One By One

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I spent twice the amount of money I wanted on my hair. When did hairdressers start getting paid so damn well? Shit. Coloring my hair took all of 15 minutes to mix the crap and put it in; cutting my hair didn’t take more than half an hour. Oh, yeah. They did the semi-massage your head while they were rinsing it thing. The rest of the time I sat there. Even factoring in overhead the rate I was charged was pricey.  And this was a local hair salon; I didn’t go downtown, where I’d expect prices to be higher. Gods, I’m poor. Or I should have been a hairdresser. The proof is in the wearing, though. I think I got a high class cut, which would mean it’s gonna look good even as it grows out. No more pyramid shaped head with my hair sticking out because it’s too thick, thank you. My hair now lays like hair should.

*snicker* As with all hair salons, any other hair salon just doesn’t match up. What did I hear when I walked in and asked to have my hair done? “Where did you get this done before? Because it’s not so good. Your hair isn’t that dark. See? Your roots are lighter.” Um, yeah. First, thanks so much for reminding me about the grey. Yes, my hair has gone lighter and I hate it. Second, my hair’s been purple and blue and green and blond and redhead and now finally brunette. You think I want to MATCH my original hair color? Oh, little knappers (haircutters), gather round. Are you all too young to remember the punk years? Mohawks and big hair and no one looking like themselves once all the makeup and hairspray was done with? It’s time for a revival. I must find a place where I don’t hear that, where asking for a color of hair different than the one you were born with is an ‘oh! of course! I know so many people who love this color’ not a ‘are you sure you want to do this?’ kind of thing. Walking in dressed in full punk regalia (VANS – of course – purple pants [new] and green t-shirt for contrast. What could be cooler?) just didn’t convey the message I wanted it to. It should have said ‘Of course I’m going to ask for something weird. A hair color that doesn’t exist naturally on my head. More volume than most people wear right now. Oh, and I want it easy to take care of, too’. Maybe it did; maybe the locals just don’t speak punk. Either that, or they’re used to seeing aging people still trying to hang onto their youth and they’re trained to disregard, disregard, disregard. Push them into those natural hair colors. Make sure the woman all look just so with tight, short haircuts. Buzz cut the guys. Ugh. Cookie-cutter hair cuts.

I’m surrounded by older people in this neighborhood. On the one hand, that’s fantastic. Crime rates are REALLY low here; the lowest in the entire city according to our insurance. Being surrounded by grey haired cane walkers, I can’t help but feel younger in comparison. Haven’t quite decided whether or not THAT’S a good thing. And it’s peaceful. No loud cars, parties, clubs letting out at all hours of the night. On the other hand, it’s a little boring. I mean, there’s no loud cars, parties, or clubs letting out anywhere near me! 😉 The neighborhood goes to bed by midnight and is generally respectful of late sleepers until 9 a.m., but by 9:01 the big lorries will be outside banging around the bins as they collect the garbage and recyclables. Painful on a hangover. And I live far enough on the outskirts of the city that the metro line stops running to my house at midnight. So when faced with a good time, like Ben’s party, I have to decide between leaving during the big upswing of fun OR staying out all night long. When I was 20, that was a no brainer. Now that I’m 49 years and 11 months to the DAY, it takes more thought.

And that brings me to the b-day topic again. Here’s my wish: I wish that this year I have enough money to go out to some clubs and really party. I want to also be able to afford a hostel room for the night. Don’t think I’ll actually need it before 4 a.m., but having a bed to crash in for a few hours before taking the metro home will make the night much, much better. And I’ll need the clothes to get in, too. And some make-up. I want to be dress up dolly for the night; the clothes, the hair, the entire LOOK just once more. What once could be better than my 50th birthday? It’s a stretch financially this year. Gotta win something in the lotto to be able to do it.

Speaking of which, I’ve won yet ANOTHER free lotto draw. Twice in a row. That’s a habit, right?

