"Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one beauty?"

A few weeks ago, I decided it was time for a haircut. Those who know me well know that a haircut for Molly usually means trimming the ends, a bit of re-layering, and maybe putting in some bangs. After I donated my hair to Locks of Love during high school, I've been growing it out, swearing that I'd never chop off that much hair again. 

Apparently, that was a lie. I got to the hair salon the day of my appointment and sat in the little waiting area looking over different magazines. My original plan was to trim my ends and have the stylist put in some straight across bangs. That was all. But as I flipped through the pages of celebrities with bitching haircuts of varying styles, my resolve began to weaken. And as my resolve weakened, an image of a particular musician came into my head. Neyla Pekarek is the cellist for The Lumineers and she has some of the prettiest hair I've ever seen.

I'm sure for most people this isn't a very short style and, to me, it didn't seem that short either. I just knew that I wanted my hair to look like Neyla Pekarek. I made a snap decision and told my stylist the length that I wanted, except I was a moron and told her shorter than the picture. And, just like stylists tend to do, she gave me exactly what I asked for. For a half second, I considered being one of those people who cries when too much of their precious hair gets chopped off, but then I remembered that this whole thing had been my idea. I was horrified at what I'd done, but I smiled and told the nice lady that I loved it. 

It's so short that I can't reach my arm behind my back and pull at the ends. It's so short that I need an army of bobby pins to hold up the stray ends when I put it up in a ponytail. It's so short that I can't pull it to one side. And, to my horror, I remembered that I'd really wanted my hair to be long for my best friend's wedding next summer.

Is this a trivial thing? Most definitely. Does it really merit an entire blog post? Probably not. 

My hair definitely doesn't do what Neyla Pekarek's does, but technically, it's not a bad haircut. It's a nice short style, but I miss my long hair like nobody's business. And, if you didn't know, the quote in the title is from Little Women. It's Amy March's response when her big sister Jo sells her hair for money - money for a train ticket so Marmee can go and visit her husband who's been injured in the war. I think Jo's reasons were a bit more heroic and sensible than mine, but I still empathize with her predicament. 

Before

After

tis the season

So I'm breaking the blogging silence (almost ten days since my last post!) with a not-so-wordy post. I was feeling festive this afternoon so I did a Christmas-y manicure - what would I do without Pinterest to inspire these little escapades? Seriously, any good hair, fashion, or workout idea these days comes from something I found on Pinterest. At any rate, you'll have to excuse the sloppy edges - my hand is not very steady, I'm afraid, and this is AFTER the clean up with a remover-dipped Q-tip. 

Red polish: Essie - fishnet stockings
Silver polish: L.A. Colors - BCC571

Be on the lookout for my next post, which will feature something all you Harry Potter fans will appreciate (and be totally jealous of)!

-jolly molly 

Guest post - Sifting Gems by Hailey McNutt

Today I want to share an absolutely brilliant post written by Miss Hailey McNutt. Hailey is a Creative Writing major at the University of North Texas in Denton, TX. I  met Hailey through my sister Emily because they both sang in choir at the UNT music department. As you can tell, she is an extremely gifted and talented individual. So here is a beautiful piece by Hailey McNutt which you can originally find by clicking here.

I became a pan this afternoon. A small tin. Not quite a cup, for cups have tall sides and are deep enough to be filled with a beverage. I was not shallow enough to be a plate, for a plate is thin and flat and stable, meant to hold piping hot delicacies. No, I was a pan. One with pin-holes in order to sift out valuable gold from the riverbanks along the wild west. I was the Gold Rush. Stories rushed through me, pulsing in many facets of thought until my head ached with possibilities. Every action I noticed became a story of its own.

An old woman was jogging ever so slowly on the large indoor track. Her mustard shirt was quite damp with sweat, her face sunken and defeated. Despite her slow gait, she was running. She kept running. I watched her a long time; every lap was a new victory. She overcame her weakness through every step. I praised this heavy-set woman inwardly, vibrantly.

A girl with a brown braid and a Mona-Lisa kind of smile was reading a book. This isn’t a strange hobby, I know. A lot of  people read. Yet, this girl was riding a stationary bike and reading and smiling and I was happy for her. The act of exercising your mind and body as one intrigues me. My inner self ran up to her and patted her on the back, shouting “ATTA GIRL YOU RIDE THAT BIKE! YOU READ THAT BOOK!” No, my inner self is not eloquent, but she is certainly heartfelt and incredibly exubrant.

I was also trying to read a book on the exercise bike. This girl and I had this in common. I believe that the book that I held between my sweat-stained fingers was the source of my throbbing inspiration. This was a book that was written by a writer about writing. Written by a writer to train writers how to write. The writer is kind; I’ve met her once. Her face is soft and gentle, aware of the imperfections in her winkles but regarding these small dilemmas as stepping stools instead of stumbling blocks.

