hairdresser from hell

So I got a haircut yesterday.

I've never liked getting haircuts, so tend to get them on the spur of the moment, never making appointments ahead of time. As a result, I tend to get a wide range of different hairdressers.

Why do I hate haircuts so much? Because they take so much time. Because I despise the smalltalk that usually goes along with it. Because they cost so much money. Because I don't like sitting in front of a mirror whose reflection I can't see (I'm pretty blind without my glasses) while a stranger does mysterious things to my head.

With my sister-in-law's wedding coming up next weekend and the fact that I could no longer see past the hair in front of my eyes, I figured it was about that time again.

Patrick had cut my hair before, just a bang/fringe cut a month or two ago. At that time, he was quiet and efficient. He must have been so tickled that I decided to come back for a full haircut, however, because he had metamorphed into Mr. Loquacious.

When I realized my mistake, it was too late. I was trapped in the chair, my hair wet and pinned, Patrick hovering around me waving a pair of scissors and careening from one conversational topic to another.

He was going to be a writer someday too, he told me, and then proceeded to describe the highly convoluted and violent plot of the novel he planned to write. He talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, jumping from one seemingly random episode plot summary to the next. He talked about Harry Potter (even though he had never read the books or seen the movie), Star Trek (our government is like the Borg), the graphic details of various violent murder and horror movies. He told me that, like in the Matrix, the world we are living in is not real, that someone is controlling the illusion around us. He genuinely seemed to believe this.

I was amused by the conversation at first, somewhat disturbed by the end. Also mildly irritated, since it was obvious that Patrick was so distracted by his own conversation that the haircut was taking much longer than it was supposed to. He'd pause from time to time, waving his scissors around in the air as he loudly emphasized some emotional point. No one else in the room was saying anything; I had to wonder if they were fascinated or as horrified as I was.

His next client arrived but had to be passed off onto another hairdresser because he was still working on me. Let me point out that I wasn't asking for an elaborate haircut. As usual, I had emphasized that I didn't like fussing over my hair, that I just wanted a bang trim and a couple inches off the back to make things look neater.

Despite my earlier plea, the haircut took about an hour and a half. When he realized that I wasn't as cheerful as I was in the beginning he finally began focussing on the haircut. "I can't figure out if you're sad or just tired," he told me. I said I was tired. I didn't want to tell someone wielding a sharp implement near my head that I found him incredibly irritating.

Unfortunately, he turned out to be the kind of hairdresser that loves to fuss. Maybe he figured that even though I said I didn't like having my hair fussed over too much, that I REALLY meant that I DID like being fussed over. I'm sure if I had let him, he would have measured and cut each of my hairs individually as well as coating each with a range of hairsprays and conditioners.

When he was nearly done, he asked if he could add stuff to my hair.

"No, thank you."

"How about just a little?" He sounded pleading.

"No thanks."

"Oh, c'mon girl. How about just a little bit of conditioner? It'll make your hair SO soft and shiny..."

(Yes, he kept calling me "girl" throughout.)

Tired of saying no and foolishly swayed by the "soft and shiny" argument, I let him add conditioner. He ended up adding other stuff as well, and by the time he was finished, I felt like I was wearing a helmet. I also felt as if my entire scalp had been scrubbed with steel wool, what with all the fussing and pinning and brushing over the hour and a half.





It's incredibly frustrating. I don't think I'm a particularly hair-conscious person. My idea of dolling up for a big event is to run a brush through my hair and make sure that I don't have anything stuck between my teeth. I rarely wear makeup, and I prefer to let my hair air-dry.

All I want is a hairdresser who will cut my hair, and then get me out with a minimum of conversation and chemicals. I don't go to the hairdresser's for psychotherapy or chitchat or to catch up on the latest media gossip. I JUST WANT A HAIRCUT, FOR PETE'S SAKE.

Am I really asking for that much?

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Today's Blatherpics:

	Planter of basil at Reid's and Luisa's place. I love basil. When we lived in the country, I grew basil and would put bunches in small containers around the house, like wildflowers, just so the fragrance would fill each room. I love fresh basil in soups, stews, sandwiches, sauces.
	Sara just before we head in to see Mamma Mia a few days ago.
	Reid, Luisa and Rita last night.
	Andrew and me, a few days ago.

poll: musicals

At Annie's school graduation ceremony yesterday morning, each child was asked what they'd like to be when they grow up. There were the usual veterinarians, doctors, firemen, and truck drivers. Annie told everyone she wanted to be an actor.

Other occupations included Spiderman, Batman Beyond & Beyond, a racecar driver in a car with yellow lightning bolts, a mother with nine children, garbageman (two chose this occupation, in fact), taller like her mother, and the Queen.

