Okay, I've had some more time to process this yoga teacher training business. I've also had time to throw out my hip again, burn the fuck out of my hand, develop a series of migraines, and I may have broken two toes, which is pretty typical in a week of being Ashley.
I went from sheer, insomniatic (spellcheck says I made that word up, which is awesome of me. I can't think of a better word and I like how it sounds) panic to devastating, soul-crushing defeat to fuck it, let's do this shit. I waver a bit on the fuck it, let's do this shit but I'm kind of committed now, having signed my life away, taken on a part-time job in which I won't get paid for to pay for it, and experienced the encouragement and support of all of these people that I don't want to annoy.
Here are the possibilities:
1. True enlightenment and mastery of yoga and personal self.
2. A physically painful but moderately amusing experience.
3. A physically and emotionally painful but empowering experience.
4. I die.
So, whatever.
I could write a book about any of those except dying (unless I was revived with no damage and then that would be one hell of a story about how I almost died doing yoga. It might be worth it.)
At this point, I'm more nervous about the work trade. I haven't done 300 hours of anything but sitting on the couch in a long time. I do like the work, I feel super fancy using the boutique's scanning gun and dressing the mannequin. Apparently I mop really wrong, though, as I am reminded and re-taught frequently and there is some baffled sighing and exchanging of glances that I can't do it the way they like. (It's a highly coordinated process). I'm working on it but I'm not sure if we should add mop mastery to the list of pros or cons; it's a lot more important than I realized before beginning this journey of enlightenment.
I do love the people involved (even if they don't like my mopping). There are several people taking the teacher training class that I truly like or am intrigued by, and I want to be just like all of the teachers when I grow up. Not that I want to be a teacher, necessarily, I just want to be cool like them.
So, I'm going in for brainwashing starting on Friday. I'm a little bit worried that they'll wash the sarcastic away but they couldn't do that, right? I don't think they could do that.
Unless I die.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Open Door Policy
Our house has an unfortunate layout which involves the boys' bathroom needing two doors to be closed for complete privacy, with one of these off of the kitchen.
little kid pretty much refuses to close either door (or flush the toilet, but I guess it's not relevant) so I frequently find myself on the receiving end of a startling and unwelcome view.
"Dude, could you do me a personal favor and CLOSE THE DOOR?" I asked for the 900th time the other day.
"You should just try to think of it like a documentary, mom."
"Yeah, no thanks," I laughed and evacuated the area, only to find myself in need of something in the kitchen a few minutes later and headed back in that general direction.
"Mom?" He shouted.
"Yes?"
"You might want to wait. The documentary is still showing."
I waited.
little kid pretty much refuses to close either door (or flush the toilet, but I guess it's not relevant) so I frequently find myself on the receiving end of a startling and unwelcome view.
"Dude, could you do me a personal favor and CLOSE THE DOOR?" I asked for the 900th time the other day.
"You should just try to think of it like a documentary, mom."
"Yeah, no thanks," I laughed and evacuated the area, only to find myself in need of something in the kitchen a few minutes later and headed back in that general direction.
"Mom?" He shouted.
"Yes?"
"You might want to wait. The documentary is still showing."
I waited.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
PTO Pace
When I was feeling nervous about my presentation at the PTO meeting, I asked the kids if they would watch me run through it one time.
"It was good," Big Kid said with a satisfied smile, "You did get a little fast at parts."
"I did? I was fast? Okay, I'll work on that."
"I don't want you to drive yourself crazy but maybe you should show me one more time, slowed down." My 10 year old advised.
I did it again, slower and with more emphasis on everything.
He looked perplexed. "Okay, well it looks like the choice is to be slowed down and weird, or fast. I'd do fast. Nevermind about slowing down."
"I was weird?"
"Slowed down you're weird. Fast you're just you but fast."
