Buddyassholes

The proper terms are Hair Stylist, Hair Colorist, Hair Designer.  If you're in the salon it's even appropriate to drop the 'Hair' prefix resulting in Stylist, Colorist or Designer.  I am not a Hairdresser.  I do not "dress" hair.  I do not fit hats or tie bows on the end of pigtails.  I am not a god-forsaken Beautician.  I don't do roller sets for blue-hairs, nor do I know shinola about those horrid rinses that rub off on pillowcases at night.  I don't work in a beauty shop.  It's called a salon.

I am capable of giving you a damn good haircut and color.  I am not capable of giving you the face of the celebrity of your current obsession. 

I work in a salon.  I have worked in a salon for years.  I use salon-quality products.  I have no freakin' idea what products they sell at the drugstore, let alone which one is the best.  Most drugstore products contain sulfates (salt) which damage your cuticle and strip the color you pay me dearly for.  Almost half the products contain waxes that coat your hair and can cause a multitude of issues in regards to color and condition.  I also have no knowledge of box haircolor from the drugstore and I'm not gonna tell you which color you should buy or how to apply it to your hair.  If you are gonna brave the territory, you're on your own.

When I ask you direct questions in regards to your cut or color, please don't answer me with "I don't care" or "It's up to you" unless you really mean it. 

My expertise is in the hair department, not below the skull.  I am not a head doctor.  I cannot fix your problems.  I don't want to hear about the bad thing you did that you don't want anyone to know.  The details of your Irritable Bowel Syndrome gross me out.  So you have a vertical hood piercing.....Do I really need to know that to do your hair?  When I nod my head and smile that means I have tuned you out.  I will tune back in when I see your hands reaching up to the level of your head, signaling that you are again talking about your hair.

A trim takes just as much time and effort as a cut, in some cases more.  It is what it is and the cost is the same.

I am on a schedule.  I devote my full attention to you when you are in my chair.  I will schedule you as soon as my schedule allows, and if I'm booked and say that I cannot 'squeeze' you in, I honestly cannot.  I give myself 2 days off a week and I am not willing to come in on Sunday or Monday to do your hair.  I do not 'do hair' at my home, and if I did it would not be at a discounted rate.  It would cost at least times as much.  My time is as valuable to me as yours is to you.

I don't carry my cell phone with me at work.  Once again, I'm on a schedule.  Please, at least, wait until your processing time to talk on your phone.

My job can be fun, yes.  It is a job, no less.  I stand on my feet all day, rarely get an official lunch break, try to meet each client's needs and honestly desire that each person that leaves the salon has a smile on their face.  The hours I spend behind the chair, I leave my personal life, my ego and often times my needs at the door.   It's a job that I take very seriously.

Hair color takes formulation.  I can't just put the color of the swatch on your head and it magically turn that color.  There is this thing known as the color wheel that applies to paint.  The same theory of color applies to coloring hair.  The current hair color has to be taken into consideration, and then there is the law of hair color that unwanted tones appear with each level of lift.  When a dark-brown is lightened it will go through stages of red, orange, gold and then yellow.  These tones are most often referred to as "brassy" and must be counter-acted with a complementary color.  With that I will say one more time,  some hair is not ever meant to be blonde.  Hint....if your hair is damn-near black, give up on the blonde.  Unless you don't mind brassy, unnatural tones or hair damaged beyond recognition.

Ok, bitch session over.  It has been a week, and obviously retrograde is kicking my ass.  Tomorrow's another day.  Thank you, come again.

Lily

Goodbye nothing.  Hello Lily.

I knew before I took the three-hour trip to meet her that the odds were good that I would be bringing her home with me.  It was the look in her eyes, detectable even through a picture.

I stepped from the truck and waited by the fence.  After a few seconds I saw her bounding from a pond then rambling through the horse pasture. Less than a minute later I was tackled to the ground by a wet, slobbering dog and it was over.  I fell in more ways than one.  I signed the adoption papers, dried Lily off and we made the journey home. 

Home.

Canis Familiaris

It's been five months in a dogless house, which doesn't seem that long and at the same time feels like an eternity.  Every morning as I awaken and gaze across the floor to where the dog bed used to be, I am reminded.  The dog bed where my sweet girl used to sleep that is no longer there.  An empty spot left behind.  As I turn around to pull the door shut on my way to work, I now say goodbye to the house because Maple is no longer there bobbing her little tail.  When I walk through the door in the evening, there is no jumping, squealing and licking.  Just cool, quiet, lifeless hardwood floors.  There is no playing catch and there are no half-eaten stuffed animals laying about.  There is no warm little furry body to curl up beside me as I laze in bed on Sunday morning.  There are no beady little eyes staring me down for a bite of my bagel.

There's no dog hair.  There's no worry about getting home in time for the dog.  There's no worry someone will leave the fence open.  There's no barking, no 'accidents' and no dog snoring.  There's no pre-planning required for staying out all night or going away for a few days.  There's no need to stop at the store on the way home to buy dog food.  There's no need to give the dog a bath.  There's no reminder on the calendar for flea preventative.  There's no vet appointments or vet bill.  There's only quiet.  There's only nothing.

I think I'm done with the nothing.  It's time.....stay tuned.

38

The last of the cold is gone.  The sun is shining.  My skin is a nice pale shade of pink and everything else in sight is covered with a heavy coat of greenish-yellow powder.  I'm so thankful winter is over, although I do feel pretty guilty even complaining at all.  Comparatively speaking, the winter here was mild eventhough it was the coldest and wettest winter in nearly twenty years.

The change of weather brings about the seasonal change of my closet.  It's a huge deal and takes at least 2 days and usually more like 2 weekends since I can't devote full days to putzing around with my wardrobe.  Things get washed or dry-cleaned if necessary, folded and packed away in rubbermaid containers and hauled to the attic.  Containers are categorized by item and then color - just like the closet.  The new season's containers are hauled down and things are freshly laundered, pressed if needed and folded or hung up according to category.  It's a disease I don't know the name for. 

Then there's the shoes.  I quit counting them this year, but I did count the boots as I packed them away this year.  Yep, you guessed it -thirty-eight pairs of boots.  I have to admit there's two pair that should really go to the Goodwill, but I'm just not ready to part with them yet.  (See sweatshirt post if you have any doubts about me parting with my favorite things.)  There's the quintessential boots that I bought in NYC - knee-high, pointy-toe, stilletto, buckled and studded.   My favorite of the bunch is a pair of black cowboy boots that are a half size too big, making them extremely comfy.  Four pair are classified as punk boots, with my favorite pair of that bunch being a red tartan and black lace-up.  There's bronze boots, green boots, leopard print boots, embroidered boots, studded boots, thigh-high boots, ankle boots, quilted boots and those damn godforsaken sheepskin boots.

Most of the boots got lovingly packed away not to be seen again until the cold arrives.  Most of them.