up on the watershed

Saturday, July 29, 2006

your cheatin' heart will tell on you

I cheated on my hairstylist. I cheated on her and I am now paying the price, physically and emotionally.

Now hear me out. Listen, I haven't been completely happy with her for a long time. Usually my style turns out okay, but it's never as good as my beloved Becca made it at RZ in Madison. Plus, no matter what, I always walked out of there with a half soaked back because their sinks suck and no one can be bothered to protect my precious skin with a towel or anything. She also likes to take her scissors and make random clips for "texture." I don't need texture. I have texture, especially on humid days, up the wazoo.

So I asked around. I got some recommendations. I made an appointment. It was awful from the get go. The woman didn't listen to me when I talked about how it is cut, how it is styled. She was pushy. She said, at one point, "Ok, we'll do a little your way and a little my way." !!! Um, no. I am the one forking out the bucks here, lady. We do it all my way. In the end, she butchered the back. You are all familiar with the fluffy crazy stacked back of my head. It's cute. It's emo. It's fun. It's what makes my cut awesome. That? Was gone. It was all one length. It was too short. I couldn't fluff. The back of my head looked ridiculous. I couldn't use my beloved Aveda products on it.

I left the salon and promptly burst into tears before I even reached my car.

I am lucky, in a way, because my hair grows at about twice the average rate. After a couple of weeks, the back started looking more presentable, but it'll be a couple months before I can whip it back into fluffing shape, I imagine.

So now, what do I do? I have only a few options, as I see them. I got back to my original hairstylist, who wasn't horrible but it was never quite right, and admit that I cheated. I could tell her I hadn't been exactly happy, but could we try this way instead? She wields scissors, though. She could do bad things to me if she gets angry with cheaters.

I could also go back to her and I could lie, I guess. I could tell her that I couldn't get in on a day I really needed a cut and was forced (forced!) to go to another salon. That story isn't very plausible, though, since she's rarely booked so full that I can't get in with a day or two notice. Again, the cut was never horrible, just not exactly the way it ought to be.

I could ask around again and take my chances on a third stylist, hoping that she will listen to me and consider carefully my hairstyle and not soak my shirt during the shampoo. I'm reluctant to do this, obviously, since we can all see where it got me last time.

Tell me how to mend my cheatin' ways, y'all. What would you do?

Thursday, July 20, 2006

zines

People. Enough already.

It started with SHAPE magazine. Lauryn used to get a subscription and then she stopped getting it and she was sad. One day, I said to her, hey! We're going to get SHAPE again. The day came that SHAPE actually showed up in my mailbox and I could recall (with her prompting) telling Lauryn that we were going to start getting it, but I had no recollection of how I ordered it, whether I paid for it or, basically, how it started appearing in our mailbox and how I knew in advance it was coming.

A couple months later, SHOP, etc. magazine appears in my mailbox. I have at least a six months subscription. I have no idea why this magazine is delivered to me every month; each outfit costs at least half of my monthly salary and would only cover one cheek. And yet, here it is, arriving faithfully each month. Why? How? WHY ARE RANDOM MAGAZINES COMING TO MY HOUSE?

That's not the best part, though. Last month? Ladies' Home Journal appeared. Yeah, that's right. LADIES' HOME JOURNAL. I have a subscription to LADIES' HOME JOURNAL. I wish I were joking. I also wish I were joking when I said I actually read it and it was the most trite, gendered stuff ever. I can only hope that my grandmother thought I was finally mature enough and of the "home/marryin'" mind to start receiving the good old LHJ or something. Otherwise, this is a sick joke that'll keep me guessing next month when Maxim shows up or something.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

leave a message and i'll call you back

My parents are, for better or worse, Luddites. Sure, they're familiar with personal computing and have some decent machines in their home, but I had to beg for them to buy our first family computer when I was in the 8th grade. Every other piece of technological equipment, save the television, has been because of, from, or for me. The VCR (they don't own a DVD player) is from my 13th birthday when I requested a sleepover with movies. The cordless telephone is a Christmas gift I gave them a couple years ago (before that they had corded ones all over the house and on the walls). The answering machine was mine when I was in college, and I brought it home and set it up in their house when I was living with them after graduation and needed a place for potential employers to leave me messages. They hate the answering machine and are really bad at checking it or using it.

So, when my mom got her first cell phone last week, I expected a bit of an adjustment period. I haven't seen the phone yet, but I imagine it's the smallest, most high tech little piece of plastic she's ever held. Conversations with her go like this:

...ring, ring...
...ring, ring...
...ring, ring...
...ring, ring...

Disembodied voice: The number you are dialing, 414-555-1212, is not available right now. Please leave a message after the tone.

...tone...

Hi, mom, it' sme. Just calling you on your new phone. Give me a call when you get a chance. Love you, bye!

(pause 4 minutes while my mom tries to find the phone she heard ringing in her bottomless purse)

...ring, ring... goes my phone

Me: Hi, Mom!
Mom: HI BOO. DID YOU JUST CALL ME?
Me (turns down volume): Yep, I did. How's it going?
Mom: I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOU CALLING, SO I DECIDED TO CALL YOU BACK ON MY PHONE.
Me: (to self) Pretty sure you had confirmation it was me via Caller ID... (to her) Cool! How is that going?
Mom: (MORE LOUD TALKING)

The novelty of the cell phone has not yet worn out on her, either. It's really cute. She called me while I was driving home from Trader Joe's on Sunday afternoon. It was around dinnertime back in Wisco and we had talked the day before, but only briefly, so she said she'd call me back.

Me: Hi, Mom. What's up?
Mom: (noisy restaurant sounds in background) HI ALI. I AM AT DINNER WITH YOUR GRANDMOTHER AND YOUR AUNTS AND UNCLES. DO YOU WANT TO TALK TO THEM??
Me: (to self) You mean the aunts and uncles I never talk to except at family holidays and get togethers? (to her) No, no, that's okay.
Mom: ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T WANT TO TALK WITH YOUR GRANDMOTHER?
Me: (sighs) Yeah, okay, I can do that.

Grandma: Oh! Hello?
Me: Hi Grandma. How are you?
Grandma: I'm good! We are out to dinner with everyone. Oh! ooooh! There are lots of people here so I'll pass you on, okay?
Me: No, no, Grandma, that's okay. Can you just give me back to my mom?

Aunt Janeen: (laughing) Hi Alison. How are you?
Me: I'm good, but I didn't really want to be passed on. Can you give me back to my mom, please?
AJ: Sure!

(I hear scuffling and confusion)

Mom: Hi Boo, oh you wanted to talk to your grandmother again?
Me: No, NOOOOOOOOO! Mom! No!
Grandma: Hello? I thought with so many people you'd want to talk only briefly!
Me: (sighs)

Saturday, July 08, 2006

on blowing and jobs

I've been having a streak of bad life lately, some of which I imagine I will write about eventually. One of the best things (besides what seems like a functioning research project) I've got going for me right now is my half-time job at that big non-profit I mentioned a few weeks ago. I spend my afternoons calling local businesses to see if any of their employees would like to learn more about our event and attend a kickoff breakfast. There is lots of cheesy motivational stuff going on 'cause it's not easy work (examples: stickers on the wall reflect how many invites we've each personally issued). My boss gave us all party horns. You know the kind that roll up into a tight circle and roll out when you blow? We are encouraged to blow the horn when we get a Yes, so that others in the office may applaud us and make a fuss. Sometimes, blowing that horn feels like pure joy and is the highlight of my day.