I went with fast. I don't think I was too weird. I did way over-think the whole thing in true Ashley style. Everyone else got up there and rambled on and on and on with no clear point, and I had a snazzy speech with a video clip (everyone likes a video).
It sucked to do but I had to assert myself as alpha mom, since it's a new school and all.
"It was good," Big Kid said with a satisfied smile, "You did get a little fast at parts."
"I did? I was fast? Okay, I'll work on that."
"I don't want you to drive yourself crazy but maybe you should show me one more time, slowed down." My 10 year old advised.
I did it again, slower and with more emphasis on everything.
He looked perplexed. "Okay, well it looks like the choice is to be slowed down and weird, or fast. I'd do fast. Nevermind about slowing down."
"I was weird?"
"Slowed down you're weird. Fast you're just you but fast."
I went with fast. I don't think I was too weird. I did way over-think the whole thing in true Ashley style. Everyone else got up there and rambled on and on and on with no clear point, and I had a snazzy speech with a video clip (everyone likes a video).
It sucked to do but I had to assert myself as alpha mom, since it's a new school and all.
Om No
Well, I think I've gone and done the dumbest thing ever.
Have I told you all about the time I accidentally went skydiving?
An ex-boyfriend was going and asked if I would like to go to watch and I accepted, joking all day long about what a gift it was to see your ex jump from a plane. I also flirted a bit with the instructors because I was particularly obnoxious then (this was a very long time ago. I'm still obnoxious but not in the same way.) One of them asked if I'd ever go skydiving and I said sure, but I would never pay to do it. He asked if I would go if he took me for free. I thought he was asking me on a date, at a later time, and I said of course I would without hesitation, and was pretty pleased with myself.
Ten minutes later I was strapped to this guy and riding in an airplane. It was certainly one of my bigger, "I've made a huge mistake," moments in life.
I realized then that I did not want to go skydiving. I considered how I was going to get back to the ground and realized my pride was not going to allow me to ride back down in the plane. Standing in the open doorway, able to see the outline of most of the lower half of Florida, I clearly remember thinking, "Motherfucker! What have I done?"
He said to jump on the count of 3 and I jumped on 2 because if I waited one more second, I wouldn't do it.
It was without a doubt one of the most exhilarating, amazing, empowering, peaceful, incredible experiences of my life.
(I later found out I was wearing my shirt inside out, which was probably obvious to the guy strapped to my back and I felt slightly less sexy and confident and powerful then but oh well.)
Often in life when I feel scared, I think, "You've jumped out of an airplane! You've gotten tattoos and didn't cry! You've had two kids! You can do whatever this is!"
Lately I've lost that power though. I was nervous to speak at a PTO meeting last night. I've jumped out of an airplane and would happily do it again to avoid public speaking and/or PTO meetings. I used to be in sales and marketing, where did that social swagger go?
I've been feeling a bit adrift, lately. Don't get me wrong--I love that. I live an easy peasy life and most of my problems are my own creation. But my 35th birthday was a big reminder that, "Hey, you're not really doing anything. At all. Really. You're not," and made me notice that I don't even care. I'm just blah. Just sitting here doing the bare minimum. A lot. And feeling afraid of things that are ridiculous, like speaking at PTO meetings.
So I somehow ended up at my yoga studio's teacher training open house (and that may or may not be because of a rumored boutique discount for going) and I learned that the certification course was really freaking hard, like yoga boot camp and therapy and intervention all wrapped into one and also expensive and I was like, "Oh well, there goes that thought," and ended up not even being able to use my discount before it expired.
A friend and I briefly discussed doing it together next year, and I liked that idea a lot because I like planning things more than I like doing things.
And then a week later, one of my dorky science podcasts was randomly about the science of yoga, and I had yoga dreams, and when I woke up I had a brief thought that if I could afford it, the teacher training course would be good for me as a human being. When I opened my inbox that morning, there was a work scholarship offer from the studio.
Damn it.
