Posts Tagged ‘hair’

Surreal

July 15, 2017

Having a Friday off.

It didn’t feel like a Friday.

My mind was confused and wobbly.

My phone has been working oddly, text not ringing through, missed phone calls.

Sleeping in.

I mean.

For me.

Really sleeping in.

Although I awoke, as per usual in the early morning the sun light muffled and opalescent in the fog which reflects back this brightness that is at once soft and dull and too bright to sleep.

I got up and used the bathroom and crawled back into bed.

I looked at my phone.

Too early.

I have hours, literally hours before I need to be awake.

I lay for a while running through my day.

Shhh.

Stop it brain.

Let it go.

Don’t make all your plans right now.

You don’t need to be anywhere but back asleep.

There was a moment when I almost just got up.

Then.

Miraculous miracle.

I feel back asleep.

And I slept for another hour and 45 minutes!

I was shocked.

I hopped out of bed and took a super hot shower.

I pulled up my hair.

No need to wash it when I am going to be getting it done, I mean, that would be ridiculous.

And I did get it done.

I am very happy with it, even though the blow out doesn’t suit my true self, it’s just a little too polished, a little too sleek and slippery, not my real curly textured hair.

But.

I always get the blow out.

It feels so luxurious to have someone spend that much time on my hair, the gentle heat and the round brush and I just close my eyes and drift off.

My colorist did a beautiful job on my hair and no more blond highlights, all back to a nice dark chocolate-brown.

Of course my natural color is not quite as dark as she took it, but the color fades after a wash or two and then my softer highlights begin to show through.

And.

Yes.

The grays too.

They are there, springing up at my temples, in the part on my head, streaks of silver.

At lest they are silver and not grey.

They are pretty little glints in my hair, and really, I have nothing to complain about.

I mean.

I am 44 after all.

It is pretty standard for women to be greying far earlier than 44.

I have good genetics but nature does march on and I have noticed them more in my hair and I am not upset by them, just curious to see how they come in.

Almost as I am with the fine web of lines around my eyes that I see more and more when I smile.

“You are such a friendly person,” the mom I work for said to me yesterday.

We were talking about how security is at airports and how she’s been stopped and what it was like and how I have been stopped and what that was like and that it will tend to happen more for me if I am showing a lot of tattoos.

I told her I forget often times that I have tattoos, even when I am currently thinking of getting another on my right forearm and having the one on my left forearm, the one I got in Paris, touched up (as it will be difficult to take time out of my schedule and hop a plane and go back to Paris to get it touched up), that I will not realize until someone says something or stares.

“You have such a big smile,” she continued, “no one notices the tattoos so much as the smile.”

Such a nice thing to hear.

And from an employer.

I am grateful, so grateful for my employer.

I am also grateful to have some time off.

I’ll be doing a few more yoga classes during the week days.

I will find my playa bike for Burning Man.

I won’t be mail ordering it, haha, not after the last one got stolen.

I will probably also source my Aids LifeCycle bicycle, I have a couple of leads and am going to be pursuing checking them out.

I will be hitting the Imperial Day Spa with a girlfriend tomorrow after my internship, she’s been sick and asked for some hang out time and suggested the spa for an afternoon of detoxing with a good hard sweat and some cold plunge action.

Of course I said yes.

I’ll be going to my internship tomorrow, as per usual and doing laundry at the laundry mat, the washer hasn’t been replaced yet here at the house.

And I’ll go to my 7p.m. commitment on Divisadero.

It’s a good day.

Sunday will be similar to most of my Sundays–yoga, self-care, grocery shopping, meeting with a lady and doing the deal, going to a church somewhere and sitting in a folding chair, cooking some food for the week, writing.

And it will be chill.

As I still have my supervisor meeting at 9a.m. at Fell and Gough on Monday morning.

But.

Instead of going to work afterward like I typically do on a Monday.

I will be going to the MOMA with an old friend who I don’t get to see very often.

