Jan
22
January 22, 2007
One of the eighty billion things I love about this blog is how I can ask for a salon recommendation and half a day later I have twenty different personally-endorsed businesses to choose from. You guys are awesome.
I called the Bellevue salon, Obadiah, and ended up getting an appointment TODAY, which was incredibly cool and JB grudgingly conceded to pick up Riley only after being promised a sexual favor of the oral variety gallantly volunteered to get the boy so I could make it to the salon after work.
Verdict: well, I liked the salon and the adorable pixie-like girl who cut my hair (she was so tiny and cute, I kept imagining her in a snowglobe, wielding a flatiron and surrounded by falling glitter), but my hair is very short now. Very very short. Shorter than I expected or asked for, and I am pretty sure I was clear on the length I wanted.
However, all the damaged frizzy crappy hair is now gone, and even though I feel a little…nude, like a freshly shorn sheep, it’s nice to be wearing a clean slate on my head. Plus, it’s going to be a breeze, ha ha haaaaaa, to blow-dry this do:
Pardon the dorkiness of the photo, I haven’t quite mastered the Artistic Mirror Self Portrait pose. I actually took one picture with my eyes crossed because I thought it would be funny, but I was so horrified by my missing-link appearance (seriously, it was…deeply disturbing) I deleted it, then emptied the trash for good measure.
Anyway, I’m generally pleased with the salon, the cut feels good even though it’s a bit more dramatic than what I had planned, and I got to park in a nice big garage and avoid the U-Village mall rats, so thumbs up on Obadiah.
And now the topic will change! The changing of the topic is now!
So, I recently read someone’s blog where she announced her decision to quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom, and someone in her comments stated how glad she was to hear the news, because she’d always wondered why people even have kids if they’re ‘just going to let someone else raise them’.
(I may not be quoting the commenter word for word, but I believe I am capturing the sentiment accurately.)
It’s not the first time I’ve encountered that particular point of view, although it’s been thankfully rare. I know we live in a world of diverse opinions and it’s okay to disagree and it’s all a rich tapestry blah blah blah acceptance-cakes but can someone explain to me just how the hell a person comes to see a working mother as someone who does not raise her own fucking children?
God, it makes me angry. It makes me angry that as parents we are so quick to judge one another’s choices. It makes me angry that someone out there believes I provide Riley with a sub-standard childhood because he goes to a dynamic, loving childcare environment for part of the week. It makes me wonder just how much crack someone has to smoke to believe that mothers and fathers who work outside the home somehow escape the responsibilities of parenting — the joys, the burdens, the whole rollercoaster.
Well! That was ranty. Since I don’t want to end this entry on such a grouchy note, here are a few recent pictures that make me smile:
A little bird, hanging out on our fence.
The boy, who would like to know why in hell we haven’t put away the Christmas tree stand. Also could someone get some Windex over here? Thanks.
JB and Riley, teetering.
Another lame photo taken in a mirror but since it’s a vanity mirror that makes it okay. Right?
May I present…the suctopus. “What up ladies?”
Jan
21
January 21, 2007
My hair has reached the stage where it’s been far too long since the last cut, and no amount of blowdrying, flatironing, goopy serums, and fervent prayer can corral the mess into something attractive. It’s heavy, it’s frizzy, it’s both lank and flyaway at the same time, and if there were some sort of Split End Olympics, well, then I couldn’t be typing to you now, as my entire body would be weighted down by my many, many gold medallions.
So I was really looking forward to getting a haircut on Saturday. That was going to be the zenith of my weekend, the sole activity that involved neither child nor husband nor vacuum cleaner, and I was ridiculously thrilled about it, right up until the moment when the uptight girl behind the salon counter told me my appointment was cancelled.
It was my own fault, according to Ms. Customer Service, who rolled her eyes and did something unpleasant with her mouth that involved pulling her lips away from the surface of her teeth, probably in order to keep the half-inch layer of gloss intact while she deigned to speak to me. I was eight minutes late, and they operated a tight schedule. Sorry.
I am the last person on earth to pitch a public fit but I honestly felt like draping myself across the counter and either choking the bitch with her phone cord, or weeping with disappointment. Eight minutes, jesus.
My regular stylist isn’t even there anymore, but I figured I’d try someone new because the location is normally convenient, being right by my office. Unfortunately, it’s also in the middle of a stupidly busy mall, which was the reason for my unpardonable delay — I was circling the parking lot, dodging strollers and gaggles of Abercrombie-clad shoppers.
I’ll note that if the front desk girl had been even halfway decent about it, I would have chalked it up to bad luck, made a new appointment and planned to arrive at least 30 minutes early next time. But she wasn’t, she gave me sand-in-the-vaginattitude, so screw it, Headlines Salon. Nice job driving away a loyal sucker who repeatedly paid through the nose for cuts and color and bought product on every single visit.
Uh, so anyway, this was one long boring windup to asking those of you who live around here if you maybe have any recommendations for a hair salon? Because I’m about to attack my own head with a Flowbee.
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Attention film geeks: my friend Scott wants you to know about the Stockstock Film Festival. Stockstock is a cool idea, basically you use existing stock footage to create your own 2-minute digital film. It seems like a fun challenge, especially if you’re into editing. Check it out.
And while I’m poking around Scott’s site, look at what a ridiculously good-looking trifecta Scott, his wife, and their daughter make. Seriously. Also, who are these jackasses? And why didn’t anyone tell me I needed to powder, like, my entire head?
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Those of you who suggested Regina Spektor when I asked for new-music ideas, thank you, thank you, thank you. I bought Begin to Hope and it’s currently on constant play in my car. I’m particularly fond of her voice on these lyrics from “That Time”:
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Camels
“Paaaaaaarliaments” and “Maaaaaaaaalboros”, man. So great.
I don’t remember who recommended DeVotchKa, but for some reason I got exactly one of their songs, “How It Ends”, and if you don’t already own it I suggest you go download it right this minute because it is a hair-tinglingly, eye-wellingly beautiful tune that you will want to sing along with in a dramatic style that requires you to point your face at the sky and sweep one arm outward, unless you’re driving, in which case you’ll need to grip both hands on the steering wheel and crumple your forehead while bending the inner corners of your eyebrows up and forming your mouth into a wolf-howl O shape. I’m just saying, it’s that good.
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