Everyone I have spoken to talks about how brutal it is--how they keep you there all day and night, how there is a ton of self inquiry and group therapy and how they break you down to build you back up again inside and out. The Woman I Want to Be is intrigued by the thought but the entire rest of my being is ready to kill her right now.
They also teach yoga (obviously), meditation, anatomy, nutrition, public speaking, presentation skills and a bunch of touchy feely stuff that I will want to roll my eyes at and dislike doing and that I probably need. I do love the studio and the people though, and I want to be just like them if I grow up. I'm also very grateful for the opportunity, it is a nice offer.
As if I wasn't uncertain enough about whether or not to do it (particularly since I'm not sure I want to be a yoga teacher at all and I am sure I don't like sweaty people), I took a really intense hot yoga class today and almost died. They asked me to update my emergency contact information after class and I believe it is a direct indicator of my performance even if they swear it's not. So this is a terrible idea.
"Before I sign anything...how many people have died in teacher training?" I asked one of the managers.
"Ashley, there are senior citizens in your class."
"Are you saying you think they might die?"
"No one is going to die. You will not die. You're going to think you want to at some point, but I promise you won't. It will be good."
"Everyone I talk to says it's super hard but they're all proud, like beaming, and they speak highly of it."
"That's because it's like Survivor for yogis. You'll never see the ones that quit again. It is HARD." Another teacher offered (and it didn't help).
"Okay, but it gets better? You end up looking forward to it after the first few sessions?"
They both smirked. "You'll never look forward to it, but it gets better."
I warned her that I was not an outwardly warm and fuzzy type of person and she assured me that was her greatest challenge as well, and that I'd be getting over that. I don't know.
I don't see how touching sweaty people can be taught, either.
So I guess I'm accidentally becoming a yoga teacher. I'm not jumping on 2 this time either, I'm clinging to the sides of the open door and requiring a few firm shoves. My friends and family range between "You better freaking do it," and "At least you'll have writing material," so I'm not positive they have my best interest at heart.
What the fuck am I doing, guys?
I start in 9 days and every time I think about it, I'm just perplexed about how this happened. Can't I just jump out of a plane again instead?
Have I told you all about the time I accidentally went skydiving?
An ex-boyfriend was going and asked if I would like to go to watch and I accepted, joking all day long about what a gift it was to see your ex jump from a plane. I also flirted a bit with the instructors because I was particularly obnoxious then (this was a very long time ago. I'm still obnoxious but not in the same way.) One of them asked if I'd ever go skydiving and I said sure, but I would never pay to do it. He asked if I would go if he took me for free. I thought he was asking me on a date, at a later time, and I said of course I would without hesitation, and was pretty pleased with myself.
Ten minutes later I was strapped to this guy and riding in an airplane. It was certainly one of my bigger, "I've made a huge mistake," moments in life.
I realized then that I did not want to go skydiving. I considered how I was going to get back to the ground and realized my pride was not going to allow me to ride back down in the plane. Standing in the open doorway, able to see the outline of most of the lower half of Florida, I clearly remember thinking, "Motherfucker! What have I done?"
He said to jump on the count of 3 and I jumped on 2 because if I waited one more second, I wouldn't do it.
It was without a doubt one of the most exhilarating, amazing, empowering, peaceful, incredible experiences of my life.
(I later found out I was wearing my shirt inside out, which was probably obvious to the guy strapped to my back and I felt slightly less sexy and confident and powerful then but oh well.)
Often in life when I feel scared, I think, "You've jumped out of an airplane! You've gotten tattoos and didn't cry! You've had two kids! You can do whatever this is!"
Lately I've lost that power though. I was nervous to speak at a PTO meeting last night. I've jumped out of an airplane and would happily do it again to avoid public speaking and/or PTO meetings. I used to be in sales and marketing, where did that social swagger go?
