My Favorite Things

Welcome to inaugural edition of Dawn's Favorite Things. 'Cause, frankly, why should Oprah have all the fun? Granted if you want any of this stuff, you're going to have to buy it yourself.
 
Do I look like I have Oprah pull? Or cash?

Without further adieu and in no particular order:

Lady Marmalade
Our diva pearlscale goldfish. If you don't get the musical reference, we can't be friends.

L'oreal Double Extend Beauty Tubes
This two step mascara gives you the lashes you weren't born with, minus the hazards of welding your lids shut with false eyelash glue.

P90X2
Yes it's hard. Yes I often curse trainer Tony Horton, like a sailor. But nine weeks in, I'm a total convert.

Kindness Changes Everything
Not just beautifying stickers, but a soulsister collaboration between the Kindness Girl and Silver Tree Art outta Richmond, VA. You can buy them on Etsy--and should--for the envelope alone.

Skinny Cow Chocolate Truffle Ice Cream Bars
100 calories, 2.5 g of fat, 3 g of fiber that actually taste like food. 'Nuf said.

Boo City
Providence local band, that really shouldn't be, boasting a unique sound with touches of reggae, soul, country and folk. Outstanding talent. Good peeps. And HORNS!! They've got HORNS!

Orchids
Slightly obsessed, since Andre gave me one to mark our ten year wedding anniversary--that I spent a whole summer slowly trying to kill. Clearly, I've learned from my mistakes. A bit.

Lands' End Canvas Classifieds
Every Saturday, brings a batch of goodies that, for as long as they last, get marked down for the rest of the week: 25% on Monday, 50% on Wednesday, 75% on Friday. Hello $98 boots for $17.

MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Betsche
Finally. Some honesty about female friendships. Rachel boldly takes on fifty-two friend dates over a year, in her new city of Chicago, to find new besties. All names were changed. I asked.

Underwood No. 5 Typewriter
I cannot imagine writing on this beast from the 1920's (although I could if I wanted to because it still works) but the fact that someone actually did, brings me a whole lot of inspiration.

Running With The Elephants

Last Thursday, Andre and I went on safari. In Rhode Island. On foot.

The mission? To capture the elusive Ringling Brothers elephants on film, in a more natural setting. You know, lumbering down the asphalt streets of Providence, instead of doing degrading tricks in three rings.

Anybody can do that.

One thing straight. Neither of us dig the circus.

Our last visit to greatest show on earth, nearly twenty years ago, left us traumatized and feeling sort of icky from getting our entertainment from animals, who clearly should just be roaming free, on an African plain.

So, we decided to free some.

Okay, not really. But it was almost Andre's birthday. And he LOVES elephants (no judgements), so we opted to just overlook where they were walking to, and what they were going to be doing once they got there. Instead, we chose to revel with them on a fresh air romp through the capital city.

That's how we ended up by the tracks, on industrial Harris Avenue, with a bunch of parents and stroller-bound toddlers, waiting for the pachyderms to deboard their train. I hadn't given much thought to the game plan beyond taking a couple of shots (that's photographic, not rifle), in the railyard, then heading home, out of the drizzle.

Ha-HA.

You wouldn't know this unless you were actually passed, at close range, by a herd of elephants, but apparently their flapping ears have a bit of a Pied Piper effect. There's really no other way to explain how two otherwise rational people, decided it was a good idea to march alongside the ten-foot tall creatures, linked trunks to tails--for over a mile.

The whole scene was just so mesmerizingly bizarre, clearly we didn't have a choice.

We escorted the elephants, along with their contingent of handlers, Providence police on motorcycles, some other random natives smartly wearing work-out clothing, and riders on horseback, from Harris to Kinsley Avenue, then onto Dean Street, where vehicular traffic was allowed to proceed in the opposite direction.

And, then, in an only in Rhode Island moment, Andre's sister drove by, shouting greetings from her Maxima.

The elephants rounded the corner to West Exchange Street, then strolled down the hill to their final destination of the big top inside the Dunkin' Donuts Center, where the whole adventure ended as quickly as it started.

And our proof that it actually really happened? A whole lot of pictures of elephant tail.

Photo by moi. Andre in foreground. RI State Capitol in background. Elephants in between.

Worst Case Scenario

My greatest fear?

For the longest time it was, drum roll please, being stuck in traffic without a bathroom in sight.

A bit unusual? Probably, since I'm not 92 years old or pregnant. Luckily, there is a logical explanation. Once upon a time, my delicate psyche was traumatized by seeing a horrible car accident that required a highway closing and a Med Flight helicopter landing.

My bladder was ill prepared for this delay.

Just relax, right? Like that scenario's ever going to repeat itself. Until it did. Only this time, Andre and I were the disabled vehicle, a mile away from a planned pit stop. High speed blow out. Route 95. Driver's side. In the rain.

We called AAA, then sat and waited. And waited. And waited. Until an hour passed and Andre decided he couldn't wait anymore. So over the guardrail he went, down the hill into nature's toilet. A place so clean and serene, he decided that I should pay it a visit as well.

I. AM. NOT. AN. OUTDOORS. GIRL.

But sadly, as this was the only viable option, I followed my husband, back down the grassy knoll, where he was kind enough to shield my bare ass from passing cars with an umbrella, as I desperately tried not to pee on myself.

Too much.

Crisis averted, right? Oh, not quite yet.

