About my hair...

Shoutout to Caleb Thal Visual for all these photos

 So, I've got this minor problem.

I really really really love my hair.

Like, it may legitimately be a little bit too much love. You could almost call it vanity. I prefer to label it as self-appreciation.

I love how it looks when I let it air dry after I wash it. I love the curls. I love the natural ombre I have from spending all summer in the sun but then having my hair grow in naturally darker season by season. I love that I can get away with not washing it for three or four days (provided I don't work out or produce sweat or whatever).

But I also have another problem--I have horrible dead and split ends. You can't tell in these photos because they're a year old...and my last haircut was about a week after these photos.

That's right folks. I've committed the sin of not having my hair cut for a year, and now I need to pay my dues or serve penance or whatever.

I need a haircut, and I need a haircut bad. But I don't want to just get the dead ends chopped off. That's going to leave my hair at an awkward below the collar bone but above the armpit length, and I hate that length.

So I'm actually thinking about chopping most of it off.

A photo posted by A M A N D A 🌵 (@mandalyn93) on Jan 29, 2016 at 11:58am PST

After posting this photo on Instagram, one of my friends mentioned how cute she thinks I'd look with short hair.

grrr. how dare you say that. i love my long hair.

But that got me thinking--I can love my long hair and live without it. Right?

Hair is hair. It grows back, unless you die before it gets the chance to. If I die young, please buy me a wig for my funeral and it better look as damn good and natural as the top photo in this blog post, and then donate it to a young adult with cancer.

As I was saying...I've been thinking about cutting it short. The last time I had it short (shoulder length, or just a little bit above the shoulder) was three years ago, and I liked it a lot then.

I was also a very different person, then. And I feel like my long hair is more indicative of my current personality. But I also want to try something new, as this haircut is incredibly similar to the one I had at sixteen when I had my photo taken for my drivers license.

So, readers--I'm actually going to put this in your hands. I want your opinion. Should I cut my hair? Should I not? Why? Vote on twitter or comment below.

Should I cut my hair short, like shoulder length short?

— Amanda LaCasse (@Mandalyn93) January 29, 2016

UPDATE: I did it! I cut my hair super short and I love it so so much. It feels like me, like the grown up person I'm becoming and growing into.

"I hid behind my hair. And then, I just decided I was okay with myself. To have short hair and really show my face is even more revealing than anything." Pamela Anderson

A photo posted by A M A N D A (@mandalyn93) on Feb 11, 2016 at 6:15pm PST

Wendell

I wish I had asked to take his photo, but here's a photo of the light rail I shot a while ago instead.

I moved to uptown Phoenix on Wednesday, and Friday night I was reminded why I love the area so much.

My friend walked me to the Central and Van Buren light rail station after attending a show at Valley Bar. Right after I hugged her goodbye, I saw him.

He was sitting on the bench, propping his bicycle up with one hand as I stood nearby.

"Good evening!" he said eagerly and energetically, the way many homeless people do in the hopes of being acknowledged and thus validated.

"Hello! How are you?" I replied.

I like talking to strangers and nobody likes being ignored.

He said something along the lines of "I'm doing well," and quickly began telling me about his exciting day dumpster diving.

He was of average height, average build, was missing his front teeth and looked relatively cohesive. I try not to judge people but I also keep my safety in mind when engaging with someone on the light rail.

I sat next to him on the bench, enamored by the story he began telling.

Dumpster diving is his passion, he said. He continued talking about the amazing things he had found in the past, from laptops to a clean title to a car that was disposed of after the owner died with no family to receive her possessions.

I was skeptical of it all, and even more so when he said he found an original Ted DeGrazia in a dumpster that very day.

"Really? That's so awesome!" I chirped in, smiling probably a little bit too much to hide my skepticism.

"Yeah," he responded, "Do you want to see it?"

He proceeded to reach for a bag tied to the handlebars of his bicycle, and I shrugged and said "Sure."

Thoughts raced through my head. Could it be real? Is he pulling my leg? Maybe he found a print, but not an original.