I've been feeling a bit adrift, lately. Don't get me wrong--I love that. I live an easy peasy life and most of my problems are my own creation. But my 35th birthday was a big reminder that, "Hey, you're not really doing anything. At all. Really. You're not," and made me notice that I don't even care. I'm just blah. Just sitting here doing the bare minimum. A lot. And feeling afraid of things that are ridiculous, like speaking at PTO meetings.
So I somehow ended up at my yoga studio's teacher training open house (and that may or may not be because of a rumored boutique discount for going) and I learned that the certification course was really freaking hard, like yoga boot camp and therapy and intervention all wrapped into one and also expensive and I was like, "Oh well, there goes that thought," and ended up not even being able to use my discount before it expired.
A friend and I briefly discussed doing it together next year, and I liked that idea a lot because I like planning things more than I like doing things.
And then a week later, one of my dorky science podcasts was randomly about the science of yoga, and I had yoga dreams, and when I woke up I had a brief thought that if I could afford it, the teacher training course would be good for me as a human being. When I opened my inbox that morning, there was a work scholarship offer from the studio.
Damn it.
Everyone I have spoken to talks about how brutal it is--how they keep you there all day and night, how there is a ton of self inquiry and group therapy and how they break you down to build you back up again inside and out. The Woman I Want to Be is intrigued by the thought but the entire rest of my being is ready to kill her right now.
They also teach yoga (obviously), meditation, anatomy, nutrition, public speaking, presentation skills and a bunch of touchy feely stuff that I will want to roll my eyes at and dislike doing and that I probably need. I do love the studio and the people though, and I want to be just like them if I grow up. I'm also very grateful for the opportunity, it is a nice offer.
As if I wasn't uncertain enough about whether or not to do it (particularly since I'm not sure I want to be a yoga teacher at all and I am sure I don't like sweaty people), I took a really intense hot yoga class today and almost died. They asked me to update my emergency contact information after class and I believe it is a direct indicator of my performance even if they swear it's not. So this is a terrible idea.
"Before I sign anything...how many people have died in teacher training?" I asked one of the managers.
"Ashley, there are senior citizens in your class."
"Are you saying you think they might die?"
"No one is going to die. You will not die. You're going to think you want to at some point, but I promise you won't. It will be good."
"Everyone I talk to says it's super hard but they're all proud, like beaming, and they speak highly of it."
"That's because it's like Survivor for yogis. You'll never see the ones that quit again. It is HARD." Another teacher offered (and it didn't help).
"Okay, but it gets better? You end up looking forward to it after the first few sessions?"
They both smirked. "You'll never look forward to it, but it gets better."
I warned her that I was not an outwardly warm and fuzzy type of person and she assured me that was her greatest challenge as well, and that I'd be getting over that. I don't know.
I don't see how touching sweaty people can be taught, either.
So I guess I'm accidentally becoming a yoga teacher. I'm not jumping on 2 this time either, I'm clinging to the sides of the open door and requiring a few firm shoves. My friends and family range between "You better freaking do it," and "At least you'll have writing material," so I'm not positive they have my best interest at heart.
What the fuck am I doing, guys?
I start in 9 days and every time I think about it, I'm just perplexed about how this happened. Can't I just jump out of a plane again instead?
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Hey There
I just had an--eerie? interesting? uplifting? hopeful? highly coincidental? moment.
As you all know, I got two new kitties after my very best friend passed on August 27th. I love them, fiercely, even though they are ruining all of my stuff, got shit on my brand new couch and ottoman yesterday, keep me up all night every night, have scratched me up so badly that I look like a victim of abuse, and I wheeze for hours each morning since one makes me sleep with him acting as a scarf. I adore them. I can barely speak in a normal tone because I am in constant baby cat talk mode all day long. I gather them up throughout the day and bury my face in them and feel so freaking lucky to have my own pile of cats.
