hair, and the people who cut it, pt. II

The last time a man cut my hair, he twisted it on the top, snipped, and said, "Oops." Then he started singing along with the radio, as if I would mistaken his blunder for a song lyric. There was no mistake. I wore a knitted hat on my head for days. And then when it started to grow out, a guy I knew said, "Yay, pretty Heather's back again!"

Note to any guys reading this: No girl likes to be told she is conditionally pretty.

Note to any girls reading this: Do not go to Super Cuts on 68 next to Kroger, even if you get a coupon in the mail.

But when I called Studio 19 the other day and asked to make an appointment "today or tomorrow," the guy on the phone said it this way: "I could take you today, or you could go with someone else tomorrow."

Okay, well, great. Now I'm stuck, because if I say, "Ummmmm I think I'll go tomorrow," then he's gonna know that I don't want him to cut my hair. And I don't have anything against male stylists, I just don't want them to cut my hair.

So I inhaled abruptly and said, "SureIcancomeintoday."

So I sat in the chair in front of the giant mirrors and he asked, "What are we thinking today?" Well, I was thinking that he smells a lot like Chinese food, but instead I answered, fingering my hair, "I'm not diggin' this nasty mullet thing goin' on in the back..." And that's when I realized that he, indeed, had a mullet. I briefly rethought what I'd just said, noting that I'd used the word "nasty" to describe "mullet." Well, I could cover it up by saying, "You know, they're fine on guys, but...." However, I do not think mullets are fine on guys. So that would be a lie. So I just kept talking.

It's okay, though, because he got me back. I told him my "Oops at Super Cuts" story, and just as he stepped in front of me to cut my bangs, he let out a, "Whoops!"

Heather - 1, Deep Fried Egg Roll - 1

Then he laughed it off with, "Heh heh, just kidding. I just thought you needed to lighten up."

Note to any guys reading this: Things not to tell girls: "Lighten up," "You look tired," "Yay, you're pretty again."

Note to any girls reading this: Do not go to Studio 19 on Sir Barton Way, even though you get a 10% discount online.

Really, the haircut was fine. Mostly I just didn't want to look like Justin Bieber anymore. And I always enjoy new experiences. Oops! Forgot to tip you. Heh, heh, just kidding.

a bicycle built for one

My bike is leaning against a wall in my bedroom. Every time I walk in the room we have this stare-down, and he just looks at me with this blank expression that anyone else would overlook, but I know what he wants.

I can't, I tell him. I don't have a helmet.
You don't need a helmet.
Yes I do, Bike.
I want to go outside.
I know. And I want to take you outside, but--
Just this once.
All it takes is once.
Lots of people ride bikes without helmets.
Do you remember the story Miss Hammond told me in 11th grade?
That won't happen to you.
Some innocent little girl--
Please.
--wasn't wearing a helmet--
All I do is sit here.
--and she fell off her bike and hit her head--
It's so nice outside.
--and she was brain dead.
...I'll protect you.
You can't protect me.
Yes, I will protect you.
You think that, but you are actually incapable of protecting me. What would you do if a garbage truck came hurtling toward us?
I am invincible.
You are starting to rust.
What?
Under there.
Stop it.
Listen, my Schwinn, I want nothing more than to ride down to Orange Leaf--
Yes, let's go to Orange Leaf.
--but I can't. Not until I have a helmet.
Is a helmet really going to make that much of a difference.
...Yes.
You hesitated.
Don't talk to me anymore, Bike.

I actually have to sleep facing the opposite wall, because I think he watches me while I sleep. And I'm beginning to bend, like, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if I rode on the sidewalks, in residential neighborhoods. Or just down to the library. It's only 2 blocks. Lots of people do it, right?

Maybe I should cover him with a sheet.

tidbits

Bill O'Reilly never sent me a signed copy of his book, so I stopped watching his show. (It also may be because I don't have cable anymore, and when I do have access to the Internet, I watch clips on billoreilly.com. So no, I don't really have any principles, thanks for asking.) It's probably for the best, because if he had acknowledged me on his show, some producer probably would've been awestruck by my brilliance and beauty, and then I would've become another one of those "discovered on YouTube" stars. I'm trying to keep it classy, like Doris Day. I can't imagine Doris Day ever making a YouTube video.

I was sitting in Panera Bread with my laptop, because I don't have Internet in my apartment, when all of a sudden his (and by "his," I mean my laptop, because he has a gender, and it is male) screen went blank and he lost consciousness. I can't restart him, and so now not only do I not have Internet or cable in my apartment, but now I can't even listen to music or type anything.

So let's recap: Bill O'Reilly ignored me, and I can't watch TV, get on the Internet, write, or listen to music. The "entertainment" category in my life right now is pretty low.

I guess this means I should pick up Gone with the Wind again, which I packed away in my move and in which still have 500 pages left to read. Or I could whip out my notebook and write with a pen, like writers used to do. Or I could journal, which I haven't done in weeks, because talking to people is much more fun. Instead, I rented The A-Team from RedBox at Kroger and stopped it halfway through because it was stupid, and I was tired.

I went to the gym to inquire about a gym membership, too, and talked to the woman for 45 minutes about youth, family, beauty, jobs, and her boyfriend. She was very friendly, and I enjoyed talking to her, but now I feel bad that I don't want to join her gym. I don't like letting people down. I have already come up with many excuses as to why I can't join her gym.
 
"Hi, Julie? It's Heather. Um, I'm sorry, but I was walking down the stairs the other day and....my tibia snapped in half. Yes, my tibia. And then...my fibula. And then my clavicle...which I know is nowhere near my tibia and fibula, but...it just all happened...at once...and the bones were just all snapping...so many bones snapping...so I can't work out...please don't be mad at me."

I'm not good at losing friends.

My laptop has been fixed (so much happens in the space between paragraphs, doesn't it?), but now I can't figure out how to change him back to the way I had him before. You know, like if you have this husband who made all these habits over the 25 years that you were married, and then he has a brain injury and forgets everything, and he has to relearn these things all over again. No, Compy, you go to sleep when I TELL you to go to sleep! (Okay, so it's not quite like having a brain-injured husband....) Moral of the story: When someone tells you that something could be so much better, just say, "No, thank you, I like things the way they are." Words to live by.