Vampires at the Hilton

Miguel woke up at 4:30 this morning and yelled for me from his bedroom - through his closed door. Did I get up and rush to his side? No I did not...and not just because it was technically Single Parenting Day 19. I opened one eye and waited for another muffled yell and then, when I got it, yelled back, "WHAT?!" He responded with more muffled yelling but it sounded more like the adults in Charlie Brown than something from a horror film so I chose to remain in bed and yelled back, "COME HERE!" That's a lot of yelling for 4:30 in the morning.

He finally came into my room and said that he had a nightmare. I told him to get in bed with me and he did. He snuggled up close - way close- and just as I started to drift back to sleep he said, "I need to pee". So, he threw off all the covers, got up out of bed, and went to the bathroom. I was then awake and cold. He came back a few minutes later and wrapped himself around me once again. By the time he settled, I had about an hour left before I needed to get up.

It turns out that an hour is plenty of time to dream that you are a vampire staying at the Hilton in NY . I didn't look like a vampire but I forgot my room key in my room which is (according to my dream) the universal sign that you are about to become a vampire. I was very sad about this but resigned to my fate. One of the hotel staff approached me and asked what was wrong and I said that I forgot my key in my room. He offered to help me but I said in my saddest voice, "No, that's okay..." I returned to my room and walked in without the key and found Frankenstein in there. Frankenstein was removing the light fixtures and I sighed heavily because being a vampire was going to be a big pain in the ass if it meant I had to deal with Frankenstein. Frankie looked at me like "Are you going to help with this?" and I shrugged and got out a stepladder. We removed the fixtures and water poured into the room. Then Frankie jumped into my arms (he was now the size of a kitten) and bit me. It was only then that I began to transform into my vampiric self. I dropped Frankie like a hot potato and stormed from the room. Once out of the room, I felt a sense of urgency and I began to run and I took the stairs rather than the elevator. I started swinging down the stairs using the handrails and then...I started flying. My clothes transformed into flowing black robes, my hair became black and long, my face became whiter (who knew that was even possible?) and I flew down through the stairwells. It was creepy and awesome all at the same time. Right before I burst into the lobby, I woke up.

Obviously, I caught my bad dream from Miguel.

I then stumbled into the bathroom and found a stapler on the bath mat. It's hard to figure out why there would be a stapler in the bathroom anytime but it's particularly hard to grasp when you didn't get much sleep and you're recovering from being a high class vampire. I couldn't figure it out and just left it there because that is the kind of person I've become in the last 19 days.

As I sat drinking my coffee, I remembered. When I got home from class last night, I found Miguel in the bathroom with pages and pages of hand drawn mazes spread over the bathroom floor. He was making books. So, that's why there was a stapler in the bathroom. Because, of course, bathrooms are the place to colate.

The Art of My Personal Hair

Y'all asked for pictures of my hair and I aim to please so please enjoy! I tried wetting my hair and combing it back to get it out of my face for the evening (since no one was going to see me except now the whole internet is seeing me so perhaps I should have thought about this picture business a little more carefully) and it did this. Without product. My hair is not working.

For the purposes of this article, I interviewed my stylist, Zeca (age 6). She said, "It's getting there. You just need to shave the back again and let the front grow a bit longer. It's working!"

My stylist is a liar.

This evening, she suggested that I grow it out to her length (longer than shoulder length) and then shave off one side. Never trust a 6 year old stylist, especially one who refuses to brush her own hair.

In other hair-related news, my hair has a Facebook Fan Page! My twitter pal @klr74 made one after my hair harrassed her. Won't you head over to Facebook and "like" it? It would mean a lot to...um...my hair?

But, there is more to life than my hair woes. I've written a couple of fun posts for Aiming Low and, if you don't follow me on Twitter and are not a friend of mine on Facebook, you might have missed them. So, I'm going to link to them here and hope you check them out:

Love Notes for Long-term Relationships

Look Mom! I Married a Foreigner!

Now, I have to peel a kitten off of my lap and go read Phillip Lopate's "The Art of the Personal Essay". [SPOILER ALERT] It's painfully boring. But, I'm hoping it will help me write a book that you might want to read someday.

Goodnight and good hair.

Feet of Daring

I get lots of  e-mail from readers saying, "Vikki, I love your writing and you are so very pretty. I would love to read more stories about your feet!" Okay...I don't really get "lots" of e-mails and no one says I'm pretty and no one ever asks for stories about my feet. But, I want to be proactive! So, let's talk about my feet!

I have never liked going barefoot. Ever. So, I avoid it whenever possible. When people talk about the feel of the grass on their feet, I roll my eyes because 1) grass is itchy and 2) I don't want to be the unlucky winner in the dog poop lottery. I don't like sandals either. I wear shoes and socks because they make my feet feel cozy and safe and secure.

But something weird happened while we were in Portugal. We spent a week in Melides and went to the beach every day. I do wear flip flops to the beach - I have no choice. Have you ever tried to put socks on wet and sandy feet? I have and even I don't feel enough sock lovin' to go through that ordeal. So, I wore flip flops and I got used to just slipping them on day in and day out. Then, we went back to Lisbon and I continued to wear them out of this newly formed habit. Then, at some point, I started enjoying the flip flops. They were light! My feet felt free! My feet were cool! My feet got tan! I wore flip flops exclusively for the rest of the trip. When it was time to fly back to the states, I put on my shoes and socks and my feet felt stifled. They had tasted freedom and were no longer content to dwell within the confines of cotton, canvas and leather. Once home, my feet were reunited with their beloved flip flops and were free once again. Sometimes, late at night when the covers were thrown off and my feet were caressed by the summer breeze coming through the windows, I swear that I could hear them murmur "thank you".

Last Sunday, Luisa and I bought Zeca a new bed and had to take apart her old bed from Ikea. I have put together and taken apart many pieces of Ikea furniture but this one was a huge pain in the ass and was comprised of approximately 3,497 pieces. Luisa made a quick sale and a guy came to pick it up on Monday. I suggested that I carry out all of the pieces and he could then load them neatly into his car. I'm so chivalrous. So, I began carrying out the 3,497 pieces of bed and two boards slipped from my hand and fell on the top of my foot - my free and easy, hippy, flip flop wearing foot - and left a big gash. I finished carrying all the stuff out and sent the guy on his way and then cleaned my bloody toe. I went to put my flip flops back on but I couldn't wear them because they rubbed the gash. So, I've been wearing shoes and socks since then.

Today, my toe hurt so much that I was actually limping. I just examined it and it's infected. See? THIS IS WHY PEOPLE SHOULD WEAR SHOES AND SOCKS! Feet need protection and mine are going to get it! I will now be immune to their pleas and the echos of murmured gratitude. Socks and shoes. Socks. And. Shoes.

*I have nothing important to say here but felt this post deserved a footnote.