It's been a few weeks since the hair cut. I finally shipped my hair to be made into a wig, and I am getting use to my hair. Its still not my favorite. But the short hair is turning more into a symbol for me than anything else. I gave apart of myself to someone else. I gave some of my happiness to someone else who needs it (or at least eventually). And short hair or not, that is more than I can ask for in my life.
All I ever want is for everyone to be happy, we all have that right. Not to get all political, but when I say everyone, I mean the people who love others, that are just trying to be happy, love their families, and exist. Over seas, all the women, men, and children who just want to live their lives are being stripped of their right. And it does not sit well with me. It should not sit well with anyone. How did I get to be born here, with all the possibilities at my fingertips, and someone else was born in a country where basic human rights are stripped from them before they have the chance to explore?
I have all these thoughts about others, but come to a roadblock, what can I do about it? I can talk about it, I can voice my opinion (freely I might add), but outside of that, what can I do? I volunteer, I help people here, but it seems not enough.
This is a common struggle in my mind- and I am sure will continue... but thats life, finding how I can make a difference in this big world we live in.
Deep thoughts for this Friday.... Maybe more to come later.
Peace, Love, and bigger than myself,
b
Friday, September 13, 2013
Monday, September 2, 2013
Devil with Flowered Hair Scissors
Let me start this off by saying I did a great thing today. I have been growing my hair out for the past 9 months to donate to Beautiful Lengths, a charity that makes wigs for cancer patients. I needed to grow 8 inches or more of hair from the top of a poney tail holder. Yesterday morning, I got out of the shower, asked Trevor to measure, and finally, I had enough hair. What great timing, my mom is in town, and it could have been a great memory to share...
Well... after all the trauma of yesterday, and a few tears shed, it is a memory.. but not all great.
Now heres what happend.... Cutting my hair yesterday was traumatizing, and caused by some 40 year old woman that might have well been the devil. I went to a salon up the street from my house, $35-$45 for a hair cut, depending on the length. It was a pretty fair price, so I decide to do it. I walked in, told the receptionist what I was doing, and asked if there were any openings. There were, she called the woman over, and off I went.
Well, now thinking about it, I should have stopped it right then and there. This woman looked like she just got out of the 1980's. Red lipstick, frizzy hair, horrible highlight job, and overall, she looked like a mess. Lesson #1, if they have horrible hair, do NOT let them touch yours. But, seeing as I did not want to judge a book by its cover, I went with it.
My hair got washed, and it was time. She pulled my hair back into a poney tail. Secured it with an elastic at he back of my head really tight. Picked up her scissors. Went to make the cut. I Jerked my head and said, 'WAIT. you have to pull the poney tail down. Its 8'' from ABOVE the poney tail.' She said oh, of course. Lesson #2, was she drunk? Did I not explain this? I should have never let someone near my hair that didn't listen to a word I had said near my hair. Again, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She pulled down the hair tie. I could not see how far, but figured, 'ok, I told her how I wanted it cut, I told her 8'', how can she mess up at this point?'
Oh, how wrong I was.
She cut. The damage was done. With 2 snips (yes 2, because her scissors were not thick enough she had to cut the wad of hair twice) of her small flowered scissors, she had destroyed my hair. There was plenty of hair for me to donate now... because she cut '11 inches off my hair, when I told her no more than '8. I freaked. Stood out of the chair. Looked at her, and said, 'THIS IS NOT WHAT I HAD TOLD YOU'.
She told me I was in shock. I wanted to slap her. Yes, cutting off that much hair is a big change, but I was prepared. What she did was put my hair into a lawn mower and turned it on. She said, 'You have done a great thing.' I told her I knew that. I wanted to slap her. The damage was done. There was no turning back at that point. I walked around the salon, trying to regain composure. No luck. I wanted to slap her, but there was nothing I could do. The hair cut had to be finished.
So, I stayed in the chair and let the disaster begin. She kept cutting. With every snip of her flowered scissors I wanted to slap her even more. I have never been the type of person to get upset by a hair cut. It's only hair, it grows back. Its not like I ever had one stylist that I would let touch my hair. I figured, i had enough of it, it'll grow back. I guess up until now, I have never had a bad hair cut.
I told her no shorter. I told her to keep the bottom at my shoulders and do what she could to save her disaster. She kept cutting. Told me she was layering. Layering my ass. After 10 minutes of her layering. I officially freaked out. I stood up midcut and told her to back off. To get away from me. I was pacing. This was not the emotional trauma I had signed up for. I sat back down and told her to finish as soon as possible, because I couldn't take it any more.... She was about to make another cut, and another stylist came in and saved me.
