It's amazing how one phone call can ruin ones day. Something as quick as a five... ten... or even a twenty minute conversation out of the entire twenty-four hours that make up a day can effect how the rest of your day goes. Those minutes are a mere fraction of the day and yet what a difference they make. It's amazing how my willingness to take other people's crap dimenishes as the work week progresses. That perky work-voice that starts out the beginning of the week turns into a "Hi. Whatdoyouwant?" by the end of the week.
Normally I am able to put on my fake smile and pretend that no matter how asenine your request is, I am absolutly thrilled to do it for you. No matter how long you keep me on the phone because you're not quite sure when you can spare 15 minutes to get your eyebrows waxed while a line forms at my desk. Or when you call to make an appointment for your mother, daughter, sister, brother, and have no idea what time they could make it into the salon next week. And then I thank you, ever so nicely for wasting the last five minutes of my life.
Here are a few tips for making appointments at a salon or spa:
- Before having the receptionist book an appointment for you, make sure to inform her or him of all services you are looking to receive. Do you think that just because you can get in with your favorite stylist at 3pm tomorrow that everything else you want done will magically work around that time? No, it won't. In order to coordinate your appointments, your receptionist should know that you want a Brazillian in addition to your shampoo, blowdry, flat iron.
- Do not call into the salon and start the conversation off like this, "Hi, I would like to make an appointment." and then wait for your receptionist to respond because I can guarantee you that it will be, "For what?" Sure, I can make an appointment for you, let me just pick a service out of my magic hat over here. Wow, it's your lucky day, you get to come in next Thursday for microdermabrasion. Oh, you wanted a hair cut? I'm sorry, we make appointments based on what the magic hat says.
- DO NOT ask for your receptionist to leave a message for your sylist to call you to come in on their day off. How would you like it if your boss called to ask if you could come on into work on a regularly scheduled day off because Monday just won't work for her or him? You would be none too pleased.
- Do not tell your receptionist your life story while booking an appointment. She or he has five other phone lines flashing red and ten people waiting in line to pay. All they need to know is what you're booking the appointment for, what technician you want to see, and when you want to come in. NEXT!
- Finally, when your receptionist asks, "How can I help you?" do not reply, "I'm beyond help." and then laugh as if that joke has never before been used. Because it has, about fifty-thousand times a day. And it's not funny.
As long as you follow these guidelines, your trip to a salon or spa should be quite relaxing. You won't have to worry that the receptionist you just ticked off will be pouring your diet coke right over your brand new hair-do.
22 May 2008
19 May 2008
I lost my rose colored glasses for a bit
Last week was an emotional one. You are all very lucky I didn't decide to post about every loop, twirl, twist, and flip. You may have ended up with a stomach ache and I probably don't have enough Tum*s to go around. The week began with Mother's Day, about which I thought I would write a what-I-loved-about-my-mom type post in her memory but every time the thought eeked its way into my consciousness, on came the water-works. I think I'll save that idea for next Mother's Day, or maybe Mother's Day 2015.
The next day was my birthday. The big two-six. During the days prior to this, my day of birth, friends asked what I wanted to do in celebration. My response consisted of a quick shoulder shrug and subject change, in one fluid motion. I was really quite good at it. When the day finally came to fruition, Bridge Man was out of town on a business trip and my friend, J, whom I dub Moon Beam was in St. Louis signing her life away. (We will get to that little gem in a bit.) So I spent the evening walking around Tar*get until a disembodied voice told me that the store would be closing in five minutes and I should make my final selections and head to the front of the store.
The next day, Tuesday, I went to work in my continued state of funk. The work day went on as usual; me and my uber fake, uber cheese smile and overly-perky attitude to appease the man. I fooled them all. (Insert evil laugh here.) When I returned home, Moon Beam stopped by to wish me a belated birthday and share her thrilling news. (Sense the sarcasm.) She had just signed up for the National Guard for six long years. I realize that Moon Beam is a big girl and can make her own decisions and as a good friend, I should support her and her endeavors but this news couldn't have come at a worse time. I don't know if you remember so let me give a quick recap: me = funk. Therefore I was anything but the good, supportive friend that I should have been. That evening after I found out that my little sister, Smash, had coincidentally also signed her life away that day, but to the Navy, I inappropriately said to Moon Beam that they would both be dead by next year. Judge all you want. I judge myself for that doozy of a statement. There is no excuse. Fortunately, M.B. seems to be very understanding of my attitude. She has experienced the wrath of my bad moods in the past and is being very understanding, no matter how undeserving I am.
