Cinnamony goodness
This weekend was all about my hair.
I had an appointment to get it colored and cut on Saturday, and the day started off badly. I woke up at 4:30 and couldn't get back to sleep; I finally got up and checked my email, read a few websites, then sat down in my chair to read for awhile. Pyewacket curled up in my lap, I read a few pages, then fell asleep again in the chair. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but it was almost 10:00 when I woke up, and my appointment was at 11:00.
I had to go to the post office to mail something, and they would be closed when my appointment was finished, so I had to do it first, and I had to get some cash to tip the beautician, so I rushed around getting ready, dashed out to the post office, and figured I would get a $20 bill broken there when I paid for the package postage.
As I was standing at the counter having the package weighed, my cell phone rang--it was Bob, who was out of town for the weekend on a fishing trip. I wanted to talk to him, of course, but he didn't want to hold on, and I fumbled around, paid for the shipping with a handful of dollar bills, and forgot my whole mission of getting change for the tip.
So I rush off again toward the salon, starving since all I'd had at home was a cup of tea that I made when I got up at 4:30, so I stopped at a grocery store and bought a bottle of water and a granola bar, and this time, at least, remembered to get change, so I had a $10.00 bill (for the stylist) and a $5.00 bill (for the assistant), and got there just in time to be seated at a station that had no mirror.
Well, that isn't true. It had a partial mirror. Why would they have mirrors that aren't continuous, and then put non-movable chairs in front of the break? It boggles the mind.
And it took forever until someone came back for me, a forever during which I had to listen to the woman in the seat next to me talk continuously to the stylist who was coloring her hair--a monologue about her dog, her house, her remodeling, her ex-husband, her yard, her job, etc., etc., etc. When the stylist finished with her, I thought at least she'd be quiet now and just read a magazine or something, but no! The stylist was going to work on me next (short story -- my stylist is like the top stylist or something (read "most expensive"), so other people put the color on my hair after she mixes it, and every few weeks it's someone new, as the assistants graduate to full stylist status).So the woman was free to continue talking while my was being done because she was sitting right next to me.
My stylist came by right before the color went on to tell me that the salon had changed brands of hair color, so it would smell different, but not to worry, it would look the same.
I don't suppose it's a stretch to assume that that didn't turn out to be true.
It's not awful. It's not hideous. But it's not my color. It's too light--the top, under overhead lights, is almost blonde. The stylist, who I like very much, she's a really nice lady, offered to do it over, of course, which is exactly what she should have done when I said I was unhappy with it.
But it was 12:30, I needed to eat, I had no guarantee that doing it over would improve things, my morning had been crap, I was just getting over being sick and still sneezing and coughing, and I was already trying not to cry in the chair. I just wanted to get out of there and crawl into a hole by myself. She took me out in the parking lot with a mirror so I could see it in natural light, but I was worried that maybe I was just overreacting (I was, of course, to a certain extent), and maybe it wasn't that different (it's too light, but probably no one else will ever notice), and maybe I was just freaked out by the fact that the brand was different (I was, of course--I don't like change like this at ALL).
The whole beauty parlor thing is something that I never really got into. I go in every six weeks like clockwork, and I've been doing it for two or three years, I guess, and I dread it every time, in varying degrees of dread. It's difficult for me to sit and try to make smalltalk for an hour and a half with various people that I don't really know, and man, almost anyone looks really ugly with their hair covered in goop, no make-up, those really bright artificial lights, huge mirrors . . . Not exactly your most confidence-building scenario.
And, of course, I'm sensitive about it anyway, and my hair has always been beautiful, and I just haven't had to think about it, it was always great. Now I have to think about it again.
Oh, and I'm growing out the bangs, which is excrutiating. She combed them down over my eyes--they reach my nose, about, now--and she said, "So, are you happy with the length of your bangs right now?" and I felt like saying, "Are you insane??!!" I didn't. I did say, "No, they're awful, I hate them, they're driving my crazy! But I'm trying to get my hair all one length, so I can stand it." (Did she forget? Maybe. Or maybe she was just trying to change the subject from my newly-blonded hair.)
Oh--and while I was getting my hair cut and trying not cry about the color, the guy in the chair next to me was being a complete jerk. He was getting a haircut and then he'd ask if he could get his chest waxed, and then he wondered if the stylist could do his eyebrows like his wife's, and then he was saying something about condoms, and I just thought, "What an idiot." I couldn't tell if the stylist thought this banter was charming or not.
Oh well. I wrote an email to the salon, wording it very carefully to say that my stylist did a wonderful job, but that I was extremely irritated by the salon's decision to change brands, and that I was considering going somewhere else since I could no longer count on having my color be the same from time to time. While my stylist was trying to make me feel better, she said, "Oh, I bet you'll get lots of compliments on it!" and I wailed, "I don't want to get compliments, people aren't supposed to know," and she said, "Oh, no one will notice."
Barb called and heard the whole story, and said I should take a digital picture and send it to her, and I did have Bob take a picture, but I'm sure it looks like about like my hair always looks. It's one of those things that I know is different, but I doubt anyone else looks at my close enough to notice. Particularly at my office, where I work with all men. They probably don't even realize I have hair.
Bob got home Sunday night, exhausted, and it was really cold out, and I was still grumpy about my hair (which I was now wearing with two plastic barrettes holding the bangs out of my eyes, so it looked really great), so we ordered pizza.
I called Pizza Hut and ordered a large pizza, and the girl came back and said, "Since you ordered a large pizza, you get a free order of our new dessert--CinnaSticks." I said, "Oh, we can't have those, thanks anyway, it's Lent." After a pause, she said, "You can't have CinnaSticks?" which made me laugh. It was like she thought there was a place in the bible where it listed "Lent: No CinnaSticks."
I explained that my husband is Catholic, and he gives up desserts for Lent, and she said, "Um . . . I don't know how to take them off." That made me laugh again, and I told her it was fine, don't worry about it, we'll deal with it, and she said, "Oh, I feel so bad!" I assured her it was no big deal, but she told me a couple more times that she felt awful--I'm sure she thought she was sending us down the road to Hell with her damned CinnaSticks.
I told her I would take them to work or something, but we ended up throwing them away. I just wasn't sure how well they would keep overnight, and I didn't want to deal with it. Fortunately, the trash goes out on Sunday nights, so we didn't have to smell their cinnamony goodness for long.
Mark at Boing Boing asked what electronic devices readers carry with them every day.
A few years ago, I asked my readers what they carry, and they responded with some interesting lists.
I loved reading those lists, and thought it might be time to revisit the question because I think people (some people anyway) enjoy taking inventory. And also because it would be a good way to test out Quick Topic's message board service.
