The Weekend

Saturday night we hosted a goodbye party for ourselves as we are soon to leave town.

In preparation for this evening, I decided to go to the salon and get my hair straightened. I would do this on my own but since my hair is currently the length and texture of a horse's tail, I thought I would spare myself the trouble.

The salon apprentice led me to sink where she washed my hair and massaged my head with a vigorous sensuality that left me both enjoyably relaxed and confusingly aroused. Having whipped me into such a state, she then abandoned me to the care of a more senior stylist.

"Straighten this bitch out" I demanded (or words to that effect) and she got to it, pausing now and then to let me know everything that was wrong with my hair and my life in general.

Your hair is very dry... like straw. Do you use conditioner AT ALL?

I noticed your hair style when you came in. You're doing that wrong. If you did it like THIS you wouldn't look so... cheap.

This colour makes you look washed out. Did you do this yourself... yeah, I thought so... too bad.

You're leaving your hair DOWN for your wedding? How... eighties.

Etc. Etc.

Since when did hairdressers become life coaches? Just straighten my motherfucking hair, bitch! If I need anything else, I'll ask for it.

The whole ordeal left me a little morose which is probably why I ended up drinking enough vodka that night to poison a small army. Consequently I remember very little of the evening, and more than likely made a fool of myself. If you must make a fool of yourself in front of a number of people, however, these were the people to do it in front of; people who can discuss, for over an hour, which movie titles sound most like descriptions of vaginas (A Thin Red Line and Fern Gully being my contributions).

The tools of my downfall.
My friend Jamie V. and I. I have drunk eyes, but he has no excuse for making that face.


The next morning was particularly unpleasant, and my hangover lasted well into dinner with Jonathan's parents. Father's Day dinner, where my contributions to the conversation were "uhhhhhh" and "urrrgh".

Better that than what I was thinking, mainly "fuuuuuuuuck" and "don't hurl... do NOT hurl!"