Because just, as we, one black man and one white woman, emerged from the thistles, while adjusting our clothing, the Connecticut State police K-9 unit arrived on the scene, along with some deeply ingrained racial stereotypes. That dog in the back seat? He wasn't barking the loudest.

"What were you doing down there?!" the trooper asked Andre.

"Ah, um."

"What were you doing down there?!!!" he asked again.

"Um--"

Oh, that Andre. I knew he was in protection mode, trying to prevent either of us from being arrested for public urination. But truth was unless I took one for the team, Officer Friendly probably wouldn't have stopped his general line of questioning. In fact, I wasn't even quite sure if he knew I was there--that darn 'black man coming out of the woods tunnel vision' and all.

"I had to pee," I blurted, effectively putting an end to his theory that he had thwarted a rape in progress.

Like I hadn't been humiliated enough today.

AAA finally showed up, and we were back on our way, for what will live in infamy as our fifteen hour epic journey to Maryland. Lessons learned? Oh so many.

Always have a rough idea of your location, you know, in case you need to call for help. Be aware of the directional incline of hills while squatting. And the reality of that worse case scenario? It might just play out a bit differently than what you imagined.

But the truth is, no matter how bad things get, you can and will survive.

And once you do, there's not a whole lot to be afraid of anymore.

You're In The Army Now

High and tight.

Now really, how hard could that be?

Granted, I was sorta learning on the job. There was no clipping experience on my resume. No Barbie dolls. No little brother. No dog. But, even with this full disclosure, my husband Andre wanted me to cut his hair. In true Rhode Island fashion, he was tired of making the trip from our West Side home to his East Side barber.

Yup. Those ten minutes on the road were killing him.

Andre sports a skin fade. Translation: it's a haircut that's one step away from, well, bald. It's not an afro. Not dreads. Not a boxtop. I've been telling him for years that I could handle it. When his old barber drew blood, I told him. When he got a horrible cut in Charleston, SC, I told him.

When he got mistaken for guest of honor, ex-Patriot Troy Brown, by the organizers of a charity event two years ago, I didn't tell him. But for some reason, that night was THE night Andre looked deep inside himself and decided to give my mad skillz a shot.

Perhaps he thought a fresh cut would better help differentiate him from, say, a retired pro football player, next time 'round. Regardless, on the way home, we hit up the personal care aisle of Walgreens.

Duh. Where else would a barber go?
 
Back at the ranch, I set up shop in the middle of the kitchen, using a dining room chair, then set the overhead lights to blazing. After carefully draping Andre's shoulders with a tiny dishtowel, I got to work. Forty long minutes of work. This, as you'll see, was a precision cut.

I broke the process down into two parts, just in case you want to recreate this look at home. Step one: Eyeball an imaginary line near the top of the head, then straight up shave everything below. Step two: Attach a .5 guard to the clippers and bring the hair on top down to 1/16 of an inch.

Unfortunately, for Andre, on night number one, we had no speciality .5 guard in our possession. So I improvised with the next best thing: a 1 guard, which I can now say, with all certainty, is the same tool used by military barbers.

The next day, Andre got saluted.

Not once. But twice. By two different people. And just to be clear, he was not in uniform.

Apparently, on my first time out, I had perfectly recreated a standard issue cut.

God Bless America.

But more importantly, God Bless Andre's Chrome Dome.

Top Five Things I've Learned As A Freelance Writer

I recently had dinner with a new writer pal, who is fearlessly gearing up to make that uncertain leap from a traditional 9-5 to self-employment. As I recounted my story, now thirteen years in the making, it occurred to me that perhaps I did indeed have a couple of lessons under my belt. Or, probably more accurately, that glass o' riesling was making me believe. Regardless, behold:

The Top Five Things I've Learned as a Freelance Writer:

5.  You know that beloved thing called pay day? That slice of financial heaven, that makes all of your hard work worth the effort? In the freelance world, some days, weeks or even months will pass before it appears. The reasons for this are unpredictable and varied, ranging from professional drought to working for organizations who clearly think you must be independently wealthy. Regardless, freelancing is sort of like putting your money in the stock market. You've gotta be in for the long haul for it to, literally, pay off.

4.  Eventually, the money will come. And then it will go. And come. And go. Sense a pattern? I've learned that ebb and flow is all part of the game. And you've got to be comfortable with that. Mostly. But even when the funds have temporarily halted, the fun must go on. Sure, there will be times that you're feeling far less baller than you were, say two weeks ago. That's when its back to basics: free events, half-price appetizers, clearance racks, coupons and on-line sales. The trade-off? An incredible quality of life--which truly can't be bought. And no office politics. Horray!

3.  In the end, it's still all just business. Sometimes freelance writing feels sorta like a major league baseball team. Your pitching? No doubt top-notch. You're reliable. Consistent. You've stepped up for the team in clutch situations. But if the management changes, your role is not guaranteed. In the blink of an eye, your veteran fast ball has been replaced by a rookie knuckleballer, called up from the minors. Same game. Different styles. Nothing personal.

2.  Know that while you're busting your hump every single day, there will be peeps who think that freelance is code for serial loafer. Ditch 'em. Embrace the people who support you. There's no need to explain yourself. Ever.

1.  Never give up. Be the little engine that could--with a pen. It's not called the creative PROCESS for nothin'. Stick with it. Learn from your journey. Uncover your professional strengths. Hone your voice, then make it stronger. And above everything else, write on!