Cat-urday.

There are a lot of things I'll miss when I leave Alaska.

My home, and everything in it. My parents, and all those weekends spent at home watching basketball over fancy arse homemade cocktails. My job, and the abundance of coffee consumed in a day. Alaska itself, and her wild terrain.

What I'll miss especially though, is my cat. 

I get called a cat lady often, mostly in jest, but in all reality, I am a catwoman.

I take cat naps, I scour the house for sun spots, I whine when I'm hungry, and I certainly won’t complain if attention is directed my way. 

And my cat Fudge does it all with me. 

I've been home alone for a few days now and me and Fudge have been keeping each other company. She knows I'm leaving, all those packed bags in my room are evidence enough, and it's gonna kill me when I leave Alaska and move somewhere new and she won't be with me. She has been very kneady, and it’ll make it even harder when I wish her goodbye. 

I'm thinking of all the possible ways I can get my cat fix. Meet some young single men who happen to have cats (do they even exist?), volunteer at a cat shelter...

Oh it'll be a cat-astrophe without Fudge for sure, but I'll make it work. 

Somehow. 

Anyhoo, in celebration of Cat-urday, which is technically every day, I spent it in the most authentic cat-tastic ensemble, in honor of my favorite feline friend, Fudge. 

If that's not the most cat lady post ever..

Long Hair, Don't Care.

It's been far too long since I let my hair down.

I got a taste of it when I was in San Francisco my last day. My friend Whitney and I walked from Fisherman's Wharf across the Golden Gate Bridge (nearly five miles) and it was a bit chilly by the water, so I let my long hair down.

It not only provided me immense warmth and protection from the wind, but I felt freed from months and months of buns and ponytails.

Don't get me wrong, I love me some big buns, but nothing beats the feeling at the end of the day when I take that pony out and let my long hair sashay across my back. Pair that with the unclipping of my bra and I am a happy woman. 

But then I got to thinking about possibly chopping it all off and donating it before my big move. 

New city, new look. 

That thought didn't last long. 

First of all, I love my mermaid hair. Ever since I heard Ed Sheeran so sweetly singing about a long-haired lover, "And you should never cut your hair cause I love the way you flip it off your shoulders..." and ever since I first watched in awe as Catherine Zeta Jones’ luscious locks were the only covering remaining after Zorro’s chop chop, I kept my hair long. 

What deterred me most from cutting my hair though was the mentality of me becoming somenone "new." Sure, I know I'm about to enter a foreign world, a future full of uncertainty and adulting, and there will be some major change for sure, but I'll remain the same woman, just grown up a little. 

My long hair isn’t my whole identity, but it’s something I really love about myself and I want to move to California confident and strong, and call it a security blanket (or a literal blanket on those cold San Fransciscan days), but it’s staying!  

Plus, it’s part of who I am, this tall exotic creature who struts down manestreet with her long hair blowing in the wind. 

One could almost say it’s part of my... hairitage.