Today is my last day of work.
Leaving a job, any job, is always kind of weird.
You go from spending 40+hours of your week with people
to suddenly seeing them maybe a couple of times a year.
Plus, this is the first time I’ve ever left a job
without knowing what my next step will be,
so it feels extra strange.
It’s exciting, and I’m so happy I’m doing it,
but now that the date has actually arrived it’s also a bit nerve racking,
as I have no idea what my future has in store.
Though I suppose that’s life.
You never really know.
And while the unknown can be a bit scary,
I feel really confident that good things are on the horizon.
And now some shameless self promotion…
I started a facebook page for this blog.
I held off on doing this for awhile,
because starting a facebook “fan” page (gag)
makes me feel so incredibly narcissistic and self-promoty,
but I finally gave in.
Because here’s the thing…
I love facebook.
I want to be one of those people that’s too cool for it.
One of those people that has
“better things to do” than go facebook stalk.
But I’m just not.
Instead I’m one of those people that loves facebook.
Someone that checks it multiple times a day
and likes friends’ photos and uses it to keep in touch
with people I haven’t been in touch with in years.
To me, it’s a way to connect.
Since I won’t be bringing a laptop,
I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to post
while I’m walking the Camino de Santiago.
But I will be bringing my iPhone,
so I figure this will be the best way to keep up with me,
as I’ll easily be able to post some quick updates
and photos and what not.
If you want to follow along,
you can do so by liking it right here.
Lastly, do any of you watch Dexter?
And if you do, what did you think of the finale?
Anyone else terribly disappointed and underwhelmed?
Dude, between that and Breaking Bad,
Sunday night was rough.
So…. a few weeks ago I was in my friend Lindsey’s wedding.
It. was. awesome.
Kevin was a groomsmen, which made it extra awesome, because it was the first (and probably only) time that we’ve ever been in a wedding together. We had a blast.
The ceremony was at city hall, and the reception was at a beautiful boutique hotel right downtown. It was elegant and classy and fancy and we had a so much fun that I don’t remember most of it.
But that is not what this post is about.
This post is about hair.
Bridesmaid hair in particular.
My bridesmaid hair, at Lindsey’s wedding.
I’m very lucky that I’ve been blessed with a lot of awesome friends who for some reason have loved me enough to give me the honor of being in their weddings. And often as a bridesmaid, you and the other ladies decide to splurge and get your hair and makeup done.
However, committing to this is always somewhat of a gamble, because while a lot of hair and makeup stylists are amazing, a lot of them are… not. But you decide to take your chances, and show up armed with a lot of photos of what you want, and hope for the best.
And this usually works out. You usually end up looking great!
But sometimes the opposite happens.
Case in point: Lindsey’s wedding.
The woman that Lindsey had hired was fantastic.
Her assistant, who did my hair, was not quite so fantastic.
When it was my turn I took out my photo and told her that I wanted loose curls pinned back.
I showed her this picture:
She looked at it and says “oh, super easy!” and got to work. 45 minutes later, and she was done!
She slowly walked me to a mirror to show me her masterpiece….
(Keep in mind, the photo above is what I asked for)
And this is what I got:
Needless to say, I was not exactly thrilled with the look, but because I am a total coward when it comes to confrontation and telling someone I’m unhappy with something, I said nothing. I just kind of mumbled an “ohhhhhh…..” and then ran upstairs where the other girls were.
As expected, they burst into laughter and proceeded to tell me that there was no way I could go out in public with my hair looking like that.
Long story short, I took out my hair, brushed it out completely, curled it all over again, and had my friend Gretchen help me pull it into a side ponytail.
It goes without saying that it looked infinitely better:
The hair ladies watched as we did this, but said nothing. No offers to help. No apologies. No questions. Nada. It was awkward.
When the time came to pay, the assistant who had worked on my hair had already left. I asked the main hairstylist (it was her company) how much I owed, and I told her that as she knew, both the bride and I were very unhappy with my hair so we took it out and I redid it myself. She laughed and said “ohhhhohohoho” (she was French, that is my impersonation of a french giggle) and then proceeded to tell me I owed the full amount.
I was not happy.
So a few days later, I went to yelp and shared this disdain with the internet.
And what do you know… suddenly I get an email from the main hairstylist apologizing profusely and offering to refund me in the hopes that I amend or delete my yelp review.
