.

Yep. Still there.

And its time for a new cut. Been 3 months without one. To do:
1.) Find tattoo artist
2.) Find hair stylist

The haircut I loved:

Christina, Rosalie & I at Sarah & Sheraz's wedding in Napa

Me & Rosalie with our new favorite toys.

The haircut I hated:

And THIS is in the salon. You know - when it looks THE BEST IT WILL EVER LOOK. Don't I look ready to kill someone? I'm trying really hard not to kill someone.

Speaking of haircuts. A friend had just come into town conveniently before my move. This friend - we'll call her "Jen" - boards a plane every month or so and flies herself to San Francisco from LA for a hair appointment. Now, I've always given this "Jen" shit for flying herself from LA to SF for a haircut, but now I have seen the light. It is worth a $100 flight to see someone who will LISTEN and doesn't make you look like a beauty school experiment.

I went with her to the salon. And boy, was it taking For. Eh. Ver. I was bored to tears. I've never cultivated the patience it takes to wait for hair color to "set". My hair color is the one thing I actually like about myself - pretty unequivocally. The shape, the texture, the godawful haircuts - well that's a completely different story. But the color - I can live with.

So we're sitting. And we're waiting. And I'm bored.

So I left her to her magazine and went for a walk down Union Street (and you know I was REALLY bored because Union Street bores me).

Fillmore Street - love. There's Nest on Fillmore and that's my favorite store in all of San Francisco.

French + Indian = eclectic goodness.

But Union Street - BOR-ING (save for Gunilla's facials and Lush's bath bombs).

A brief salute to Lush:

Sex bomb - smells fantastic and leaves a little rose floating in the water.Supernova Bath Bomb - A party in the tub! Confetti everywhere.

And, although, not as pretty to look at - the Butterball Bath Bomb leaves you super soft.

BUT - as I walked out, I immediately saw a sign: Special: $25 Palm Readings.

B.I.N.G.O.

I looked around to see if there's anyone was looking. Nope. (Um, hello - its not like you're going into a strip club.) I walked up the stairs. A bell rang as a crossed the threshold of the top step. Like an electrical fence.

It looked more like a lawyer's office than a psychic's "whatever".

A young girl walked out to greet me - the receptionist. She asked what I wanted. Rattled off a few services. I told her I'd like the $25 Palm Reading, please. So she gestured toward a room. I went ahead. She came in behind me and closed the door.

Wait, she's the palm reader? Where's the old lady with the crystal ball? This girl was dressed too well to be a palm reader. She looked like she'd just walked out of French Connection. I need baggy, flowy, colorfully dressed psychics.

Oh, well. It's better than staring at the clock.

She started by looking at me earnestly and said, "You have to promise that no matter what I say, you will not get angry with me." Um, OK, I chuckled. Like this is serious or something.

She did not chuckle.

She asked me to show her my hand. And I did. She looked at it for a moment. And she said:

"You have a long life line, that's good."

Mmm-hmmm, I said.

What would she say if I had a short life?

"You will be married once."

Mmm-hmmm.

"Are you married now?"

No.

"Good, then you WILL be married."

Well then my life will be complete, won't it?

"You will have two children."

Mmm-hmmm.

Standard stuff. Pretty generic. Pretty...unimaginative!

And then she said - "I see that you will be moving over water soon."

What did she say?

"It will be for work. Either you will be working for a new company or getting a new job within the same company."

I'm listening...

"It will be a hard job. There will be a lot of challenges. But it will be worth it."

OK.

"There will be someone there - a woman - who will give you a hard time. But don't worry about her."

Duly noted.

"Someone will be moving with you. And that's going to be a good thing."

Interesting.

"Someone in your life has an issue with high blood pressure. Be aware of this."

I knew she was talking about my stepfather. He has high blood pressure. JOHNNY - IF YOU ARE READING THIS, PUT DOWN THE OREOS.

She stared at my hand for a bit longer. And then she dropped it. "That's all I've got," she said. I paid and left. Hmmm... I thought. Moving over water is not a generic prediction. And, as you all know, it was 100% dead-on.

I was open to getting my palm read because I'd had another "psychic" experience a year prior. I'd given a friend a bridal shower at a tea house - Lovejoy's Tea Room. Lovely place. Tea, finger sandwiches, tiny desserts and antiques. Perfect for a girly soiree to fete our friend, Judith.

We decided it might be fun to have a tea leaf reader come in. We could all sit around the table as she read our tea leaves. It would be a fun group experience. Silly. Light-hearted. You know - for fun. After opening all the gifts, stuffing our faces and getting amped up on caffeine, the tea reader came over and asked us to come back to her table (in the back) one by one.

Oh.

It's for serious.

I think I went first. I'm not sure. But I didn't know what to expect. It was unsettling. It felt like I was talking to someone who could actually tell me something of interest - something that could potentially scare or disappoint me. Take me off-balance.

She gave me a cup. And I poured some tea into it. And handed her the cup. She looked at it - "read it". And she said two things. I felt the gravity of each statement.

"You will get over something you've been working on for a long time."

And I knew exactly what she meant.

"And you will take control of your relationship."

And I had no idea what she meant.

But - over 1 year later - they both came true. And she knew before I did.

Life works in mysterious ways. I wrote the word FATE down on an envelope about 10 years ago. I was packing up my things to move to Chicago from Boston. Taking a big step. I needed some encouragement. And seeing that word - written on paper - was the little push I needed.

Well, I forgot about that envelope. But on the last morning of my move to Sydney, as the movers were packing up the last of my stuff, I found it. I was cleaning out the hallway closet. And underneath old nail polishes and unused hair products, in a drawer I never looked in except to chuck things into - there it was.

Time stopped.

I stared at it.

Remembered writing it. 10 years prior.

In blue crayon on a resume envelope, back when resumes were sent in envelopes.

A message I'd sent to myself from the past.

To myself in the future.

BELIEVE IN FATE.

To: myself in the future
Best wishes, myself in the past