The Question of the Day

What should I do with my hair?

If you know me, you know I am always changing my hair. Only I don't know what to do with it now. It's at one of those horrible grown-out stages. I'm going to blonde it up again for summer (it feels like summer here in LA already), and I do want it a little longer, but that's all I know. And I feel I should know more if I'm going to drop some big dollars on another cut at the tres chic Beverly Hills Salon.

Knitting Machine

I've been a knitting addict lately. Two purses, a pair of fingerless gloves, and some arm warmers have all spilled off my needles. It's a way to feel productive while wasting time in front of the TV. And if this doesn't completely capture the guilt of underproductivity that plagues all grad students, I don't know what does. It isn't okay to just watch TV to zone out for a while - No! - my hands must be busy even if my brain isn't.

Still, the chapter plods along. Getting close to the end now.

And theatre stuff is picking up, too. I'm starting to make some good contacts here and am beginning work on a crazy Evel Kneivel inspired piece as well as a staged reading. I think I'm getting out of the bike shop just in time to make some things happen.

All of which means I am feeling a bit more grounded here lately. Could it be that I am starting to become an Angeleno?

I'm The Girl For Whom They Invented Incentive Programs

Last month, in preparation for the big conference in Kansas, I went to a super ritzy Beverly Hills Salon. I paid $105 for a haircut. $105! The results were great, sort of. I mean, I got a fantastic haircut and fantastic color. The kind of haircut that you don't have to do anything to and it still looks good. The rich, pretty red color I requested. I just looked a little more like an almost 35 year-old woman than my inner almost 35 year-old woman wants to look.

But I signed up for this incentive program. And to my great joy, a $24 coupon arrived in the mail for me this week. $24 free dollars! So I trotted my happy ass back to the salon today to cash in the rewards, mostly because I misread the ticket and thought it expired on Saturday when it actually expired a year from Saturday.

But such details didn't stop me! I quickly grabbed some conditioner, and because I had about $10 left to spend, I thought I would pick up some new eyeshadow. All of my current eyeshadow is old, and cheap, and kind of ugly. So the makeup lady swooped in on me, washed off my face and worked some magic. PMS zits disappeared! My eyes were dramatic, yet natural! A subtle pink glow emanated from my cheeks!

So instead of buying one shade of eyeshadow, I bought three. And a compact to put them in. And a fancy makeup brush. I did manage to refrain from the concealer and the blush and powder, but only just. I spent some $55 over the $24 free dollars I had intended to spend. And yet I still feel as if I got a great deal. I don't think, "Wow! I shouldn't have blown $55 on makeup!" I think, "Wow! I saved $24 that I would have spent anyway!"

I also consulted with my stylist. We have plans to grow into a longer (not long), hopefully more youthful and funky style. I fear, however, that I have outgrown my funkiness and will have to accept my fast-approaching middle agedness. I'm fighting it, though. I also requested a call from my colorist. I want to bring back the blonde for summer, but I feel I should consult with her, if only because that is one of the perks of spending big bucks at a Beverly Hills Salon.

So I Quit. And Then Came the Heart Attack.

I finally had it with the bike shop. One too many days of sitting alone at the counter waiting for the boss man to arrive. One too many instances of having given much more than was required of me and then being asked to give just a little bit more. One too many apologies to customers when shit entirely beyond my control was fucked up. One too many times of not having the information I need to do the simplest of tasks. One too many times of being asked to say a little white lie so that the shop doesn’t look like the total Flakesville that it is. One too many days of being forced to bear the responsibility for Captain Chaotica’s stressed-out life, troubled interpersonal relationships, medical problems, and poor managerial decisions.

Of course I didn’t mention that these were my real reasons for putting in an unheard of One Month’s Notice (because I am a softie and really don’t want to make my departure too stressful to the already overstressed Captain) because, really, what good would that do? Would the Captain learn anything from the truth, or in any way alter his behavior? Not Likely. Especially as the Captain is really operating in pure survival mode, almost drowning under the burden of his reality but somehow managing to keep his chin just barely above the surface.

Honestly, the moment I quit, I felt the weight taken off of me. That’s how bad the situation had become, having almost imperceptibly shifted from slightly annoying to completely unbearable over the course of my two months there. And once that weight was off, I no longer was embittered; just happy that in one month’s time, I will have moved on. I could suddenly see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, and I knew that it was beautiful.

Also I’ve started being completely rude to customers who annoy me, a skill honed during my many many years waiting tables at Perkins.

Annoying Guy: You just give these water bottles out, right?
Me: No. They cost $3.99. (A price I made up on the spot).
AG: But I had to wait longer than the time you told me. Shouldn’t I get it for free?
Me: No, you shouldn’t get it for free. But if it will shut you up, you can have it.
AG: (embarrassed) I mean, it’s free advertising for you.
Me: You want the free water bottle. Take the free water bottle. Just admit that you want the free water bottle because you’re greedy, not because you are altruistically looking to advertise our shop.
AG: Um, thanks for the water bottle.

So Tuesday I was going in to work. I told the Captain I would be there between 3:30 and 4:00 and I arrived at the 4:00 end of the equation, albeit still on time. And because I was still on time, I sort of maliciously took pleasure in the fact that he had to be on the receiving end of the waiting game. He had to wonder just when I would walk through the door. He had to want to leave, need to leave, and know that he was stuck there until my happy ass showed up. It was delicious. And short-lived.

I walked in to find that the Captain, who has a long history of horrible horrible heart problems, had just called 911. The store or his life in the store had literally pushed him over the edge (or swallowed him under, if I want to keep my metaphors consistent). He was wheeled out of the store on a gurney under the care and supervision of the LAFD and has been in the hospital ever since.

And who, you may ask, is holding down the fort?

You know who.

Apparently, I'm Bebe

I even took the quiz twice to make sure I gave the most honest answers because I figured on the first time around I would try to beat the test, even though I'm not exactly sure how one beats the Which South Park Girl Am I test. And twice I was Bebe.

So call me Bebe, Baby.