I told her that if she refunded me I would happily change my yelp review.
She refunded me.
I deleted my review.
Happiness all around!
But this got me thinking…. this woman had all five star reviews until mine.
And once she refunded me, I deleted my review, and she was back up to her 100% five star rating.
So was my bad experience just a fluke? Or are most people essentially “paying off” their bad reviews in order to keep their reviews positive?
Man, the power of yelp.
Social media is crazy.
Have you ever been asked to change or delete a review?
And more importantly, have you ever had hair as bad as mine?!?
Today I’m over at Back East Blonde talking about
San Francisco apartment etiquette.
Please hop on over and say hello!
And for those of you that are stopping by
from Nadine’s lovely part of blog land,
Please pour yourself a large glass of wine
and make yourself at home.
If you haven’t figured it out yet,
my name is Serena and this is my blog.
Herein you will find my attempts at
that you can still be cool even when you’re old(ish).
I recently announced that I’m going to be
leaving my job in order to walk
500 miles across Spain with my husband.
You might think embarking
on such a lofty athletic venture
would mean that my husband and I are
all outdoorsy and like to work out and stuff.
And to that, I say
We are not outdoorsy.
Nor do we like working out.
Our main inspiration for this trip is the food and wine.
If you’re interested in learning more,
you can do so here,
and you can find some horribly awkward photos of me here.
If you need a good laugh,
I highly recommend that post.
It’s worth it,
I promise you.
Thanks for stopping by,
and I do hope you’ll say hello :=)
Happy Thursday, friends!
Only one more day until the weekend!
Since Kevin and I are not exactly experienced in the world of outdoor activity, pretty much everything we are bringing on our trip is something that we have had to buy brand new. We’re not people that have trekking backpacks, walking poles, quick-dry wicking t-shirts, buffs, gore-tex rain jackets, or anything of the sort. We barely even have running shoes, so we most certainly did not have any hiking boots.
As any experienced hiker will tell you, the absolute most important thing when it comes to preparing for a hiking/walking trip is your shoes. Good shoes and you’ll be prancing along happily like Joanna Rohrback. Bad shoes and you’ll be limping in pain after one day and cursing the world.
Because I’ve done an exorbitant amount of research leading up to this trip, I was incredibly worried that I wasn’t going to find the right shoes. Because let me tell you, the bad shoe horror stories that I have read about on the Camino message boards are plain out terrifying. Stories about huge bloody blisters and plantar fasciitis and collapsed arches and all sorts of other horrifying things I’d never heard of before. Just from walking.
And then there are all of these shoe “rules” to follow, like buying shoes a size too big so that your feet have plenty of room to swell, but making sure they are not so big that your feet will move around and get blisters. Or getting insoles that are extra cushioned but still tough enough to be supportive, but not too supportive because then your arches get messed up. Or that in addition to wearing sock liners with your wool socks (and god forbid you wear the wrong socks!), you need to cover your feet with vaselin each morning and then line your shoes with a panty liner for extra padding (I’m serious – lots of people do this!). Not to mention that you’re supposed to get your shoes as early as possible, so that you have months and months to break them in.
So all of this is to say, having the right shoes is important.
And I was very paranoid that I wasn’t going to find them.
The first time we went to REI, I was not that impressed with the selection. I tried on many pairs but nothing felt “perfect” so I went home and did some online research. And after reading review after review after review and getting even more confused, I said “eff it” and just ordered every single one that I thought might be a contender. Which came out to be 14 different pairs.
And so a couple of days later, Kevin arrived home to this:
Thank god for the Zappos return policy.
And okay, I admit I might have gone a little overboard, but this way I was able to try them on and walk around and compare and take as long as I wanted and not feel like the REI people were getting annoyed with me. And in that pile of 14, I found my shoes. (Go me!)
Kevin made fun of me about this to no end, but a few weeks later, after a third REI visit in which he still hadn’t been able to find any shoes that felt right (and whining about it constantly), I decided to take matters into my own hands…
I can only imagine what UPS must think of us…
And you know what? It worked.
He finally found the perfect hiking shoes, all thanks to my online shopping hiking shoe research wizardry.
