Shoot. Shoot. Bang. Bang.

I’m an advocate of change. Change is fantastic. If you ask me why I’ve lived in San Francisco since I was seventeen, my response is always the same, “piss off.” Like most females, I’m impulsive. With the increase of hormones coursing through me, my hair’s been growing like a compost soiled weed. I saw the opportunity to chop my hair. Of course, I would never trust my current stylist as he was an advocate of innovative design and creation. My stylist with his Manchester accent, is not one for long hair and I would somehow find myself with a short do that was individualistic for my ever growing plump face. Besides, others would stray from a salon named Mr. Pink Whistle, but I was a curious as a black cat.

I was on a star search for a new scissor hands. Jeeun recommended I take her boyfriends appointment slot as he couldn’t justify a hundred fifty for a men’s cut. Her stylist wasn’t accepting new clients, so I was in luck. It was settled except the appointment wasn’t till mid November. My dilemma was that my weed of a head was growing at an alarming rate and it hadn’t been cut in twelve months. It needed a little fixing.

I phoned the usual big names, Vidal had a one thirty appointment with their senior stylist and DiPietro had a four o’clock with a senior stylist. I opted for the latter as most of my previous stylists were Vidal alumni, switch up. As I strutted Post street, my intentions were to just get a trim. A little snip and call it a day.

I plopped into the chair. “What can I do for you today?” Regina’s head toppled with beautiful curls that would best be described as a weave.
“Bangs.” What was I saying? I continued, “Chinese bangs, straight across.” My heart raced with excitement.
“What about the ends?” She held up the aftermath of my former stylists sharp razor tips now jagged. “I mean really?” She was appaulled. Little did she know my last cut was a year ago and above the shoulder.
“Cut it off.” I was spontaneous and going with the flow. “I'm pregnant so it'll grow back in no time.”
“This much?” Her estimate was about three inches.
“Sure go for it.” I was giving this stranger full control of my mane.
“Layers? You need layers.” She was a car sales man hooking me up with options.
“No.” I stammered as the word “layers” is so 2005. “Just a trim.” I put my foot down. Regina’s eyes burned as she yearned to snip all my hair into a contemporary layer filled cluster. Besides, I had to leave a decent canvas for the real stylist in November.

Following a crap job of a shampoo absent of a scalp massage, I made way to the snipping chair. She combed my hair in front of my face. “Ready?” Regina leering a smile. “I’m scared.” I said it aloud.
“Don’t be scared honey.” She was warm and motherly. “Here we go.” She ran the scissors across my forehead. I could feel the steel softly run across and saw the fall of the royal length hit the floor.

A male customer flew in from Seattle also sought change. He initially flew in for the Folsom Street Fair, a gay and lesbian leather sexual extravaganza. The stylist amputated his blond ponytail that ranged approximately eight inches long. “Oh my god!” The gay man shrieked at the sight of his dead weight. Oh my god was right, as it wouldn’t be his new locks that would be the focal point at the leather affair.

Meanwhile, Regina quietly snipped refining the lay of the land that was my hair. I always treated my hair cuts like a massage, with silence. If I wanted to discuss current events, I’d plop myself at a coffee shop in the outskirts of the Mission. I liked what I saw in the mirror. It was exactly what I wanted straight thick bangs just like when I was five years old. It was hot! I absolutely loved it!

As the Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy warns one of the major rules of pregnancy is to not get a major hair cut. When gaining weight, I am one of those unlucky people that gains in the face. As I am gradually ripening with pregnancy, I assume that my face will follow suit. Instead of stuffing my face with egg mcmuffins, I thought squaring my face off with bangs might assist in slimming my cheek bones.

In the changing room, my face speckled with tiny chards of hair, I cursed the pedestrian service as Simon, former stylist, usually dusts me off like a dirty floor. Otherwise, I rejoiced in the haircut. My heart performed back flips in tune to my excitement. It was simple. It was clean. It was fabulous. I walked down the street with a bounce in my step and a different head on my shoulders.

This is Shellie stressing live life don’t let life live you back to you Bob at the studio.

Brilliance

I guess it was time that I stop ignoring my readers and start writing again. I left you with a big pow! Pregnancy. Again. Wow. My mission to exceed China’s population was a complete flop, but sex is god! After a month of a wonderful anniversary and a year of celebrating aging, I’m back to embrace my reality. My simple “reality” that is the couch, my sweet Hunter, and husband extraordinaire. As zebras are not painted horses, this pregnancy is much different than the last. It’s calm, but the undertow of Hades is just a few levels hormone deep. I barely made it through the last 16 weeks calm, having to talk down my emotions down from jumping into the fire by isolation.

“Anger is an indulgence that requires careful forethought.”