I just went to change the litter box and noticed diarrhea with what looks like blood. Panicking, I rushed to the computer to google that symptom. Immediately as the thought, "Should I take them to the vet?" entered my head (knowing of course that I would, these cats are treated like little kings) my hand bumped the mute button on my computer and "Hey There, Delilah," began to play from the beginning. I haven't heard it since I was on my knees in the vet's hallway, praying to God and the universe and the vet and my cat that sweet Pearl would stay. Prayer request denied.
Before I could even process what was happening, I began to cry because it made me remember so clearly and because I miss her so much. So, so, so much. I'd say at least once a day, I close my eyes and try to remember what she smelled like, the little patch of velvety-fur on her nose that grew both ways, how light she was in her arms, how it felt when she unearthed me from the covers and bumped her nose against mine. I live in constant fear of forgetting.
I hope she was saying hi, and to go to the vet.
The song is probably 3/4 of the way down on my insanely long Spotify list, I did not have Spotify playing on purpose (or by choice), and I think it's pretty neat that the song started from the beginning at such a freakishly relevant time. So the cats are going to the vet, promptly.
As you all know, I got two new kitties after my very best friend passed on August 27th. I love them, fiercely, even though they are ruining all of my stuff, got shit on my brand new couch and ottoman yesterday, keep me up all night every night, have scratched me up so badly that I look like a victim of abuse, and I wheeze for hours each morning since one makes me sleep with him acting as a scarf. I adore them. I can barely speak in a normal tone because I am in constant baby cat talk mode all day long. I gather them up throughout the day and bury my face in them and feel so freaking lucky to have my own pile of cats.
I just went to change the litter box and noticed diarrhea with what looks like blood. Panicking, I rushed to the computer to google that symptom. Immediately as the thought, "Should I take them to the vet?" entered my head (knowing of course that I would, these cats are treated like little kings) my hand bumped the mute button on my computer and "Hey There, Delilah," began to play from the beginning. I haven't heard it since I was on my knees in the vet's hallway, praying to God and the universe and the vet and my cat that sweet Pearl would stay. Prayer request denied.
Before I could even process what was happening, I began to cry because it made me remember so clearly and because I miss her so much. So, so, so much. I'd say at least once a day, I close my eyes and try to remember what she smelled like, the little patch of velvety-fur on her nose that grew both ways, how light she was in her arms, how it felt when she unearthed me from the covers and bumped her nose against mine. I live in constant fear of forgetting.
I hope she was saying hi, and to go to the vet.
The song is probably 3/4 of the way down on my insanely long Spotify list, I did not have Spotify playing on purpose (or by choice), and I think it's pretty neat that the song started from the beginning at such a freakishly relevant time. So the cats are going to the vet, promptly.
Edited to add: Kitties have some medicine and will probably be fine, although it was difficult to tell exactly what the problem is. So that was expensive and a ton of fun for the cats.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
The Savvy Sleeper
After a long summer of sub-standard hair care (since I don't torture the whole salon by dragging the kids with me if I can help it), I was really looking forward to getting another keratin treatment which makes my hair smooth and shiny and straight.
I am long-time friends with the salon owner and barter my copy writing and social media managing skills in exchange for free hair, which is an awesome deal for me. They asked if I'd be the guinea pig for a new type of keratin treatment and I said sure, because when you get stuff for free, you shouldn't be picky. I also know that she values my opinion because I'm always completely honest with her, even if she wishes I wouldn't be.
Usually the keratin makes my hair too straight--it's a nice problem to have for someone with naturally curly hair that frizzes in the humidity but I get tired of it looking so lifeless for the first few weeks. We've been experimenting with different ways to keep some body while keeping it manageable.
This time was a dud, though.
I've got this one patch in the back that refuses to behave and if it is not chemically treated to the brink of death, it is a wild, unruly rat's nest. I guess we didn't get quite to the brink of death point, because it's a mess. I pointed it out to my hairdresser.
"We've been fighting that spot for years," she lamented. "Did you blow dry it straight and this happened?"