The remainder of the week was fairly uneventful other than my continued funk-a-fied state, from which I've since moved on. We did take a quick trip North to visit the family this weekend. It ended up being just the thing I needed to turn my mood around. In an effort to keep from taking you, the reader, down in my funk here are some pictures of the hilariously, fun frisbee game I played with my sibs and Bridge Man this weekend.
This is Bridge Man in action.
My youngest brother doesn't like to have his picture taken, and his solution to the sister (me) with an over-zealous photo finger is to bend over. HA!
I told Bear to pretend like she was going to throw the frisbee since I wasn't fast enough to play the game and take action shots at the same time. It's realisic, no?
This last image was taken through the lense of my rose colored glasses. Those are my two brothers in the midst of our fabulous frisbee game. It's moments like these that remind me that I should quit feeling sorry for myself, put on my big girl panties, and remember to live.
The next day was my birthday. The big two-six. During the days prior to this, my day of birth, friends asked what I wanted to do in celebration. My response consisted of a quick shoulder shrug and subject change, in one fluid motion. I was really quite good at it. When the day finally came to fruition, Bridge Man was out of town on a business trip and my friend, J, whom I dub Moon Beam was in St. Louis signing her life away. (We will get to that little gem in a bit.) So I spent the evening walking around Tar*get until a disembodied voice told me that the store would be closing in five minutes and I should make my final selections and head to the front of the store.
The next day, Tuesday, I went to work in my continued state of funk. The work day went on as usual; me and my uber fake, uber cheese smile and overly-perky attitude to appease the man. I fooled them all. (Insert evil laugh here.) When I returned home, Moon Beam stopped by to wish me a belated birthday and share her thrilling news. (Sense the sarcasm.) She had just signed up for the National Guard for six long years. I realize that Moon Beam is a big girl and can make her own decisions and as a good friend, I should support her and her endeavors but this news couldn't have come at a worse time. I don't know if you remember so let me give a quick recap: me = funk. Therefore I was anything but the good, supportive friend that I should have been. That evening after I found out that my little sister, Smash, had coincidentally also signed her life away that day, but to the Navy, I inappropriately said to Moon Beam that they would both be dead by next year. Judge all you want. I judge myself for that doozy of a statement. There is no excuse. Fortunately, M.B. seems to be very understanding of my attitude. She has experienced the wrath of my bad moods in the past and is being very understanding, no matter how undeserving I am.
The remainder of the week was fairly uneventful other than my continued funk-a-fied state, from which I've since moved on. We did take a quick trip North to visit the family this weekend. It ended up being just the thing I needed to turn my mood around. In an effort to keep from taking you, the reader, down in my funk here are some pictures of the hilariously, fun frisbee game I played with my sibs and Bridge Man this weekend.
This is Bridge Man in action.
My youngest brother doesn't like to have his picture taken, and his solution to the sister (me) with an over-zealous photo finger is to bend over. HA!
I told Bear to pretend like she was going to throw the frisbee since I wasn't fast enough to play the game and take action shots at the same time. It's realisic, no?
This last image was taken through the lense of my rose colored glasses. Those are my two brothers in the midst of our fabulous frisbee game. It's moments like these that remind me that I should quit feeling sorry for myself, put on my big girl panties, and remember to live.
07 May 2008
Me Too
I met my twin last night. She's a 54-year-old Jamaican woman with a thick, thick accent. She came into school last night to have her hair done and I happened to be her stylist. Was it fate? Eh, maybe. A coincidence? Quite possibly. Utter insanity? Yes, yes, ten-thousand times, yes. Yes, I realize I don't remotely resemble that of a 54-year-old Jamaican woman. But after talking to her for the three hours it took to color, wash, blow dry, and style her hair, we found that we have enough in common for it to be a little unbelievable.
Our conversation began like those of every stranger that sits in my chair. Is it still cold/raining/sunny outside? Did you just get off work? What do you do for a living? Normally, at that point something comes up to spark a conversation that hopefully lasts throughout the hair process. There's nothing like the awkwardness of not knowing what to say to someone with a head full of foils that have to process for another 30 minutes.