I thought it was cool that one little girl wanted to be the Queen when she grew up, good for her. Just imagine how different my life would have been if I had decided to become Queen. No more waiting in lineups at the bank. I could eat Krispy Kremes all day. Then again, I hate having my photo taken and a tax audit would become WAY more of a hassle.

Sara and I went to Mamma Mia in the afternoon. Both Sara and I LOVED this production! I especially enjoyed going to see it with Sara, knowing how much she had been anticipating it over the past six months.

My favourite moment of the whole thing: Just before the curtain went up, when the orchestral prelude ramped up into what was obviously the first scene, the audience holding its breath with anticipation...then Sara leaned towards me, put her hand on my arm, looked up at me with wide eyes and a huge grin of excitement.

Many, many thanks to Ruth, Kaarel, Sara, Annie and my Dad for this wonderful gift. :-)

Poll question: musicals?

Do you like musicals? (live or movie versions) Which are your favourite? Which do you hate and why? Jeff says he dislikes musicals because he says the songs interrupt the plot, that it's frustrating to have people suddenly leap up in the middle of an interesting plot development to launch into song. He also hates it when people sing their dialogue. I have no problem with it, of course. :-)

Answer in Blatherchat





Luisa is signing her e-mails to me as "your non-friend forever" because of my braindead typo the other day. :-)

And HEY, I get to see Minority Report and (hopefully) meet Oscar Peterson next Monday! Jeff got an extra ticket for me to a client event.

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Today's Blatherpics:

	Annie at her graduation from Junior Kindergarten.
	Ruth, Kaarel, Sara and Annie outside Annie's school.
	Sara in her seat at the Royal Alex as we wait for Mamma Mia to begin.

graduation

Today's Blatherpic: Jeff and Andrew last night, on the way to dinner at Ho Tsu. Andrew's in town visiting from California. I lust after his Clié.

Note from yesterday: My running shoe brand is Asics GT-2070 (nope, I had never heard of it either), since some of you have asked.

My niece Sara graduated from Grade 2 last night (a significant graduation, to be sure). She received the Grade 2 Academic Prize, which is the only award handed out for that grade. I am bursting with auntly pride, of course.

This morning, Jeff and I are attending Annie's graduation. The fact that Jeff has to wake up at 7 a.m. is further proof of how much he loves Annie. Jeff is definitely not a morning person.

This afternoon, Sara and I are going to see Mamma Mia. The tickets were my 40th birthday present from my family, and were purchased over six months ago. Sara has been listening to the soundtrack since Christmas and has memorized the lyrics to about half a dozen ABBA songs. I've liked ABBA since high school. Never thought I'd be rockin' to "Dancing Queen" with my 7-year-old niece someday. :-)

Went running in the rain this morning around 6:30 a.m., along University Avenue. I found the forecast of rain over the next few days discouraging but then figured hey, what's a little water? It was actually kind of fun, the rain kept me cool, and the sidewalks were pretty empty. I shortened my run somewhat so had time to get showered and changed in time to leave for Annie's graduation at 7:30.

new shoes

So I got new running shoes yesterday.

Or rather, my first pair of real running shoes in many years. Before then, I had cross-trainers which were supposedly designed for everything from aerobics to walking to occasional running. Everything I've read about running (plus advice from Andrea and Dave), however, has convinced me that it's time to invest the money in decent quality running shoes rather than risk the types of injuries incurred by improper footwear.

I went to The Running Room at Wellington and Yonge. I've visited the store several times before, liked the staff, bought my rain jacket and hip pouch (which holds my water bottle, camera, and MP3 player).

The staff person (henceforward to be referred to as TRG = The Running Guy) asked me how long I had been running, what kind of running I was doing. I had to take off my shoes, get up on a bench, stand straight, then crouch down a bit with my knees bent. Then he had me put my cross-trainers back on and run up and down the store so he could check my gait.

Wow, never had to go through so much grilling to get shoes before! Then again, it was clear that these people took running seriously.

TRG told me (in a very nice way, of course) that I had been running in too small a shoe size, that I needed extra support for my flat feet, that I DEFINITELY shouldn't be running in two-year-old cross-trainers, that I was risking injury. He said my old ones are still fine for walking.

That's why I'm here, I told him. Show me what you've got.

So he started bringing out shoes. I told him that I didn't care what the shoes looked like, as long as they fit me. I suppose I would have balked at flaming-red runners with obscenities embroidered along the sides, but fortunately this didn't seem to be an option.

After I put each pair on, TRG had me run up and down the store. At first I felt somewhat awkward about this, but the other staff ignored me; they were obviously used to this process.

TRG would nix some shoes before I had run even a few steps, saying they weren't a proper fit; others would be put in a Potentials pile.