Shane is clueless as to how close he got to perhaps getting both his achilles sliced lengthwise. Instead, I removed myself from short ended situations and made way to my bedroom until the emotional tsunami passed.

In the meantime, Shane has been fending for himself in the dining arena as my appetite has dwindled to fast food or nothing. There’s been nights he’d make a run for Pizza Hut for a personal pan super supreme. “Gasp!!!” Went the die hard foodies elitists, that’s right I said it. I am certain he didn't do it for me, but for the benefit of that special someone that takes my body hostage. In good time, my appetite returned to its five senses. Shane has been my little apprentice in the kitchen. As I carefully guide him into the gentle ways of cooking, he has come to appreciate my hard work in the kitchen. After a long day of work, handling Hunter, and slaving in the kitchen to sit down to a three course meal at eight o’clock, he is exhausted. Little does he know, I am preparing him for the arrival of the second Kitchstar.

As I found my way out of the lethargic fog in my first pregnancy, I found rest to be luxuriously effective in my current. Enter stage right, bedroom. I have officially become a professional at siestas. There’s nothing better than a good snooze. Awaking to feeling refreshed and renewed enough to instant reposition my head and repeat the luxury. As for my gym life, it requires a bit of resuscitation. Alright I did one day of circuit training in my 14 week, but no more nor less. Tsk. Tsk.

As I reflect on my first pregnancy, I am quickly reminded that I was in an entire different era. Pregnancy was a romantic notion. Diet and exercise was on the absolute forefront. Finally, I was not a parent. Today, I manage a household and family. Working full time and a part time mother and wife, leaves no room for anything else. Pregnancy remains a romantic notion, yet the glamour and glitz has worn off. As I would love to work out and be healthy, this pregnancy steers me different. Do not fret, as I am sure like everything else, I will find the magic that weaves refinement back into my game. Until than, life is beautiful in all it’s glory. As my belly begins it’s up rise, I am reminded of the innocent goodness that is blooming in my own being.

This is Shellie staring straight into the sun back to you Bob at the studio.

May the Force be with You!

Mood: Radiant
Song: “Bicycle Race” by Queen

Children. Some want them. Others can’t stand them. While others can’t get enough of them. Me, I want a gaggle of kids driving me up the wall with sheer insanity in a home where wooden spoons are a means of discipline. I couldn’t imagine my life otherwise. According to my nausea and waistline, I’m on my way to increasing the Kitchen herd. “Mooooo-ve over weight loss something meaty this way comes! It’s been an interesting first trimester. As they say, each pregnancy is different and I can vouch for it. This pregnancy couldn’t be any different from Hunter, "I second that emotion!”

Something exciting is brewing in my belly pot!
Recently, my cravings have geared towards fast food like a swarm of flies to an Ethiopian village. On the double edged sword, my appetite has been nill. Furthermore, my tongue shrivels at the sight of fruits, vegetables, or the term organic and seasonal of the sort. This second coming, is determined to give me an ulcer. Like a mental patient refusing to take her meds, I forcefeed myself to eat fruits, vegetables that are of the term organic or seasonal. Although it taste like radiator vomit, I know I am doing the nation of Shellie a world of good.

In other sorted events, Nausea -my number one enemy- turns it’s gentle serrated edges into my gut letting me know who is Queen of this Kingdom. I haven’t had the courtesy of barfing (knock on wood), but the belly of the beast can always make it’s way to the surface. I beseech you oh Nausea to let me be. Meanwhile in the Northern Hemisphere, Sleep troops have taken the city of Consciousness by storm! Violently accosting the town with demands of rest and relaxation.

In relative news, deep in the jungle my emotions have beat me into submission. Sobbing has become my new pass time. Like a leaky faucet, I sob in tiny doses. When the surge of irrational current begins its up rise, I take a deep breath and lock myself in a padded room. Alright my bedroom is not padded, but my bed is soft enough to embrace the turbulence. Besides, Shane nor Hunter need not be an innocent bystander. Sometimes a nice bubble bath, jazz, and a novel are also good medicine.

Finally another menacing birthday is around the corner, I’m sprinting against time. I refuse to be a useless senior citizen when my children turn eighteen. The thought of being threatened by fall, resulting in breaking a hip is cruel. Suddenly, this whole teenage pregnancy hullabaloo is genius! A mother of an eighteen year old at age 33 is sexy! What was I thinking with college and traveling! Also, irrelevancy has become part of my morse.

Thankfully, I’m in my second trimester!

Release the shackles and let the slave graze the earth.
I’m still enchanted by this miracle. The creation of life is the shit! I can't believe my mom went through it ten times! I can’t wait to do it again. I am fortunate to be so lucky in this lifetime. In the meantime, goodness is growing in my belly!

This is Shellie exlaiming, "Something joyous this way comes!" Back to you Bob at the studio!