I asked her about her job and her response was polite but short. She works part-time as a teaching assistant. The conversation went on like this for a few minutes. Then something struck a chord and her guard lifted. Her family of two brothers still lives in Jamaica where she grew up. After working for two years as a flight attendant in her twenties she decided to move to the states to go to college and work in elementary education. This part of the conversation was all well and good. Fairly normal. Then she mentioned her mom.
Her mother passed over in November.
I responded with a generic, "I'm so sorry for your loss" response. At this point there isn't much else I can say without losing my composure.
She then went on to tell me about the difficulties she has experienced after such a loss. She had to drastically cut back her work schedule in order to maintain her sanity. Working with young children while grieving the loss of her loved one was simply too much.
The similarities between our stories were so remarkable that I broke down and told her about my mom. How she passed in November and how the situation affected my career status. I told her about my writing and how I use it as a venue to express my feelings about my loss and other things going on in my life.
She too is a writer, a poet. She recited one of her poems about her experience with loss that was published in several local publications. In the poem, palm trees from her home in Jamaica represented her spirit; while a palm tree stands tall and strong on a warm, sunny day, it will bend and break under the stress of something as destructive as the Mother Nature.
I too am being published. It's something I have shared with a select few people because I don't want to jinx it but I chose to share this news with the stranger in my chair. When I told her the authors name her eyes got wide.
Her brother had, just last week, mailed her one of said author's books.
Now, at this point in my life, the idea of fate is a blurry subject for me but our meeting was the closest thing to fate I've experienced. And while hair dye continued to stain her ever greying roots she excitedly proclaimed that our meeting was nothing short of destiny. It was meant to be. No matter how much I'd like to believe that we are more than a big ball of chaos and pollution plummeting through space until our inevitable doom, my faith in destiny/fate has dwindled to confusion. And this meeting did nothing more than increase my confusion.
Who's to say that she and I were destined to meet on that Tuesday night to talk for three hours about our similar life experiences or our shared passion for jewelry making, photography, and Project Runway? If anything, it could have been nothing more than a chance meeting of two genetically polar people on a similar life path.
At the end of the night, after she was properly primped, she left me with a hug and a scrap of paper containing her contact information. It is now up to me. Do I contact her? Was this meeting fate or simply that of two grieving souls desperately seeking solace from someone who can understand?
Our conversation began like those of every stranger that sits in my chair. Is it still cold/raining/sunny outside? Did you just get off work? What do you do for a living? Normally, at that point something comes up to spark a conversation that hopefully lasts throughout the hair process. There's nothing like the awkwardness of not knowing what to say to someone with a head full of foils that have to process for another 30 minutes.
I asked her about her job and her response was polite but short. She works part-time as a teaching assistant. The conversation went on like this for a few minutes. Then something struck a chord and her guard lifted. Her family of two brothers still lives in Jamaica where she grew up. After working for two years as a flight attendant in her twenties she decided to move to the states to go to college and work in elementary education. This part of the conversation was all well and good. Fairly normal. Then she mentioned her mom.
Her mother passed over in November.
I responded with a generic, "I'm so sorry for your loss" response. At this point there isn't much else I can say without losing my composure.
She then went on to tell me about the difficulties she has experienced after such a loss. She had to drastically cut back her work schedule in order to maintain her sanity. Working with young children while grieving the loss of her loved one was simply too much.
The similarities between our stories were so remarkable that I broke down and told her about my mom. How she passed in November and how the situation affected my career status. I told her about my writing and how I use it as a venue to express my feelings about my loss and other things going on in my life.
She too is a writer, a poet. She recited one of her poems about her experience with loss that was published in several local publications. In the poem, palm trees from her home in Jamaica represented her spirit; while a palm tree stands tall and strong on a warm, sunny day, it will bend and break under the stress of something as destructive as the Mother Nature.
I too am being published. It's something I have shared with a select few people because I don't want to jinx it but I chose to share this news with the stranger in my chair. When I told her the authors name her eyes got wide.
Her brother had, just last week, mailed her one of said author's books.
Now, at this point in my life, the idea of fate is a blurry subject for me but our meeting was the closest thing to fate I've experienced. And while hair dye continued to stain her ever greying roots she excitedly proclaimed that our meeting was nothing short of destiny. It was meant to be. No matter how much I'd like to believe that we are more than a big ball of chaos and pollution plummeting through space until our inevitable doom, my faith in destiny/fate has dwindled to confusion. And this meeting did nothing more than increase my confusion.
