So once upon a time, I got my hair cut in France. (I was going to link to the previous pretty priceless passing post about it, but since I am retarded, I don't know how. See: Punk Ace Red Hair in December 2006) While I was there waiting, and during the horrific experience that ensued, the same song was playing over and over again: "It Goes Around the World" by Atc. Poke my eyes out. It was 6 years ago and the song is still in my head. Of course it's only natural that I automatically relate this song with haircuts. Especially bad hair cuts. So it would only make sense that now that I am again a victim of badhaircutitis I can't get it out of my head.
So I'm at my friend Nissa's house yesterday (holla!) and I saw a picture on her fridge of one of her friends who had THE cutest hair! I decided right then and there that I would have that haircut and I wouldn't wait another day to do it. My cute neighbor Stacie (holla again!) came over to play with Jack and I went to Supercuts. Now, I realize this is exactly where it all went terribly wrong. EVERYONE in the free world knows that when you go to a Supercuts, it couldn't possibly end well. Supercuts just doesn't have a reputation for being, well, super. (In my defense, I tried to make an appointment with a friend from church who has a salon in her home but she wasn't there and it COULDN'T wait!) I will never again pay so little for a haircut. We've discussed my wonderful husband who would rather die a thousand deaths than pay more than $5 for a haircut so I have never felt validated going to a "real" salon to get my hair done. This is about to change. I figure once a year, I can splurge on a great haircut. Mostly because only twice in my life have I ever had, what I considered a "good haircut." Usually I leave the salon repeating over and over to myself that it's only hair...it's only hair...it's only hair...in an attempt to keep from breaking into hysterical sobs. I tried to tame it down a little once I got to the car but let me tell you that when I woke up this morning, I looked like Nick Nolte in his ever-so-famous mug shot. Not good.
2 smart remarks:
Wow, you've been writing a P.P. passing point every day. Took me a few minutes to get caught up with ya.
I share similar feelings about getting out of the shower (as documented several P.P.P. points ago), and always consider it a moral victory, a triumph of spirit over weak flesh, when I turn those faucets off and venture, a-shivering, into the abyss of the cold rest-of-the-bathroom. If I do nothing else of worth in a day, at least I can say that I got out of the shower.
I do not share your compulsion to hand-scrub my floor, but doff my cap to you in admiration at your fastidiousness.
I'll e-mail you soon to arrange a get-together for the youngsters...which could be innaresting, as my tot also eschews sharing.
Okay, we're going to need to see the pictures. Or, I guess, I could just wait until I see you on Sunday.
Hmmm, I do definitely empathize with your haircutting plight, though. When we lived in NC, and I didn't have my fab sister to cut my hair for me, I went through various and sundry stylists looking for some (ANYONE) who knew how to cut curly hair. Apparently, curly-headed people don't get their hair cut (and now I know why).
My favorite episode was the girl who gave me layers. Wait, I mean layer. Just one. I looked like I had this shelf of hair that was lopped off about halfway down the length of the rest of my hair. I went home and cried to my sister on the phone who, while sympathetic, wasn't willing to jump on a plane right then to come fix my hair. I still have nightmares about that one.
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