Hairdy, Hair Hair. Part 2

So tonight after taking my two little hooligans to the dentist, my daughter had ballet, and as we were leaving there, I spotted a hair salon.

I am also a bit of a optimitistic in some ways.  For example, I completely elude reality and believe that I can do things, such as cut my own hair, as well or better than any hairstylist.  After taking the kids to see Hotel Transylvania back around Halloween, I came home and promptly cut about 5 inches off my hair in the style of Mavis from said movie.

Well, according to Bitch hairstylist today, I did not do a very good job.  Well, of course, I did not tell her I had cut it myself.  I would only admit that if she said "oh, what a nice haircut you had".  Since my level of frustration with my own hair surpassed any compliment, I knew I would not be admitting my creativity tonight.  She was surprised that anyone would cut it so unevenly in the back (Well, yeah, you think?  Obvs I can't see the back of my head.  Oh wait.)

DISLCAIMER:  Let me start by saying that I know some hairstylists personally and love them and love their work.  I have had many good hairstylists.  Unfortunately, I don't live close to the ones I know.  I have a very profound respect for hairstylists, because clearly it is not as easy as it looks.  This article is aimed at the ones that ask questions to belittle the person sitting in their chair.

So I sit in the torture chair, I mean, salon chair, and tell her I am recovering from a bad perm, and I need to have as much of the bulk cut out as possible.

She answers with a question to make me cringe every. fucking. time.

"Why would you decide to get a perm??"  And let me just thank you for that. As if I don't feel like enough of a fucking dipshit sitting here, telling you that my hair is looking more like the ass of a llama than normal human hair, and you are chastising me about a decision I made months ago, that obviously I am regretful of.

So I respond like any normal person would.

"Because clearly I am an idiot."

She stares at me, as if this is obvious but it doesn't answer her question.

She then starts to question me about why I waited so long to come back in for a haircut, as if waiting longer than 6 weeks for a hair cut is absolutely taboo and I should be ashamed to even show my face in there after this long.

Well, I go on the defense, and although I am robotically answering her questions with the nods and shakes at the right times, My mind is going a mile a minute.

There are so many times I have sat in these chairs, and have been made to feel stupid for my hair decisions.  I am not a hairdresser, I depend on you to show me what I need to do, based on what I'm bringing to the table.  I am paying to sit in your chair, and I am trusting that you know what you are talking about.  I am not paying to have you analyze why I did the things I did with my hair, and essentially poke fun of the outcome.

When you ask me if I use box dyes, I'll answer you, but don't scoff at me for my answer.  Yes, I realize you are a hairdresser who knows more about the reason box dyes suck ass and salon dyes don't.  But I'm looking at the ease of a 30 minute colour at home while my kids are in bed, vs a 2 hour process in salon where my kids are at home without me.  I am comparing $10 to cover the black dye that you can't change anyways, vs at least $70 for you to tell me that you can't change the black, so I might as well keep dying it black.

So excuse me? You don't know me.  You have no idea why I have not been in for a haircut in 5 months.  Or why I decided to cut my own hair, which, lets face it, we both know I did.  I can lie to you all day about the "girl who tried to fix my hair after the perm, but clearly did not do a very good job if it really is as uneven as you seem to think it is", but we both know that the girl was me, and let me also say it is NOT as bad as you are making it sound.  It is only slightly uneven.

Don't chastise me because of my unruly hair, by making funny smirks and "I told you so" grunts.  You don't have any idea why it has taken me this long to get here.

I am lucky, my biggest hair problem is myself and my feigned creativity.  But for all you know, there could be a number of reasons why I could be sitting here, asking for your help.  Consider this, before giving your client a hard time about cutting her own hair, or using boxed dyes.

Maybe I don't have much money.  Perhaps my priorities are getting my kids clothing that fits, and lunches that are nutritious.  Maybe I needed to scrimp and save some money to get my butt in here because I can barely afford a cut, but then the debit machine is going to ask me to tip, so I have to have a little extra in my account or else I'll feel terrible if I can't produce a tip.

Or, maybe I have three jobs and two children and I don't have time to make it in to a salon to make sure my locks are pretty.

