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06.06.2002 - 9:06 p.m.
Thursday
Today has been Schizophrenic
Weather Day: sometimes sunny, sometimes super windy, sometimes
rain-splattery. My mood has been much the same - zooming all
over the map from Pollyanna to Postal. It's just been one of
those days, you know? You know, when your Funky Boss criticizes
a decision you made in an incredibly oblique manner, like you
have to unwrap some kind of complicated Hellraiser type box in
order to uncover the actual meaning behind his words, which would
be fine normally because it is not like you can't take criticism
or something, but he's caught you in a bleak frame of mind that
cannot cope with weird performance enigmas, so you act all rude
and sort of snap at him then spend your afternoon feeling bad
about it? That type of day.
Also I have a mosquito
bite on my leg and it really itches, dammit.
Humph.
So I got my hair cut a
couple days ago. I decided to officially dump Marty the Almost
Certainly Gay Hairdresser, because he's 1) downtown, which is
no longer convenient, 2) really really expensive, and 3) on my
shit list for doing such a crap job last time. I made an appointment
with a place in the UVillage mall, which is right next door,
and spent the day gearing up for BANGS.
My brain was almost totally
dedicated to thinking about bangs all afternoon. I was like "That
(bangs bangs) press release will (bangs) probably go out (bangs-a-go-go)
Friday (bangsy von bangsbangs), then." I kept thinking about
how much time I spent growing them out, and would I miss them
when they were gone? Would I be a big stupid Waldo head afterwards?
Or a sleek sexy Bettie Page type minx?
Then I got to the salon
and my new hairdresser, Vanessa the Hip Asian Girl (why does
it seem like my hairdresser labels are all sort of offensive?),
listened to me mumbling about bangs for about half a second before
shaking her head firmly. Apparently my hair, which is evil because
it's sort of curly and fluffy underneath, but mostly straight
on the outer layers, isn't "right" for bangs. Because
of the shape, or something. Bangs are not my hair's destiny.
I get the feeling Vanessa doesn't take a lot of creative direction
in her job.
But that's ok, because
when it comes to hairstyles I'm completely clueless and I've
always wanted someone just to take charge and tell me what would
look best. "Make me your bitch, Vanessa", I said happily.
First thing she did was
spend like a thousand hours doing highlights. Turns out Marty
The Almost Certainly Ripping Me Off Hairdresser had been doing
highlights the BAD way, the CHEAP way, the HORIZONTAL way. Vertical,
apparently, is where it's at. Then she snipped and thinned and
razored and flat ironed and blowdried until SHAZAM - I sat there
looking at Sundry, Version 2.0. All textured and shiny and multi-hued
and stuff.
Of course, trying to recreate
the effect the next day (ever tried to flatiron the back of your
head? It's fucking hard, ok?) resulted in a lesser improvement.
More like Sundry, Version 1.5. But still! Much less of the frumpy
flyaway impossibleness. And my new spray on shiner crap? Freaking
rules, yo.
Yo? Yeah, YO, ok? I can
say yo. Because I have been listening to a LOT of Eminem lately.
I really can't explain this, either. I don't normally listen
to hip hop, rap, or really anything other than Aimee Mann or
Chris Isaak. And you might say Eminem is about as far from old
croonin' Chris as you can get.
I bought his new CD on
a total whim. JB and I walked through a CD store the other day
because I wanted the new Sheryl Crow. And I saw The Eminem Show
was on sale, and I remembered that I had heard one song from
it that I thought was catchy, and we'd had beers with lunch,
and WHATEVER I just bought the fucking thing ok?
So I've been listening
to it obsessively ever since. I don't know, it's just really
compelling. The shit he talks about is so raw and personal -
why, it's like reading someone's diary! Someone who is really,
really pissed off.
You know that dorky engineer
guy in Office Space, blaring rap in his car? I'm....I'm exactly
like that guy.
go
back :::
forward
06.04.2002 - "We need a fish Lassie.
Lassie, save Oscar! Go get help!"
06.02.2002 - Anal
Sundry seems the type that might wield a leather whip in her
offtime, or something.
05.29.2002 - "We
obviously have a portal to Hell where horrible horrible creatures
can crawl into our house."
0
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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