She told me, throughout stories and suspense and most of all eloquent wisdom, to be kind to myself. Think slowly and methodically. Allow yourself to breathe now and again, for a slow steady breath is the source of life. Allow your mind to say what is needed, what is desired for the soul to rest and the hand to be exercised, to increase endurance. Do not fear the typo, the misspelled word, the misunderstood phrase. Nothing is perfect, but all things are beautiful.

She taught me to wait. How to love writing, instead of craving to have already written. Taught my mind to sift instead of dig, to sift through fragile memories stitched together by consequences and humorous coincidences. The gold jingles out into the tin, accompanied by all of the ugly fights, the sickness, the pain of misguided hormones and broken hearts. A miner looks at the ugliness in the pan and cringes, scouring out the junk with grimy hands. He holds the gold until his fingers turn white.

A writer looks into the pan. A small frown of concentration appears on her forehead. Slowly, carefully, gingerly, she smiles. A knowing smile. She reaches down into the smorgasbord of thought and swirls it around. The iridescent gold brushes hatred, envy, jealousy. Beautiful moments graze deepest tragedy. She pulls out her hands from the muck and scoops out one single memory.

It is a bad one, sick with sin. And yet, there is a gleam of gold at the core. The promise. Within the darkest pit, within the darkest memory, comes the most meaning. It is this ugly piece of shimmering tar that the writer carefully places into a velvet satchel and ties with a simple black bow.

It is her secret keepsake: an unforgettable memory found in the center of unimportance. It is in the normality of misplaced love and judgement where unexplained beauty finally has a chance to sift into our midst. Sifts into the cool stream of a river that’s never going to run the same twice. 

the day will be better because of this

slouchy and festive

So I got home from Bible study fully intending to write my reading response for Lit class, but taking pictures of my slouchy hat (from Ruche!) and festive socks (which actually belong to my sister) whilst listening to Mumford's new album for the sixteen bazillionth time sounded a lot nicer. 

Both hat and scarf came from Ruche.

As I said, the socks actually belong to Em, but
she's in Denton right now so...yeah.
I think they came from American Eagle. 

 

peace out

-jolly molly

I didn't read Waiting for Godot and this happened

I didn't read Waiting for Godot so this writing assignment is essentially useless right now until I can go home, read it, and form a somewhat educated response to the prompt. Chris told me Waiting for Godot was a good play and that I should read it, but he was visiting during the day I supposed to read it so I didn't end up reading it. I might read it when I go home. Actually, I probably will read it when I get home because I should probably have something useful to say when I turn this in. I will probably delete all of this when I get out of class. I'm only typing this out so it looks like I'm doing something productive. It would be really funny if Mr. Conley asks to see what I've done so far. I can't decide if I think he would get really irritated that I'm not actually doing the assignment or if he'd just get a big kick out of the fact that I'm writing this nonsense out.

Blahhhhh, fifteen minutes left in class. Just kidding. Fourteen. The professor is talking to a student about dropping classes after the drop date. Some of the other students are meeting in their extra credit workshop groups instead of doing the writing assignment. Thirteen minutes now. I'm so darn hungry. I didn't feel like eating breakfast this morning. I had to do a presentation in my theater class about Eugene O'Neill and as soon as I got up to the front of the classroom, my stomach made this horrendous growling sound and my stomach has been roiling with intense hunger pains all morning. I think my presentation went okay. My mouth went dry, like it always does, and when I couldn't remember what to say I resorted to making lame jokes that nobody laughed at. I also remember my leg spazzing out at some point because I got really nervous for whatever reason, and I'm almost one hundred percent positive that it looked odd. Oh wells.

Nine minutes. Geezaloo, I'm hungry.

Wowie. A whole double-spaced page about absolutely nothing important. I'm kind of impressed with myself – but not really because it's an entire page about nothing.

(This is the part where you think I'm going to wax all philosophical about how even though I wrote something about nothing, it is something because there are words. But I'm not going to.)

I can't decide what I want to eat for lunch. I wish there was an IHOP on campus. I could really go for pancakes right now.

This has been interesting. Maybe I should free write like this in all my classes. I might could come up with something brilliant.  

Midnight ramblings

Laughing is the only thing that will do me in some situations. Some things in life are too sad - or too angry or too depressing - to face without shedding a bit of light on the matter. This doesn't mean making light of things that should be taken seriously, it means finding the laughable moments wherever you can. Sometimes there isn't one to be found, but I have to take advantage of one when it is there. When things don't make sense, when I'm sad or hurt or angry, or when things are just disappointing laughter is the best medicine. 