Who's to say that she and I were destined to meet on that Tuesday night to talk for three hours about our similar life experiences or our shared passion for jewelry making, photography, and Project Runway? If anything, it could have been nothing more than a chance meeting of two genetically polar people on a similar life path.
At the end of the night, after she was properly primped, she left me with a hug and a scrap of paper containing her contact information. It is now up to me. Do I contact her? Was this meeting fate or simply that of two grieving souls desperately seeking solace from someone who can understand?
01 May 2008
Pardon me while I gush
I had the most amazing weekend. There was one tiny flaw but it rated a 0.5 on the flaw Richter scale. It was nothing really. So, I'll move on to share the shear amazing-ness of my weekend. I went to the Discover 2008 Hair Show in St. Louis. It's put on every year by State Beauty Supply, a national beauty supply company. The show consists of new hair products, tools, and techniques. There are platform artists that demonstrate the new products, tools, and techniques. And there are great sales on the products, tools, and- well, techniques in my case. But I'll get to that a little later. It's a cosmetologist heaven. And I took full advantage of everything available. I picked up professional products for one-third of the retail price! It. Was. Amazing. I scrounged for free samples all over the place. So much so, I won't have to buy shampoo and conditioner for over a year.
Now that I've officially bored you to tears talking about amazing sales on flat irons and shampoo... (They were amazing people, did I mention that?)
The best, most amazing, most fabulous part of my weekend was that I got to be a hair model for the Farouk Systems platform artists! (The parent company for CHI and BioSilk.) A fellow cosmo girl and I took a chance and got the opportunity to be on stage with Mickey and Bradley as the opening act. It was like a rock-n-roll concert. There were girls in tiny outfits dancing around on the stage with guitars while Mickey and Bradley danced around me, hacking away at my hair. A friend of mine captured the entire thing on her camera and I'm waiting (ever so patiently) for her to upload it so I can share it with you, my bloggie friends. Until then, watch the video I linked above to capture the full extent of what happened to my head. Oh the insanity!
For now, I hope you can be satisfied with a before and after picture.
That's me on the left, looking all blah with my blah hair and my friend K.B. on the right looking fabulous as always.
Check me out people! All, I can say is that this is probably one of the best hair cuts I've ever had. It's so easy to style and I love the way it looks! (Could I be any more smitten over my cut? YES, I COULD!) The video will be posted once I get my anxious little hands on it. Until then, be jealous. Be very jealous*.
And to those people who look at my new do and gasp, "But you're getting married in less than four months!" Please calm down for a sec. Am I not allowed to get married with short hair? Is this a new law I'm not familiar with? I don't think so. The minister isn't going to turn me away at the altar after measuring my hair with a yard stick and finding that my hair is just too short for me to be wed.
*I'm not normally like this, but I seriously cannot stop gushing!!
Now that I've officially bored you to tears talking about amazing sales on flat irons and shampoo... (They were amazing people, did I mention that?)
The best, most amazing, most fabulous part of my weekend was that I got to be a hair model for the Farouk Systems platform artists! (The parent company for CHI and BioSilk.) A fellow cosmo girl and I took a chance and got the opportunity to be on stage with Mickey and Bradley as the opening act. It was like a rock-n-roll concert. There were girls in tiny outfits dancing around on the stage with guitars while Mickey and Bradley danced around me, hacking away at my hair. A friend of mine captured the entire thing on her camera and I'm waiting (ever so patiently) for her to upload it so I can share it with you, my bloggie friends. Until then, watch the video I linked above to capture the full extent of what happened to my head. Oh the insanity!
For now, I hope you can be satisfied with a before and after picture.
That's me on the left, looking all blah with my blah hair and my friend K.B. on the right looking fabulous as always.
Check me out people! All, I can say is that this is probably one of the best hair cuts I've ever had. It's so easy to style and I love the way it looks! (Could I be any more smitten over my cut? YES, I COULD!) The video will be posted once I get my anxious little hands on it. Until then, be jealous. Be very jealous*.
And to those people who look at my new do and gasp, "But you're getting married in less than four months!" Please calm down for a sec. Am I not allowed to get married with short hair? Is this a new law I'm not familiar with? I don't think so. The minister isn't going to turn me away at the altar after measuring my hair with a yard stick and finding that my hair is just too short for me to be wed.
*I'm not normally like this, but I seriously cannot stop gushing!!
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