She asked to take over. She took me to her chair and told me she was going to do what she could do to save my haircut. Well, didn't that just make me feel like a million dollars? She was going to SAVE my hair, not finish the cut. great.
While all this was going on, my mom and Trevor were watching from the store front. Watching me freak out. Trying to help, be supportive, be positive, while the devil with scissors kept cutting.
In the end, everything is fine, of course. I donated more hair than I had thought, someone will get a great wig who deserves it. Someone will get to feel beautiful in a time when they need it. I feel good about that, giving part of myself to someone else. No matter the journey to get there, at least someone will get a smile out of today. Even me.... and I learned a valuable lesson. If their hair sucks, dont let them near yours.
Peace, Love, and short hair, dont care,
B
Well... after all the trauma of yesterday, and a few tears shed, it is a memory.. but not all great.
Now heres what happend.... Cutting my hair yesterday was traumatizing, and caused by some 40 year old woman that might have well been the devil. I went to a salon up the street from my house, $35-$45 for a hair cut, depending on the length. It was a pretty fair price, so I decide to do it. I walked in, told the receptionist what I was doing, and asked if there were any openings. There were, she called the woman over, and off I went.
Well, now thinking about it, I should have stopped it right then and there. This woman looked like she just got out of the 1980's. Red lipstick, frizzy hair, horrible highlight job, and overall, she looked like a mess. Lesson #1, if they have horrible hair, do NOT let them touch yours. But, seeing as I did not want to judge a book by its cover, I went with it.
My hair got washed, and it was time. She pulled my hair back into a poney tail. Secured it with an elastic at he back of my head really tight. Picked up her scissors. Went to make the cut. I Jerked my head and said, 'WAIT. you have to pull the poney tail down. Its 8'' from ABOVE the poney tail.' She said oh, of course. Lesson #2, was she drunk? Did I not explain this? I should have never let someone near my hair that didn't listen to a word I had said near my hair. Again, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She pulled down the hair tie. I could not see how far, but figured, 'ok, I told her how I wanted it cut, I told her 8'', how can she mess up at this point?'
Oh, how wrong I was.
She cut. The damage was done. With 2 snips (yes 2, because her scissors were not thick enough she had to cut the wad of hair twice) of her small flowered scissors, she had destroyed my hair. There was plenty of hair for me to donate now... because she cut '11 inches off my hair, when I told her no more than '8. I freaked. Stood out of the chair. Looked at her, and said, 'THIS IS NOT WHAT I HAD TOLD YOU'.
She told me I was in shock. I wanted to slap her. Yes, cutting off that much hair is a big change, but I was prepared. What she did was put my hair into a lawn mower and turned it on. She said, 'You have done a great thing.' I told her I knew that. I wanted to slap her. The damage was done. There was no turning back at that point. I walked around the salon, trying to regain composure. No luck. I wanted to slap her, but there was nothing I could do. The hair cut had to be finished.
So, I stayed in the chair and let the disaster begin. She kept cutting. With every snip of her flowered scissors I wanted to slap her even more. I have never been the type of person to get upset by a hair cut. It's only hair, it grows back. Its not like I ever had one stylist that I would let touch my hair. I figured, i had enough of it, it'll grow back. I guess up until now, I have never had a bad hair cut.
I told her no shorter. I told her to keep the bottom at my shoulders and do what she could to save her disaster. She kept cutting. Told me she was layering. Layering my ass. After 10 minutes of her layering. I officially freaked out. I stood up midcut and told her to back off. To get away from me. I was pacing. This was not the emotional trauma I had signed up for. I sat back down and told her to finish as soon as possible, because I couldn't take it any more.... She was about to make another cut, and another stylist came in and saved me.
She asked to take over. She took me to her chair and told me she was going to do what she could do to save my haircut. Well, didn't that just make me feel like a million dollars? She was going to SAVE my hair, not finish the cut. great.
While all this was going on, my mom and Trevor were watching from the store front. Watching me freak out. Trying to help, be supportive, be positive, while the devil with scissors kept cutting.
In the end, everything is fine, of course. I donated more hair than I had thought, someone will get a great wig who deserves it. Someone will get to feel beautiful in a time when they need it. I feel good about that, giving part of myself to someone else. No matter the journey to get there, at least someone will get a smile out of today. Even me.... and I learned a valuable lesson. If their hair sucks, dont let them near yours.
Peace, Love, and short hair, dont care,
B
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