I admitted that I didn't blow dry it. She pointed out that it was pretty good for not being blow dried, other than that one spot. She reminded me that the point was really more to reduce frizz and drying time and that it wasn't intended to be a straightener, necessarily, even though it did do that on some hair types.
I explained that the real problem now was that I actually had to brush my hair, several times a day even. She paused in running her fingers through my hair.
"You don't like the new keratin because you have to brush your hair? Ashleeeeeey."
"I'm not saying I don't brush my hair! I just like it better when it's optional for the bus stop at least because that's so early. There's a lot of brushing needed now, so I put it in a ponytail."
She hates it in a ponytail. She sighed."What if you just blew it out, like, twice a week? You shouldn't do more than that anyway. And a ponytail on weekends?"
"I see, maybe, 3 people a day. Is that worth a blow dry? Eh." She agreed that it wasn't. She's lazy like me. (But she does brush her hair willingly, I think.)
She offered to redo the keratin but I dislike the process, so I said I wasn't ready yet. She pointed out that I would just have to brush my hair and maybe break down and blow dry it until I was ready to come in and do it again. I said yes, and ponytails. She shook her head and sent me off to be blow dried by her assistant.
And the next morning, I still woke up with the wild, wavy patch in the back even with a professional blow dry. Such a waste of time.
Soon after this, I was sent a Savvy Sleeper to review (the backlog/turn-around time on product reviews/giveaways right now is ridiculous and I apologize). It's marketed as a satin pillowcase with anti-aging, hair protecting properties but I was mostly looking forward to a nice cool pillow at night. I had already given up on my hair until its next treatment.
So mostly by accident, I went to bed one night with flat-ironed hair (because I had somewhere to go where more than 3 people would see me) and I woke up...with flat-ironed hair. I don't know if it was the lack of friction or the lack of sweat that helped soothe the crazy patch into compliance, but the crazy patch was straight and silky.
I've tried this a few other times, even with a half-assed blow dry and no flat ironing...and I still wake up with it looking like it did when I went to bed, with no crazy patch. Between the Savvy Sleeper and the stronger keratin, I might never have to brush it again.
(Just kidding.)
(No, I'm not.)
Also, the pillowcase feels lovely. Maybe it's a Florida thing but to wake up feeling cool and dry instead of warm and damp is already such an improvement that I don't even care if it keeps my skin young and makes my hair beautiful. The quality is very nice. I was a little concerned because I had a bad experience once at a rental house with faux silk sheets, but this material feels and looks rich. There's also a secret pocket--I've had all kinds of fun thinking of interesting things one might need in their secret pillow pocket. I love it though, I'll put something in there some day. Mr. Ashley fell asleep on my pillow the other night and I wrestled it out from beneath his sleeping head, because I wasn't going without it.
So I think I've skipped the midlife crisis and officially graduated into one of those house wives who goes to the salon for a once a week blow out and sleeps on a satin pillowcase and keeps her hair perfectly intact until the next blow out. I'm going to need a small fluffy dog, a head kerchief, and a convertible Cadillac.
Okay, I wanted those things anyway.
Savvy Sleeper has offered one to you all as well, so if you'd like to brush your hair less, or feel cooler while sleeping, or want to save time in the mornings by doing your blow dry at night and having it stay that way, you have the chance to join me in my satin-y slumber by entering the rafflecopter contest below. There are two ways to enter, I don't care which way you pick (or both!):
a Rafflecopter giveaway
I am long-time friends with the salon owner and barter my copy writing and social media managing skills in exchange for free hair, which is an awesome deal for me. They asked if I'd be the guinea pig for a new type of keratin treatment and I said sure, because when you get stuff for free, you shouldn't be picky. I also know that she values my opinion because I'm always completely honest with her, even if she wishes I wouldn't be.