Music. Just music. It speaks volumes and it tells the things I couldn't even begin to explain myself. I think being a writer makes you appreciate good lyrics when you find them, and when I find words in a song that speak to me I could have it on replay for days at a time. Listening to a song that speaks to you is one of the most therapeutic ways to deal with whatever happens to be going on at the moment. It is a way of expressing everything that you're feeling perfectly. It is perfect because everything you wanted to say had already been wholly articulated by someone else. I think just the knowledge that someone else somewhere in time at one moment was feeling the exact same way you do right now is such a comfort. I believe with all my heart that Jesus gives people the ability to write music like this because He intends for us to experience this special empathy with people we may never even meet. It's a way of fellowship and encouragement. 

It's okay to be sad sometimes. It's important to sort through your feelings. They matter. Jesus was sad, too, sometimes. But what's better than knowing that it's okay to cry sometimes is to believe that Jesus knows what we feel like. And that's a  big deal. If Jesus knows how it is to feel like this or to struggle with that, then He himself found a way to overcome or to be comforted by the Father. Not only does He sympathize with our struggles but he also empathizes with us. To empathize means to literally take on the feelings of another. And the fact that the One who created me, who saves me, who gives me grace to live another day, who knows every intricate thing about me and what I will be feels everything that I do is enormous.

Jesus wept. John 11:35

Frocktober

I love October. Autumn is one of my favorite times of the year, the only exception being Christmas, for a plethora of reasons, a few of which being the weather, the colors, the clothes, and Halloween. Halloween because that means it is officially time to begin the count down until Christmas. I would say October is the time when it is appropriate time to start listening to Christmas, but back in September the temperature dropped below 65 degrees and I broke out Sufjan's beautiful yuletide album for the first time. I am without shame. It's always time for Christmas time.

But, anywho. Back to October, or Frocktober as I call it now. October is now Frocktober because my favorite online dress store Ruche has a thing going on where every day of the month they release a brand new dress. And they call it Frocktober. Speaking of dresses! This is the perfect time to showcase a very Frocktober-y outfit I sported today.

Cardigan (it's actually Em's): Target
Dress: Ruche
Tights: JC Penney
Boots: Payless

My dad thought the specks on my tights were bats and now I kind of wish they were because that would really complete this Halloween-ish ensemble. Some of the other guesses I got were mustaches and airplanes but the specks are bows in fact.

Speaking of Halloween! Our neighbors across the street have completely decked their yard out for Halloween. I haven't met them yet, so I'm sure it was a little awkward for me to be photographing their yard from my front yard - awkward for them, of course since I was the one with the camera. (sarcasm) I tried to be as creepy as possible so it isn't the best picture. But you get the general idea.

I think my favorite part of this the sign under the ghost on the left that
 says "Welcome to the graveyard!" That grim reaper is also pretty nifty. 

One more picture before I'm off to study. 

Happy Frocktober y'all!

-jolly molly

As of late

I didn't expect to return to Blogger as my primary blog, but here I am again because I'm attempting to simplify my technological life by having as much of my online social whathaveyous through one venue - Google.

So what's new? Well, let's see. Most of you know that I moved from my much beloved Denton, Texas to Memphis (well, technically Cordova, but everyone tells me these two cities are synonymous). I got to see my absolute favorite band, Mumford & Sons, in the flesh this past August in Bristol, VA about a week after I moved. I'm going to school at the University of Memphis and I'm studying Creative Writing. I'm a sales associate at Justice for Girls at the mall which is...an interesting place to say the least.

Now, for the fun stuff.

Apparently, Fall Break is a thing here in Memphis so I was able to make a short trip back home where I spent several lovely days with my best friends. We got to go see Gotye (yeah, the guy who sings Somebody That I Used to Know, but also the guy who sings many more beautiful songs that YOU should check out) at the Verizon Theater in Dallas. Before he went on, Kimbra (yes, the girl who sings with Gotye on Somebody That I Used to Know, but also has a slew of other great songs) got to do a set, and let me just say that it was fan-freaking-tastic. Everything about her performance was spot on and I think my sister Em described her movement perfectly when she said that Kimbra dances the way we all really want to when we hear good music - completely uninhibited and perfectly uncoordinated.

(PS: I'm completely obsessed with this song right now. Give it a listen if you want your socks to fall off.)

Gotye did his wonderful thing after Kimbra's set and, oh my lanta, was it the bomb. Unfortunately I didn't get any pictures, because security wouldn't let me take in my camera, but I did get an awesome t-shirt with THE cotillion on it - needless to say, State of the Art is my favorite Gotye song and it was probably his best performance that night.

My best friends are coming to see me in about a week and I'm really excited. I'm going to see them the week before Christmas and it'll be a wonderful time, as it always is. Here are a couple shots from our last visit.

Chris, Emily, Mike, and Lesley before leaving
for the Gotye concert!

Mike's ridiculously cool band The Boxcar Gypsies.
Check them out!

It's getting late, so this is all for now. I hope to be updating the blog soon with ramblings about life, music, movies, books, special happenings, and maybe even some original fiction - we shall see!

Nighty night!

-jolly molly