I ran into her a couple of weeks ago and we discussed getting together and we both love museums and I have a MOMA membership.

I love that  membership.

It is such a nice thing to do, go wander around and look at art, and to do it with a friend is so nice.

Especially one whom I used to see on a weekly basis and now don’t see for months at a time.

I’ve suggested a MOMA date to a lot of my friends as I slowly start mapping out the time that I have off.

I don’t know what the middle of the afternoon will look like as I still have my internship in the evening at 6:30p.m.

I am sure I will find something to do.

It is odd having the time off from work, like I said, being downtown today on a Friday, getting my hair done, I was all confused and distracted by the amount of business people out and the rushing here and there and the traffic, but it was so nice to sit still and be taken care of for a little while.

I’m going to leave it there.

It was such a lovely day off.

Divine really.

I am excited for more of such days.

And grateful for every moment of this one.

Every single moment.

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Color Me Happy

April 26, 2015

I got the best hugs today.

I caught up with some friends that I have not seen in a long time.

And.

I got my hair did.

So good.

Roller

Blow Out

Rollers

Rollers

Pink

Pink

Happy

Happy

Damn

Damn

Color me happy, joyous, and pink.

I was just going to go blonde.

But well, one thing, er, lead to another.

And I’m in the pink.

And I love it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, my dear friends at Solid Gold Salon, Sutter Street at Jones (shameless plug, they are just awesome and amazing, I mean, come on) in the Tender Nob of San Francisco.

Check them out.

I mean they have been doing my hair for a long, long, long time.

Calvin did my cut and his partner Diane did my color.

I could not have been in better hands.

It was not always this way.

“You look like a space hooker!” Calvin hooted in the living room of his apartment in Nob Hill proper.

“Dude.” I said, as I looked in something like horrified awe at what he had done to me.

Note to former self, never let anyone dye your eyebrows.

Ever.

Especially not someone who is still in beauty school.

“You are not allowed to post those photos up,” I said, “and excuse me while I go scrub my face off.”

Calvin was not just in school for hair (Aveda and Vidal Sassoon), he also did the program at Blush School of Makeup down on Market Street.

I too was living in Nob Hill, Taylor at Washington, and I would often make the two block, very uphill walk, to his place and we would shoot the shit, drink too many lattes, and he would cut my hair, color it, razor blade it off, once, oh God, once, he gave me a faux hawk and a tail.

How do you know when you love someone?

You let them give you a tail.

I saw a little boy at the park the other day with a tail and all I could think was, that is so not cool, cut it off.

Off man.

I made him cut that off pretty quick.

I never really gave a damn about the color or the weird cuts, he always figured it out, and it was fun to be his hair model and let him go to town on my head.

“I remember when you were rocking all those crazy colors and cuts, you were doing wild color before any one else,” she said to me last night when I told my friend I was going in to the salon today and I was going to do blonde, pretty blonde highlights, beachy, you know, sexy.

Well.

There was some blonde involved.

And the pink will fade, eventually to blonde.

Which is perfect.

That’s actually what I want.

I also left with a container of Manic Panic Cleo Rose.

When it fades too much.

Or.

When it’s just about time for Burning Man.

I will use the Manic Panic and bring back the pink.

I love the way it fades out though, I may wait a while to douse it with more color.

I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and they gave me a blow out, using the great big curlers, and I just love the being fussed over.

Perchance we are to date, and you are a man, identifying as heterosexual, not gay, not homeless, and not in a poly possible relationship, you will win me over by 1. Kissing my neck and 2. Washing my hair.

Oh goodness.

It is the best thing to have a person wash your hair.

I could just lie in that wash station all day and let that happen.

It still amazes me that I go to the salon and get my hair done.

Or that I go to the nail salon and get my nails done.

Or that I wear makeup.

All the things.

All the things I never used to do.

It’s like having the adolescence that I never had.