Usually the keratin makes my hair too straight--it's a nice problem to have for someone with naturally curly hair that frizzes in the humidity but I get tired of it looking so lifeless for the first few weeks. We've been experimenting with different ways to keep some body while keeping it manageable.
This time was a dud, though.
I've got this one patch in the back that refuses to behave and if it is not chemically treated to the brink of death, it is a wild, unruly rat's nest. I guess we didn't get quite to the brink of death point, because it's a mess. I pointed it out to my hairdresser.
"We've been fighting that spot for years," she lamented. "Did you blow dry it straight and this happened?"
I admitted that I didn't blow dry it. She pointed out that it was pretty good for not being blow dried, other than that one spot. She reminded me that the point was really more to reduce frizz and drying time and that it wasn't intended to be a straightener, necessarily, even though it did do that on some hair types.
I explained that the real problem now was that I actually had to brush my hair, several times a day even. She paused in running her fingers through my hair.
"You don't like the new keratin because you have to brush your hair? Ashleeeeeey."
"I'm not saying I don't brush my hair! I just like it better when it's optional for the bus stop at least because that's so early. There's a lot of brushing needed now, so I put it in a ponytail."
She hates it in a ponytail. She sighed."What if you just blew it out, like, twice a week? You shouldn't do more than that anyway. And a ponytail on weekends?"
"I see, maybe, 3 people a day. Is that worth a blow dry? Eh." She agreed that it wasn't. She's lazy like me. (But she does brush her hair willingly, I think.)
She offered to redo the keratin but I dislike the process, so I said I wasn't ready yet. She pointed out that I would just have to brush my hair and maybe break down and blow dry it until I was ready to come in and do it again. I said yes, and ponytails. She shook her head and sent me off to be blow dried by her assistant.
And the next morning, I still woke up with the wild, wavy patch in the back even with a professional blow dry. Such a waste of time.
Soon after this, I was sent a Savvy Sleeper to review (the backlog/turn-around time on product reviews/giveaways right now is ridiculous and I apologize). It's marketed as a satin pillowcase with anti-aging, hair protecting properties but I was mostly looking forward to a nice cool pillow at night. I had already given up on my hair until its next treatment.
So mostly by accident, I went to bed one night with flat-ironed hair (because I had somewhere to go where more than 3 people would see me) and I woke up...with flat-ironed hair. I don't know if it was the lack of friction or the lack of sweat that helped soothe the crazy patch into compliance, but the crazy patch was straight and silky.
I've tried this a few other times, even with a half-assed blow dry and no flat ironing...and I still wake up with it looking like it did when I went to bed, with no crazy patch. Between the Savvy Sleeper and the stronger keratin, I might never have to brush it again.
(Just kidding.)
(No, I'm not.)
Also, the pillowcase feels lovely. Maybe it's a Florida thing but to wake up feeling cool and dry instead of warm and damp is already such an improvement that I don't even care if it keeps my skin young and makes my hair beautiful. The quality is very nice. I was a little concerned because I had a bad experience once at a rental house with faux silk sheets, but this material feels and looks rich. There's also a secret pocket--I've had all kinds of fun thinking of interesting things one might need in their secret pillow pocket. I love it though, I'll put something in there some day. Mr. Ashley fell asleep on my pillow the other night and I wrestled it out from beneath his sleeping head, because I wasn't going without it.
So I think I've skipped the midlife crisis and officially graduated into one of those house wives who goes to the salon for a once a week blow out and sleeps on a satin pillowcase and keeps her hair perfectly intact until the next blow out. I'm going to need a small fluffy dog, a head kerchief, and a convertible Cadillac.
Okay, I wanted those things anyway.
Savvy Sleeper has offered one to you all as well, so if you'd like to brush your hair less, or feel cooler while sleeping, or want to save time in the mornings by doing your blow dry at night and having it stay that way, you have the chance to join me in my satin-y slumber by entering the rafflecopter contest below. There are two ways to enter, I don't care which way you pick (or both!):
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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