Hair Affair

Before moving out here, I tried to be uncharacteristicallly proactive and organized.  We visited the doctor.  We got updated eye exams.  At the advice of my dear friend, I got copies of medical records. Yada. Yada.

The thing I failed to do was get my hair cut one last time.

I usually get my hair cut every 8 weeks or so.  But this has been a crazy summer, folks.  So with the exception of a couple of whacks at my shaggy bangs when I just couldn't stand it any longer, guided by a perky sixteen-year old with too much eye makeup on a youtube video, I haven't had my hair cut since before spring break.  I am not even kidding about this.

Fortunately, it is finally long enough for a decent "messy bun."

Anyway...

We arrived here on a Thursday.  By Friday, my hair was an emergency.  So I Googled hair places.

Can I just say that I love Google?

It never seems to have a problem with all of the words I use.  So when I Googled "Absolute best place for a woman to get her hair cut in _____________ CA," It didn't freak out or tell me I've used too many characters.  It just pulled up like six places with really good "Yelp" ratings.

I'm not really sure what "Yelp" is, but having "Yelp" rate you well is a good thing out here.

I called the first place on the list.

Yes.  They could get me in for a haircut.  Tomorrow.  With a girl named Aimee.  I loved this place already.

Aimee has magic hands.

A quick word about magic hands:  If you have ever--1. Gotten a hideous haircut.  2.  Attempted to hack at your hair yourself, thinking, "This can't be that big of a deal.  I can't believe you have to go to school and get a license for this" and then had to wear a hat or a scarf for three weeks. 3.  Had a preschool child practice his/her newfound cutting skills on his/her own locks or that of his/her siblings--you understand the importance of a hairstylist with magic hands.

This sweet girl took my hair...that hadn't been cut professionally in over SIX MONTHS and made my  hair (Not my face.  Unfortunately, someone would have to have an M.D. to fix that) look like this:

Except that I have bangs.

And all she used to accomplish this feat was a round brush.  And some expensive serum stuff that I'm not ever gonna purchase in this lifetime, so the trick had to be the round brush, right?

I watched Aimee like a hawk as she worked on my hair.  And she lured me into that very dangerous place.  The one where you think, "THAT doesn't look SO hard.  I can do THAT."

And I fell for it.  I went out and bought a round brush.  Brought it home.  And pretended to be Aimee with the magic hands.

It was a sight for America's Funniest Home Videos.  My hair was getting caught in the brush.  I was smacking myself in the face, ear, elbow (yes, elbow!) with not only the brush, but also the hairdryer.  When I was finished, I was red-faced and dripping with sweat and my hair looked just like this:

So I'm giving up.  I've put the round brush in the pile of things to take to Goodwill.  I bought a brand new package of hair elastics and bobby pins.  I will proactively schedule hair appointments on days where I have to take family photos, driver's license pictures, go out for dinner for my anniversary.  That sort of thing.

Otherwise, I'll be the girl sporting the messy bun.