I had every expectation of getting a lot done yesterday. The cold is on its downward slide; still annoying, but not quite so energy-draining. I had a chiro appt in the morning and plans for the quarterly birthday dinner with local friends (with 26 expected to show up), and that was it. We’d run errands, I’d cross things off my To Do list…
After my chiro appt we went grocery shopping, and my fabulous gay hairdresser called to say he had a cancellation today and was trying to consolidate tomorrow’s appts into today, and could I come in? Sure, says I, so once we’d unpacked the groceries, I was off.
Now. I’ve been itching for a change, not sure if it was just the lingering cold and a general grumpiness about everything or whether it really was time. So I sat down and said, “So, given the state of my hair (thinning, although it’s bounced back a bit, although it’s somewhat hereditary so I’m never going to have thick, lush tresses again) and my face shape (rather more oval now that I’ve lost weight) and my hair care routine (as little as possible; I’ll use a blowdryer for a few minutes if I must), what would
you do with my hair, FGH?”
And FGH practically fell over in shock and delight.
We talked, and I perused many hair magazines while my vibrant color was cooking under the dryer, and I decided that (a) I was just picking shorter versions of my own hairstyle and/or (b) I didn’t know if my hair would
do the things in the hairstyles I liked, and (c) I should stop looking at the super-short cuts with the spikey tops because I would
regret that. So back at the chair, I asked him to show me pictures of what
he thought, but they didn’t help because he’d say “Well, like this, only not with this part,” which meant it wasn’t like the picture at all and how was I supposed to visualize it.
So I said “
Fine. Do what you think is best. I trust you.”
I now have five inches less hair and a different shape, and the jury’s still out. I got a lot of compliments last night, but two people called me cute, which made me want to weep and go back and get the spikey cut (with purple highlights or something). (One person did backpedal upon my wail and suggest the alternate “sexy and adorable,” which mollified me somewhat.)
I’ll decide after I have a chance to play with it, because my lack of serious hair-care routine will make it look different than FGH’s mad coiffing.
Anyway. After that I picked Ken up at the bike dealer where he’d dropped off the GT for servicing, and then we went to Costco and Jo-Anns, and then we unpacked everything, and an hour later it was time to leave for dinner. Ken, Thomasina, and I all ordered different sushi so we could mix and match, and we were deliciously stuffed by the end of it. Mmmm, suuuushi. Sushisushisushi. Food of the gods. How did I live half my life not knowing about this delicacy? Now I can’t live without it.
We staggered home, watched
Eureka, did some computer work, and then Ken went to bed and I got a little writing done (610 words—although I haven’t gotten close to my needed daily count since I got sick, I have managed 500+ words every day, and I’m very happy about that) and then I chugged my blessed Nyquil and slept the Nyquil-Drugged Sleep of the Damned.
Today, though. Today I will get some things crossed off my To Do list. Before my massage therapist comes to work on both of us.
Honest.
<>-<>-<>
Update: Today I discovered that I can pull my hair into two low pigtails. It’s okay to call me cute when I wear my hair like this, because I’m being deliberately cute. My massage therapist wanted me to dress in a Daisy Duke outfit and Ken wanted me to dress in a Mary Anne outfit. I’d say this is positive progress.
Less than 500 words today; I hit the end of a scene last night and realized today that I don’t know what happens next. It’s often suggested that at a moment like that, you have men with guns burst in. I considered that option, but they really don’t fit in this type of book. I thought of someone else coming to the door, who might throw another obstacle into my heroine’s life, but I don’t know
why they’re there. Someone would have to have suggested a problem (which doesn’t exist), and I’m not sure who. Yet. I’ll sleep on it.
<>-<>-<>
Phaedra is looking for
black bunny slippers, to no avail. Anyone know of a source?
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Currently Reading: Kiss and Tell, Linda Howard
Lately Listened To: my own coughing and sniffling
Recently Watched: Eureka,
CSI: NY
You know the world is strange when you get an e-mail with this subject line—“Slave Cylinder Weep Hole Kit”—and it’s not spam. (Ken is selling old motorcycle parts. I…don’t ask.)