“My dad says I should be careful, you’re high maintenance, he says,” my boyfriend in my twenties told me.

I’m high maintenance?

What?

What the fuck do you know about high maintenance old man?

He was right.

Perhaps why I reacted so strongly to it.

If you spot it, you got it.

I love this part of myself though and I am doing my best to allow myself to embrace it, within reason, I’m not so high maintenance as you might think.

“I’m going to shame you when I tell you when the last time you came in for a cut was,” Calvin said as he looked it up in the computer.

“I know, I know,” I said, cringing.

I knew it had been almost a year.

“Almost a year,” he said, giving me the look.

They say every six weeks.

I say every twelve months.

“I wish you would teach me how you do that cat’s eye,” she said to me, “I just can’t do it.”

It takes me five minutes to do my make up in the morning.

Maybe six if I don’t have a steady hand, but it’s just doing the same thing every day since Calvin taught me how to do my makeup.

I got to be his model a few times for make up and when I went to Blush one of his head instructors also used me to do a demonstration and I learned a lot.

I could learn a lot more.

I don’t know contouring or really how to use blush properly or apply false eyelashes.

But you know.

I’m willing to learn.

I may be high maintenance, but I’m not time-consuming high maintenance.

And I know how happy I feel when I have pretty hair and makeup.

And how sexy I feel.

“Don’t hide your sexy under a barrel,” she told me, “God did not give you all that to waste it hiding in a corner.”

Yes ma’am.

“Where are you going tonight,” Diane asked as she finished the hair and smoothed down the last pieces, coaxing the full soft curl forward in a long sashay of bang framing my face.

“I don’t have plans,” I said.

“You look great! Are you going on a date?” My housemates friend asked as she popped over to check the mail and feed the cat.

Nope.

I do not.

But you know.

Every time Calvin has done my hair.

I do end up getting asked out on a date.

Here I am.

Let’s do it.

My hair looks amaze balls.

And.

I’ll put my make up on quick.

Real quick.

Promise.

Put Your Hair Up

February 26, 2014

It’s time to write.

I have the same routine when I get home.

I say, “hello house,” and set my messenger bag down on the table.

I turn on the heater, which is off all day and my little space it pretty cold, although after the conversation I just had with my best friend back in Wisconsin I feel that I have absolutely no right to complain.

Wisconsin has been experiencing the coldest winter in record for quite some time, tomorrow’s high?

-5 Fahrenheit, with the windchill making it feel like -21 Fahrenheit.

That’s the high.

And I am worried about whether or not it’s going to rain.

This is a legitimate concern, I feel, especially, since I commute on a bicycle and rain slick streets in the morning are no fun.

No fun at all.

After the heat goes on I turn on the little lamp by my bedside and the Ipod cube with its little color faded.

Tonight, jazz.

Some Chet Baker to get me going and in the mood.

Then, I light candles.

I like candles.

I buy them all the time and yes my house probably smells like a potpourri shop, but fuck off, I like it.

Actually it smells like this currently: dark Mexican chocolate and coconut.

I would hazard that I have the best smelling room on the block.

I like to have a cozy environment.

Then I strip down out of the jeans and put on some yoga pants, the watch comes off, as I don’t need to look at what time it is for naps anymore.

Not that it mattered today, oh lord, no afternoon naps at all and the morning naps were staggered so I had no down time again today.

I was pretty beaten by the end of the day.

Plus, both boys are in a transitional period, one of them is entering the twos and is experimenting with temper tantrums, the dramatic, throwing of self on the floor and banging it with hands and feet.

The other, is realizing at the ripe age of one, that he is an independent creature and wants to do whatever he wants to do.

Like navigate up and down the stairs.

I am all for learning, but hey kid, you’re giving me a heart attack.

You can’t walk yet, please don’t climb that.

I watched him push a toy fire truck up to an ottoman and climb up onto the fire truck, then onto the ottoman, then onto the chair and then attempt to scale it like Everest.

