For those of you that (don't) care, I went ahead and got that haircut last week. Or whenever that was. The days run together when you work in a windowless basement.* I went to a fancy-pants salon in Edmond (the snooty suburb of OKC) to have my head massaged and drink wine and shit while they cut my hair at 7pm, because that's the only time I have to take care of these things (I've left clothes at the dry cleaner for almost two months now because I never make it home in time to pick them up, can they mail them to me?). I said to the chick, it's been since August, so I'm going to need my ends trimmed, also, I'd like more layering, and can we talk about bangs? She responded by giving me what appears to be the same haircut I had in second grade. Blunt shoulder length. Thanks. I paid my money, including a good tip, for no apparent reason and haven't stopped bitching about it because that's how I do. I am hopeless at communicating my hair desires to hair professionals. I'm eternally unhappy with the results, which is sad since my soft hair is probably the best feature I have going for me, which leads me to punch number two.
Have you ever been 27 and the puberty fairy visits you and plops a gigantic bindi like zit smack dab in the middle of your forehead? No? Lucky you. Not that you were going to invite me anyway, but I'm hiding out till this sucker's a goner.
Thanks life!**
*In all honesty, my jobs is quite all right. It can be challenging and sometimes I feel like I'm essentially volunteering, but I doubt I'll ever have bosses this awesome ever again.
**Yes, things could be worse, but I'd rather obsess over my hair than read about how sad the world is.
4 comments:
I have found that taking a picture of a haircut I like helps immensely when I am at the salon. Otherwise I am shaking my head and pulling the hair out and saying words like "more floofier" and then I end up with some crazy "European" cut that makes me look like your 12 year old brother.
I was at a hosty acoustic show this week at D's and Mike said something about a blythe being 7 feet tall. Was that you?
2 things:
1. I first read this "have my head massaged and drink wine and shit" as if you were pooing.
2. At least you are not currently suffering from "adult acne" I mean WTF is that? My dermatologist was like "how old are you?" this is strange you have this now. I was like no effing shit a-hole. I'm sorry I'm bitter.
thank you. I feel better now.
That's true about acne.
I think I finally finished puberty last year because since then, I have been blemish free.
I'm 33.
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