Thursday, August 28, 2014

salon results


Ok. Let's all just admit that the blog is dying. Its life is slowly seeping out of it in a way that reminds me of my old beta fish, who eventually committed suicide by jumping out of his (or her? can you tell with fish?) tank, meeting death from the soft and cushy carpet of my upstairs bedroom. Oh Shooting Star, why did you have to leave me? Was it because I kept you in a tank the size of a shot glass? Did you  not like swimming, living in, and breathing your own feces? I thought your life was good. But I guess every shooting star eventually becomes a meteor that crashes into the surface of a planet and explodes. You were only living up to your name.


...why am I talking to my dead fish? 
#ihavenofriends #jk #ihavelotsoffriends #rightguys? #hashtag

ANYway, I came back to this forsaken land of a blog because for the first time in about 7 years I went to a hair salon. And while there I realized a few things about myself. Because self-realization can happen anywhere.

So, since it's been awhile, I present another list all about me. yay.


6 Reasons why I Don't Belong in a Salon
4 points for slant rhymes

1. Mirrors 
There are mirrors everywhere in salons. Big ones hanging from the ceiling, entire walls made of mirrors, little ones hidden in drawers, decorative circular mirrors arranged in perfectly random patterns, reflective surfaces on hair dryers and chairs, sparkles in the tile, and the eyeballs of the other women sitting in their adjustable seats. No matter where you are in the salon, you can see any other person in the salon, and sometimes the lady across the street walking her kitten in a night gown. I don't want to see myself or anyone else's backward face that much. people look like completely different beings in a mirror! admit it. and then you sprain your brain trying to realize that you've never actually seen your own face and what if you don't look anything like what you think you look like and then you're in a panic attack. But at least there's a mirror there for you to see yourself having a panic attack.

2. Small Talk
There are not many things I dislike more than having to make small talk with a complete stranger who I know I'm never going to see again. I don't like telling strangers about all the gossip of my life, my opinions on having kids, where I'd put a tattoo if I had one, or the name of my favorite childhood stuffed animal. it was mr. bear for all who are interested. he had a floral suit and bow tie. Nor do I care to hear about their latest drama with waxing their armpits, what shingles is like for them, or how many times they've spilled diet coke in their car. Chatting is some people's favorite part of the salon visit. But unless you want to small talk about the ethics behind price gauging during times of natural disaster, chat about the responsibility of the West in the current turmoil between Ukraine and Russia, or gossip about the completely ridiculous nature of conspiracy theories and my utter lack of patience for those who hold to them, I am not one of those people.

3. Literature
I shouldn't even call it that, for to do so is to disgrace every single combination of words that has ever existed on any of planets known or unknown to humankind. The magazines at the salon are trashy and degrading. I mean, I like attractive men, nice clothes, and beauty products as much as the next woman, but that stuff on the coffee table is out of hand. Fortunately I found a Sotheby's catalog to thumb through instead, and came to the conclusion that I need to own a $44 million dollar home in Park City. So far I have four 1 dollar bills in my wallet. #onmyway

4. Smells
I think I about died of asphyxiation a number of times. But hey, now my hair smells like flowers. Chemically engineered flowers. mmmmmmm

5. They cut your hair
I know, this seems ridiculous. That's why I went in there, to get my hair cut. But every single time I do I really wish I hadn't. Yes, it was only 2 inches and now it feels soft and smooth, the ends aren't breaking off into my food and I no longer resemble a 78 year old broom. But its shorter. I don't like that. And I had to pay for it.

6. I don't look any different
In the end, I walk out as Rachel Weiler. I haven't suddenly been transformed into Jennifer Lawrence or Blake Lively or Jennifer Aniston, who are the women I have hair envy of. I still have a cowlick in the middle of my forehead and whispies that do whatever the heck they want. i actually have very fond and endearing feelings toward both my cowlick and whispies. for the record. but is that weird still? meh.


I am grateful for the talent and training that the stylists in salons have undergone in order to provide me with such a necessary service. I'm just going to stick to my schedule of visiting the hair school every 6 months for my semi-annual trim. That way I can just keep looking like this for the rest of my life. 



Some man is going to be very lucky. Or at least very understanding.

peace and Reeses' Puffs Cereal

rrw

someday I'll post pictures from Montana. Its just that I have over 800 of them so....




2 comments:

  1. If you stop writing in this blog, you had better write a book!!! You are one of the most entertaining writers I've ever had the privilege to observe, appreciate, and admire.

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    Replies
    1. Hilary! Hahaha thank you so much! That seriously is reason enough to hold on a little longer. The blog now owes its life to you. I'm hardly exaggerating. Love you!

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