What do you think you can do up there, fly?

Please don’t try.

His mom told me today that they are calling him Evil Knevil.

He really has no fear.

Which is awesome and scary for me.

Oh well.

It’s just part of the territory.

So, the watch comes off, and the earrings come off and then I grab the foam back roller and while the room is warming up I roll out the kinks in the back and sigh with deep pleasure whenever there is a little popping noise that I can feel my spine getting re-aligned.

“Up, up,” he pleaded with me all day.

“Lap, lap, up, up,” he repeated all day.

All day.

Normally my little nearly two-year old boy is independent and all about doing it on his own and he is amazing with it, climbing stairs, coming down the stairs, opening and shutting things and he’s a great little helper, likes to help sweep and pick up and it’s great.

Today.

Nothing doing.

It was all about being held and all about me holding him.

Which made sense too, he’s just getting back from a vacation and getting back to being in the groove, and he’s also getting used to sharing his people again.

I almost feel like I could use another rolling of the foam roller just from writing that.

After the back gets rolled out, the kettle goes on and I get my tea-cup ready and then I do the last bit before I do this, the writing, the getting down and getting serious.

I always put up my hair.

I never do this with anything else.

I don’t always eve wear my hair up at work.

This can be fun or not fun, depending on how much the one year old wants to tug at my hair, less and less these days, but it still does happen.

Nope.

The hair goes up.

I wonder if it’s because I am all business when I sit down to blog or if it’s that I have this idea of what a writer looks like, hair in messy bun, glasses perched on end of nose.

Which would bug the fuck out of me if my glasses were perched at the tip of my nose.

I believe that it’s more the former than the latter, but that the latter does have a little weight behind it.

Yeah, that’s right, somewhere in the convoluted mechanism that I call my brain, I have an idea that I will be a better writer if I look like a writer.

Then again, it’s nice to have it out of my way, it’s become its own creature.

I can’t remember the last time I wore it this long.

I rather like it, but it is something else to contend with.

Then, with my tea made, my hair up, and my laptop open, I set out on the hunt for what I am going to write my blog about.

I drink my tea, after it’s had a chance to cool off, right around 450/500 words, then I proof it lightly, mainly for spelling errors, read it once, change anything that’s glaring, and send it out to the world.

That’s it.

That’s my night.

After which an apple, some yogurt, a cup of tea and a down loaded video.

I have some Walking Dead cued up, but you know, I am just not in the mood for the zombie apocalypse.

I have to tell you sometimes I put off watching the show because I want to enjoy my snack and I can’t when listening to the sound of zombies getting thwacked.

It just doesn’t do it for my appetite.

Tonight I will probably watch Glee instead.

That routine was thrown of a tiny bit, as I was sitting down my best friend from Wisconsin called.

And I don’t care what routine or how important the blog, I answer her calls.

We talked and it was like getting love blown straight into my heart.

I owe this woman my life, sometime I will tell you about it, suffice to say I made a really important phone call to her January 12th of 2005 that changed my life.

And the debt of gratitude is almost as big as the debt of friendship.

There are those in your life that won’t let you go, whether or not you have seen them in the last year or five, and you won’t let them go.

She is always going to be one of my keepers.

We talked and made plans.

I really am going to go see her and her family this summer.

I am.

I probably will wear my hair up then too.

Nothing says Wisconsin like extreme temperatures.

July is hot, humid, saturatingly warm.

The average temp is in the mid-to high 80s with humidity bringing the heat index up over 100 degrees.

Sexy.

But oh, the nights, the warm, delicious nights without having to wear layers, to have that for a weekend is well worth the heat of the day.

And that’s a wrap on my day.

Hair up and ready to decompress so I gets to do it all over again tomorrow.

Hair will be wearing itself in weather appropriate braids.

Yes, and shut up.

I know I just wrote an entire blog about my hair.

It’s fabulous.

You would too.

 


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