I woke up at 1:45 yesterday morning. Not a terribly interesting fact, although it may indicate insomnia related to stress or the consumption of

too much sugar, nothing to write home about. Unless it was my marimba alarm on my iPhone 4 that woke me up at that hour. But why? Why would I wake up before birdsand farmers, make my bed, pull on yoga pants, a hoodie and my wellies to slosh through the spring rainstorm outside to get to my friend's house? I've got two words for you folks who don't understand the significance of

April 29, 2011:

Royal. Wedding.

Yes, I was one of the crazies that woke up when most clubbers are just getting home from the discotheque in order to watch two strangers say I do (or technically "I will" "I do" was never part of the ceremony) because they are royalty and adorable and I'm a hopeless romantic and fancy life/fashion junky. It promised to be everything lovely and British and it did not disappoint. It was all about the love . . .and the fashion. Toss up which was more important to me. And who can actually blame me?

If this dress isn't sigh-worthy, I don't know what is. It's classy, elegant and as if Grace Kelly and Maria Von Trapp's wedding dresses got together and had the most perfect baby. The bodice. Don't worry that the bouquet is quite parfait as well or that the suitably elegant and sparkly but not too much tiara was the tiara Queen Elizabeth received on her 18th birthday. I have a rather far fetched fantasy of Princess Kate and the Queen having a little dress up party before the wedding.
I love that the little girls look like little girls (do you see the scalloped hems?) and the crowns of flowers were sweet but not overwhelming. And the maid of honor. What a classy, to die for dress. Sweet Mercy, if only all brides were confident (and nice) enough to let their maids of honor look as good as they do.
They look so well together don't they? A lesson to learn from a royal wedding all y'all that are planning to tie the knot: people in a wedding party ought to look like they're all going to the same wedding. The bride and groom need to give us a visual cue of being a couple. Done and done with this royal couple, as far as I'm concerned.

Here are the party clothes. I love that this reception dress and her actual ceremony gown aren't the same but again, they look like they belong in the same wedding. All of it in such good taste. Worth the 2am wake up call? Mais oui!

I have never been much of a makeup person. I didn't start wearing mascara until I was 16 (I'm not entirely sure as to the reason why, maybe I was willful or lazy or just had some mental block up against it . . .and believe me it was for no "free women from oppression" or other feministic reasons, the reasons were more personal, I'm sure. But who wants to delve into that right now? Not me). Anyway, and since then, I do wear it but I've basically found things that work and stuck with them. Not in a I'm still wearing the hot pink lipstick I wore at me high school graduation in 93 way, but in a "oh I woke up and I'm naturally gorgeous this way" way. Well Winter semester 2011 represented me shooting out of makeup comfort zone in TMA 267: aka Beginning Makeup Design (I kid you not. It's required. I know, I am in fact in the best program in the whole of BYU's campus). But believe you me, it was not all a frolic in a field of bouton d'or, no m'am. It was some rigorous stuff but along the way I discovered some things: 1.putting foundation on makes my freckles go away and I've decided I don't like that sensation. "Time to take my individuality away" I'd say as I got the foundation out (yes, I'm very charming sometimes, aren't I?) 2. I look good in red lipstick. Who'd a thunk. And I secretly loved wearing it. 3. My absolute favorite part of makeup design: grossies and gories or what I call ouchies and owies. I tell you what, there is nothing more gratifying in this whole wide makeup world than making a convincing cut or chemical burn. I was ruined to all other forms of makeup design after being introduced to the world of wounds. I imagined every other design being created out of a series of cuts or burns. I pined for the day I could once again show my mad icky skills. That day came when we received the final project. We had to choose a character and design the makeup for it. The grossest-faced character I could think of was the Phantom of the Opera, sans his mask. I really don't like that show, or the Phantom but I would sacrifice that if I could do something gross. Oh and it was gross. Take a look:
I mean come on! Pretty fantastic, yes? It's putty, liquid latex and toilet paper. All painted and vaselined. The more I look at it, the more delight I get from it. I know, right? Every once and a while I'd turn to my two friends int he class and ask: icky? Usually there was a slight yelp followed by a "good work." What can I say? We all have our special talents. I think one thing that draws me to the ouchies and owies is the fact it doesn't take tons of precision. It's all about playing around with the color and texture. In some odd maybe twisted way, it helped me get all in touch with my inner child.

I latexed over the whole design so my face basically came off in one chunky piece. Gross, but funny. I must admit that when I show these pictures and the viewers get the shivers, I feel gratified. I've done my grossies job.

Even I have to admit that this is pretty gag-reflex inducing. Especially the fact that on the side you can see where the latex pulled hairs out of my head. But this is the Phantom's skin post-mortem. I showed someone this picture and they said "Ahh! I thought it was a piece of bacon!" That's almost a nastier notion than what it really is. Can you imagine gluing bacon to your face. C'est berk ca!

At one point or another in a person's life their thoughts will be preoccupied with something that seems trivial or perhaps meaningless but actually is a big deal. These things may come up more often for those of us who think too much for our own good. But alas, such is my lot. And as I am ending winter semester and am luxuriating in the six days of no school before spring term begins, I have been thinking some on the subject of hair.

Or rather my hair. Maybe it's the change of seasons or weather or thinking about the fact that exactly a year ago in 5 days, I was on a plane to Paris and now I'm not (which is ok, and school is fun . . .it's just not Paris, ya know?) or the fact everyone around me is getting a new do whatever it is. But everytime I look in the mirror I think:

Dear Hair,

I take good care of you, right? I wash you and condition you and put mousse on the curl so it doesn't freak out in a negative way (we both know there are 2 kinds of curl freak out, enough said). And I love you; your color and curl. So why, dear hair do you seem to be angry with me at the present time?

Affectionately,

Caitlin

You don't write letters in your head to your hair? I find practicing friendly letter writing everyday to be a useful task, keeps you in touch with the past. Anyway. Although I know it's pretty much me and my Mama that read this thing I'm asking y'all: how do you fix this thing? I think ever since the haircutting post about 14 months ago I've been scared to do anything with my hair. All I know is I'm getting to the point where neither a braid nor a bun satisfies, so I half way French braid my hair and then put the rest of it in a bun. I don't know what this means for me exactly, but it feels like it may be a less than positive sign.