Today I’ve sworn up and down to myself that yes, I WILL do my abdominal exercises and I WILL clean the house. Yeesh. I should know better than to make a promise to myself when I’m hyped up on my evening post nap rush. At least it won’t take all day anymore. My brother has finally fallen out of love with our new(ish) hoover, so I can use it now. What a nice piece of equipment! It’s a Dirt Devil, and with a lead my bro finally brought in, I can now reach every inch of this place to clean it. Bam! Dust bunnies be gone. SO easy to use, so quick! Hoovering used to take 2-3 hours with moving the cord around and continually working with the shit thing I used to have to work with just to make it go. Now, half an hour and I’m down to dusting. Dusting! I can get the work done quick enough I have energy to fucking DUST the house! My allergies are thanking me.

My hair is done for now. Later today I’m gonna hit that music platform and see if I can finally upload, then go over and download the files from my instructor. Ticking off those boxes on my list. Get the house cleaned up, and then tomorrow I devote to Dutch: learning and getting through the online sign up for the counseling center. And I gotta pony up here; there’s a vast improvement in my Dutch already. While out shopping and getting my hair done, I now hear and understand all the little phrases at the check-out (kassa). The do you want a bag? or do you want your receipt? or even when I buy tobacco, do you want papers? stuff. I knew what they were saying before, but it was a blur. Now I hear the words. Now I can respond without fear of saying the wrong thing because I’m half guessing at what they’re asking. That’s cool. So I’m kicking my rebellion to the side with language. As best I can. You’ll probably hear it again when I get fed up.

For now, my glossy hair gives me enough confidence to continue tackling my obstacles, one by one.

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2 thoughts on “One By One

  1. You little vixen you! I’m so jelly you love your new hair do. One of my “symptoms” that something is about to happen (either up or down) is I do something drastic with my hair. My hairdresser wouldn’t give me an undercut (fucking HELL!!!!!) so I told her to just cut half the length off (from bra strap length to a little shorter than shoulder length) – that wasn’t drastic enough for me, so it kinda sent me downward…. I may have to hold off on the undercut until I find out if I get an interview for the Clin Psych Training programme. If I don’t get an interview, its a great excuse to do something drastic to perk me up! If I do get an interview, I’ll wait until after the interview to do the undercut because I’ll have a year to grow it out again before I start training and my internship.

    Man, I miss my youth so much! I used to change my hair style and colour ALL the time! I used to have the BEST hairdressers. I just don’t want to look like a dick, you know? Although the other day I saw a lady at the mall – she must’ve been about 70 or so – she was walking through the mall with her zimmer frame (the four legged walker thing you were talking about the other day), and she had an undercut with the long bit tied up in a bun on the top of her head. She looked soooooo cool! I thought to myself, “You go lady! I wanna be just like you when I’m your age” (which isn’t that fucking far off!).

    Why do I give so much of a fuck about what society thinks of me? For someone who professes to NOT give a fuck what people think of me, I’m doing a fine job of proving myself wrong!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. LOL! Oh, geez! SO many parallels and similarities!

      I think the only reason I’m growing my hair out is so that I can super cut it at some point. It’s what I do: grow it out for a while, then get sick of it and cut it off real short. Drastic haircuts are the sidekicks of hair coloring in my fight against feeling like, as you so perfectly put it, a dick. *snicker* Yes, I miss the hairdressers of my youth – though I found a GREAT one this last time. 😀 I saw a great dame once, too. In Amsterdam. Must have been in her 70s (or lived a life to look that way). Wrinkled, obviously old. Her hair was done Cyndi Lauper style: multi colored with ribbons. She wore a goth-like dress and combat boots. Fucking glorious, and like you I said ‘YES! THAT’S who I want to be!’. Haven’t gone that far out with my look yet, but the memory keeps me going, keeps me putting the VANS on my feet and keeps Descendents in my iPod. It all be attitude, baby. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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