Through this process of camino research and online shipping, I’ve become a pseudo-expert in the world of ultralight outdoor gear (which is hilarious if you know me). Lightest windbreaker? That would be the Patagonia houdini. Possible shin splint prevention? Check out some compression calf sleeves. Best leak proof hydration reservoir? Try the Platypus Big Zip. Want non-synthetic clothing that doesn’t smell but wicks well? Welcome to the world of merino wool.
And being able to buy pretty much everything we need for the Camino without having to step foot into an outdoor sporting store has been awesome.
But here’s the problem…
I’ve now become a bit, er, obsessed, with the online shopping.
Particularly with Zappos. I mean, FREE one-day shipping? FREE returns? What’s not to love.
But it’s started to get a bit out of control, because on almost any random night, this is what our apartment looks like:
I never knew a pair of socks could bring me so much joy…
I now buy pretty much everything online. Everything. Dish soap, toiletries, underwear, electronics, clothes. It’s like I have forgotten real-life physical stores actually exist.
When I come home from work I think to myself “ohhhh I wonder what will be awaiting me tonight!” and excitedly check the mail. And if nothing is there, I get sad.
Oh friends. My name is Serena, and I am an online shopping addict.
Unless you live under a rock, you’ve at least heard of the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. My guess is that most of you have probably read it.
In my experience, people seem to have a “love it or hate it” relationship with this book. I happen to fall in the “love it” camp (although I will admit that I wasn’t the biggest fan of the film). I know a lot of people out there found Elizabeth Gilbert to be an annoyingly self-absorbed narcissist, and though I do understand why people thought that, I myself never did. I loved the book and I loved her. I thought it was such a wonderful story about self-discovery and travel and life and love.
So when my friend Julie told me that Elizabeth Gilbert had recently wrote an article about a walking trip she took through Provence, France, and sent me a link to it, I eagerly clicked over to read it. I devoured every single word.
And I fell in love with Ms. Gilbert all over again.
Because it captures so perfectly why it is that I am so excited for this trip that Kevin and I are embarking on. This walking tour of Spain. This pilgrimage. This journey. This whatever it is that you want to call it.
She writes about luxurious dinners of foie gras and escargots, and lunches of camembert and wine under olive trees, and nights spent in fourteenth-century sheep farms, and stopping in a teeny tiny village and purchasing the best cheese she’s ever tasted from a woman in a teeny tiny market, and how having your days consist of walking and eating and drinking made her feel like each day had “the exact right number of hours in it.”
But what she really captures is just how amazing it is to arrive somewhere by foot:
Despite our navigational challenges, we promptly realized how much we loved this. Because moving through a country at the pace of a walk is an incredibly intimate way to experience a place. What we encountered during our six-hour hike was simply…everything. Every single iris blossom, all the inquisitive local dragonflies and dogs, the chickens who crossed the road nervously, like characters in a joke. We smelled everything, too—the cow pastures, the mustard fields, the wild rosemary and thyme that grew thick in the hills….
There is something about entering an ancient town on foot that’s radically different from entering the same place by car. Keep in mind that these old French towns were all designed by people on foot for people on foot. So when you walk in, you’re approaching the place as it was intended to be approached—slowly and naturally, the way Dorothy came upon Oz (spires rising in the distance, a sense of mounting mystery: What kind of city will this be?). When paved roads were introduced about a thousand years after these towns were built, the macadam sliced artificially across the landscape, stabbing fast into these old parishes at the most convenient (for cars) angles. We, on the other hand, walked there high and alone across the mountains. Then the mountains turned into fields, the fields morphed into a cherry orchard, and the orchard gently spilled us toward Gordes—a city on a hill that, cinematically, we approached from above, from an even higher hill. From the moment we first saw the distant church spires until we stood upon those church steps, we walked for almost two hours, as evening approached and the town unfolded its gorgeousness before us. We arrived there the way people were always meant to arrive: awed, tired, grateful.
The view walking into Gordes
And it is because of experiences like that that put me over-the-edge with excitement about what this trip has in store for us. About what it will be like for Kevin and me to walk into teeny tiny villages and stay in monasteries and take siestas under trees and gorge ourselves on paella and wine and conversation.
So please, if you have any interest in travel or food or France, I urge you to click over and read it for yourself. All seven pages of it. Devour it. Because it’s that good. She writes in a way that, quite simply, makes my heart happy. Which shouldn’t surprise me, considering that she is, as Julie called her, a “writer beast.”
And with that, I wish you a very happy Thursday.
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