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.

Yellow Brick Road

As the Mayor approached me with his beady-eyed grin and open arms, a fondness exploded in my heart.  I smiled wide as I wrapped my arms around him in an intenful, warm hug.  So, he's not the mayor anymore. I'm not who I was anymore.  Things change, and it's all good.
The Mayor came along in a time in my life when almost all things were running short - money, time, luxury and pride.  I had no idea he was the Mayor at the time.  I just knew he was the owner of an old, run-down building that for some reason I found myself drawn to.  I was working two full-time jobs at the time, production and design for two companies.  When I found some spare time, I would just get in my car and ride around discovering new places (as I still do).  I happened across this building and I just felt like I had to have it for my art studio.  I asked around and found out the owner had an office not far from the building, and I went directly to call on him.  He looked at me like I was half-crazy when I told him my dream of renting his building.  All I asked for him to do was to add electrical and plumbing and I would do the rest.   I nearly begged, but he laughed and shook his head, and I shrugged my shoulders telling him I'd see him next week.  For weeks to come, I stopped by his office every friday after work asking to rent his building.  I can't honestly remember how long it was before he gave in, but he did.  Somewhere along the line, I learned that he was the Mayor of the town and as much as it surprised me, in another way it didn't surprise me at all.
Three years later, the Mayor decided I needed to buy the building. After going through a pretty nasty divorce and completely wrecking my credit, I could see no way this could happen.  I confessed my credit sins to the Mayor and he cosigned my note.
I miss that old building, even the trains that ran hourly and blared their horns on the track just out the front door. The inside was like a giant canvas, painted from top to bottom.  My backyard was a parking lot where we spent quite a few evenings grilling out on a hibachi grill.  I also kinda miss being the weird artsy girl with the Shar-Pei walking on the tracks. 
Upon further thought, I feel incredibly nutty and lucky all at the same time. I'm pretty sure that was the message from the Mayor tonight as he kissed me on the head.

melodia

Is It Ever Gonna Be Enough?

melodia

I'm Always In This Twilight

So, this odd habit of multi-tasking sometimes finds me in the weirdest ways.  Mondays are days that are intended for me to do my paperwork.  I've never liked Monday's much for this very reason.  Although, I admit, occasionally I slack on the work and wander off in another direction entirely.  As I sort through the papers, enter receiveables and write checks I have other things going on in the background.  Usually, I am listening to Pandora, Slacker or some off-beat mixtape site - jotting down names of songs that I want to download.  I catch up on blogs, research, look up recipes, download knitting patterns - all between crunching numbers and working on ad sheets. 

Thanks to a good SL friend I found myself on a little 2 hour tangent today.  She recommended that I check out "Florence & The Machine" and after I started digging around I was swept away.  (Cheers VK)  To the point that I found inspiration.  For the first time in quite a while, I was lost in a rhythm, emotion and the peaceful calm of creation. 

I did a little research on Florence and I think she might be my new best friend.  A quote from her blog, "Florence writes her best songs when she’s drunk or has a hangover, because that’s when the freedom, the feral music comes, creating itself wildly from the fragments gathered in her notebooks and in her head. “You’re lucid,” she explains, “but you’re not really there. You’re floating through your own thoughts, and you can pick out what you need. I like those weird connections in the universe. I feel that life’s like a consistent acid trip, those times when things keep coming back.”

melodia

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you