"I've been thinking about donating it. I usually do that when I find art in dumpsters," he continued.

Usually donate? Does this happen that often?

He unzipped the outer bag and removed a small, black plastic bag with a canvas in it.

Okay. So he had a painting. Maybe not a DeGrazia, but definitely a painting.

His rough, darkened fingers gingerly untied the bag and removed an 8 by 10 canvas painting of a boy holding flowers. It was a darn good painting, too.

I stared--eyes wide, jaw dropped--as he flipped the painting over to reveal an authentic DeGrazia signature and note.

So it was real. So I was amazed.

"Hey, what's your name?" I asked.

"Wendell," he said.

We shook hands as the light rail came to the station and I spent the ensuing ride listening as he imparted 54 years of wisdom upon me. We ended our time together when he disembarked at the Thomas and Central station and agreed to hopefully run into each other another time.

Texas and moving time.

You may (or may not) have noticed I didn't post a #tuesdayblogday last week.

It's because Tuesday was my Monday and the week was CRAY CRAY. I spent the preceding weekend in Texas with my best friend, Hannah.

We made it 💕 #HJtakesTX

A photo posted by 🌵 A M A N D A 🌵 (@mandalyn93) on Jan 9, 2016 at 9:41am PST

Together we embarked on a 14-16 hour drive that left her in Texas and left me bawling my eyes out at the airport.

She accepted a job with Geico which meant she needed to move from Arizona to Texas, the land of the oil fields and smelly flatlands.

I was (obviously) super bummed to be leaving her in a different state. She's my oldest and closest friend, and also the fifth or sixth of my friends to move out of state in the past two years. Arizona is starting to feel pretty lonely.

But, on the flip side of the loneliness, it was really cool to help her move and be a part of that life event. She even let me decorate her wall <3

Helping Hannah move made me even more excited to move. I got to think about how I'll decorate my room and get an idea of how little stuff I actually need in my new apartment (hello, minimal chic?) It was definitely a bummer leaving her in Texas (even the TSA agent sympathized with me while I was bawling at the security checkpoint) but I got a sweet, simple taste of moving.

Music for a Rainy Thursday

Hi! Happy Thursday. I just wanted to share this playlist with you. It's the embodiment of the type of morning I'd liketo be having--laying in bed with a cup of tea and my cat and a book, with the window slightly open to let in the smell of rain.

Enjoy.

trænˈzɪʃ ən

My grandma's old house in Michigan. Basically nothing to do with this post, but it's nostalgic.

I'm not afraid of change. I actually really enjoy change. I embrace the adventure that comes with change. I hate being in one place or doing one thing for too long--I like the challenge and newness that comes with change.

It's transition that gets to me. 

I hate waiting to get from phase A to phase B. The up-in-the-air moments when you're still not sure if your plan is going to go through, or if it's going to fall through.

Currently, I've got two plans that are up in the air. Suspended by dental floss. Ready to come crashing down at any moment.

One: I could be going to Dallas this weekend. I should be going to Dallas this weekend. I'm supposed to be helping my closest, longest-held friend move there for her first big-girl job, but her employer called her yesterday and said they might push her start date back two weeks, leaving her in Dallas for a month without a paycheck. But we won't know for sure until Friday, when we're supposed to be leaving at 3 am Saturday. Can you say #frustrated? 

Two: I'm moving into an apartment in 14 days. That's two weeks! And I have so little packed and so little ready to go. I have to disassemble my bed and buy a mattress and my cousin still has to get a job (knock on wood--she almost has one!) and there's just so much to do, but I don't want to/can't pack a ton because I have to use my toiletries and wear my clothes and use my computer and stuff. So what even am I supposed to be packing? It's a bit stressful.

So in this frustrating state of transition, I'm kicking back. Listening to Kendrick Lamar. Realizing it's gonna be alright and that there's literally nothing I can do about any of it.

*update: as I was writing this post, news came through that her start date is remaining the same and I'm going to Dallas this weekend. TRAVEL STOKE!