Perhaps the problem is with a jealous, abusive husband who gets angry and busts my face up if he thinks I'm being vain.  Maybe he is the one who grabbed my ponytail and sheared it off in a fit of rage.

Maybe I have anxiety issues, and this is exactly the sort of treatment that keeps me from coming back to the salon until I really have to.  Maybe those anxiety issues also have OCD side effects and I chew my hair until it is brittle and uneven in places.

The point is, don't stand over me and judge me for the condition my hair is in.  I have come to you for guidance.  I have come to you, looking for help.

In my case, help me out and take my scissors away, because I am obviously not "Cut" out for this.

bahaha.

You know how the Soprano's ended with the show cutting off in mid-sentence?

Well, this blog is going to start like that. You'll get to know me enough without me having to introduce myself to you in a lame ass way that will bore you and embarrass me. 

So, this week has been very much and ugly-duckling sort of week for me. I'm feeling like my skin is blotchy, I haven't been eating well so I'm feeling fat, and my hair, well shit, that was a complete and utter disaster.  I actually convinced myself to walk into a salon today to try and get it fixed (more on that later).  It was so awful, but that isn't news.  That story began a few months ago, in July.

Somehow, in my mind of minds, I began thinking that PERMing my whip straight hair would be a good idea.  Yes, you read that right.  I put a fucking perm in my whip straight hair.  My hair was halfway down my back.

The thing is, I had a term in junior high, and I loved that curl. It was amazing. Wash it, let it bounce up, and away we go.

Someone should have reminded me that junior high was some...well...lets say 10 years ago, and leave it at that.

Leave it, damnit.

It is also worth mentioning that when my mind-of-mind makes a decision, there is no reversing that shit. It's written in stone, and it's just as well to oblige and move on.

Well, this time I waited. I considered it, thought it through, read up on perms, bad perms, and googled pictures of good and bad. By the time I had decided for sure, I had determined that even a bad perm would still be pretty and since I love big curl, it would work. I could make it work.

Side note.  You cannot make a bad perm "work".  You can't take an un-even, half-straight, half-fried, Michael fucking Jackson poodled-eared perm and "make it work".

Someone also should have reminded me that I don't have a freaking clue how to handle even my own easy ass, whip straight hair.

Let me say, that somehow I got through junior high and high school without taking home much. I did not pick up on any of the good tips that girls learn in school bathrooms between classes, about hair and make up. I was too busy sneaking out back to buy a rollie (home-rolled smoke) from the boys for 25 cents. So, because of that, my make up has hardly changed since junior high, which of course was only 10 years ago *cough*.  Why, then, would I not consider revisiting a hairstyle from that same era? It all makes perfect [non]sense.

 I had a mediocre hairstylist (using that term VERY loosely) that I visited for colourings, as she worked from her cute in-home salon and she was cheap. She had this cute little salon in her basement which had all the trimmings, and was very nice. The only problem, was having to listen to her favourite talk radio for the duration of the appointment, but when you're saving 50% from the cost of a colour, well, I'll bitch about the town council and the pot holes in the road as well as the rest of them. And she did an ok job. Her colour jobs were never really spectacular. But it was acceptable, so I was ok with it.

I'm going to cut the story a little short here, and I won't get into a lot of detail here. When I called her to book and appointment for a perm, she advised me that she had moved, but I could meet her in the basement apartment of her new house where she was now set up.

Sure, ok. No problem. So, she moved her cute little in-home along to the basement apartment in her new house, right? Wrong.

No, actually, she was now renting a basement apartment where she was living, and she no longer had a cute little in-home salon. She didn't have an in-home salon at all.

She brought the hairstyling chair into the kitchen, without a mirror, and set me up to watch Coronation Street.

That should have been my first cue to leave.

She washed my hair in her kitchen sink. Without a sprayer.

Maybe THAT should have been my next cue to leave.

When I asked if she does perms often, she said that yes, she does. But the poor old lady was in hospital now, so she wasn't sure if she would be needing any more perms.

That most DEFINITELY should have been my cue to leave.

When the rollers came out, she washed my hair for about 13 seconds, gave me a towel and told me to have a good night, well....that should have been my cue not to tip her.