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.