While I tried out shoes, TRG and I did the Asian bonding thing. I've always noticed a tendency of English-speaking Asians, particularly older ones, to want to know what my ancestry is. Funny, really. If a non-Asian asked me the same kinds of questions ("So where are you from?" "Can you speak Chinese?" "Were you born here?"), I'd be somewhat offended at this coming from a total stranger. Coming from another Asian, however, it's fine.

I never ask these questions, but find I get asked a lot. Back in university, when the campus was teeming with students from Hong Kong, I was also told how odd it was that I had a North American accent. I always thought that was kind of funny.

But I digress.





I finally decided on a pair of shoes in the lower end of price ranges offered, but still more expensive than any other shoes that I own. I wore them home and (of course) went out running right away.

One of my favourite books in the whole world is Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. It's the first book that made me conscious of the power of written language. For me, reading Dandelion Wine was like reading a poem, a tapestry of such vivid imagery and emotionally honest moments from childhood that my own writing felt dry and cliched in comparison. Dandelion Wine was a huge motivator in my desire to become a writer.

Anyway, my favourite scene from Dandelion Wine was when the little boy gets a new pair of running shoes. Bradbury does a wonderful job at conveying the child's sheer joy in the new shoes, and I'm reminded of it each time I buy a new pair of runners.

And yes, I felt a little bit of that when I went running for the first time yesterday with my new shoes. :-) This time I ran all the way out to Ontario Place without stopping, just to see if I could.





I was amused by Bill Sutton's posting yesterday in Blatherchat:

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A NUKED Krispy Kreme? Say it isn't so!

You might as well go down to the grocery and buy a cruller and stick it in the microwave, then compare it to a fresh Tim Horton's. Not fair, not fair at all.

Ever had real, boulangerie French bread? One day later - hard as a rock and nasty stuff. On the day of baking - heaven.

We Krispy Kreme defenders demand a recount!

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I do admit that I was somewhat disappointed that my first Krispy Kreme experience had to be with a day-old sample. Scott and Amanda Snyder have promised to take me to a Krispy Kreme outlet in California this August, however, so I do reserve the option to change my humdrum attitude towards Krispy Kremes until I've tried one fresh.

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Today's Blatherpics:

I took these pictures during our Port Elgin visit this past weekend.

	This photo was taken during my morning walk on Sunday.
	Craig demonstrating his unique joy in lawnmowing.
	One of the amazing quilts that Craig's mom has done. First she took a photo of a nearby lighthouse scene, sketched it onto a piece of cloth, added watercolours, quilted it with different colours of thread.
	Other places may have signs advertising student painters and window washers. This is the first "directional drilling" sign I've seen.
	Craig leading us on a nature walk.

morning

The bus ride to Owen Sound on Saturday morning seemed longer than I expected. I think my tolerance for long bus rides has decreased over the years. Everything irritated me during the nearly 4-hour bus ride: the chattering of my neighbours, the annoying squeaking of the chair plastic against the side of the vehicle, the broken seat reclining handle, the way the bus seemed to stop every few miles for some passengers. I tried to sleep but was too uncomfortable.

When did I become such a whiner? Compared to sitting in a canoe in the rain in wet clothes all day (like on our Nahanni trip), the bus ride was luxury! Reminds me of a Monty Python sketch that I have still yet to see but have already memorized because of how often I've heard Jeff and some other friends recite it, where some old geezers escalate in their stories of childhood hardship.

I think I'd far rather spend all day cold and wet in a canoe on the Nahanni River, though, than four hours on the highway in a squeaky bus.

Anyway, it was good to finally get to Craig's parents' place near Port Elgin. Activities consisted of reading, napping, grazing, nature walks, beachcombing, ooblek experiments, sitting around and talking.

Jeff and I have been going up to Craig's Port Elgin gatherings for years now. The group changes each time (we haven't been able to attend every year, either), but the essentials remain the same...no specific agenda, just lounge about and relax.

I love these type of gatherings, where everyone is basically free to do their own thing, but we all keep congregating in the same place for meals and games and re-hashings of the days' events.





Yesterday morning, I woke up at about 7 a.m., around my usual time. I don't sleep in very well, even on weekends. One of the curses of being a Morning Person, I suppose.

As quietly as I could, I slipped outside and went for a walk. The morning sunlight was just beginning to burn off the mist, slanting down through the branches of the trees. I startled a rabbit on the front lawn, or rather we startled each other. Spent a little while wandering along the rocky shore along the water, listening to the birds.

On the way back to the house, I ran into Parki, also out for a stroll. Yay for morning people. :-)

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Today's Blatherpics:

	Interesting-looking moth on the house where we stayed this weekend.
	Roasting marshmallows in the backyard.
	Christine and Elspeth.
	Parki.