Woke up, got dressed, got Botox, went to the pharmacy for more migraine drugs and cough medicine, mailed my Stitch Fix rejects and came home and washed the floors and changed the litterboxes and threw in laundry and cleaned my shower grout.
Relaxing.
I have today off, and I woke up with a migraine, because always. That is how migraines work--they come at you AFTER the stress, once you're winding down. And yesterday I was in my hiding place all day, stressing my gills off trying to get this big thing done before 5:00. Because I had a Very Important Appointment at 5:15.
Haircut.
While I adore the "barber" that my coworker Austin and I share I hadn't had her cut my locks for awhile, and I was hankering for a Diva cut, and let's face it. All my haircuts are diva cuts. But there's a particular style of cutting that you can go get trained in, that caters to curly people, and they cut it dry and do all sorts of cockamamie things.
I had been seeing a person certified in Diva cuts, but she got mad at me because I called her salon once, and it turns out I was calling her cell phone and she was at the beach. How was I supposed to know that? Nevertheless, she penciled me in and then the day of the appointment I had to work late so I called to reschedule and she just never called me back.
Look. If you don't want to answer your work phone at the beach, make other arrangements. Set up a voicemail saying "I will be gone this week but leave a message." I mean, geez Louise, lady. And I'd shown up as scheduled and on time the other three appointments I'd had, and paid the HUNDRED DOLLARS she charged for the cut, which was absurd.
Anyway. I had to find a new Diva cutter.
Fortunately, I found one in the shopping center that I am at 200 times a week. It has my grocery store, my pharmacy, and really all my needs are met there. Well. Some of my needs will never be fulfilled.
The point is, convenient. And she charged half what old Beachy did.
So yay.
But here's the thing.
I was trying to make conversation with her, asking her where she learned to do the cuts and how is it different from regular-people haircuts, and she said, "You know who could really use this cut, is black people."
She did the thing. She did the thing where she whispered the word "black."
Whenever people do this, my assumption is when they usually refer to black people, they are saying something bad, so they lower their voice.
Then she said, "They don't even know they need this cut."
...hunh.
I mean, it wasn't blatant racism. It wasn't in-your-face offensive, but it didn't sit right with me. So now I have to decide if I'm being a hair-trigger liberal person with zero perspective, or if I'm right and she's a racist asshole. Because if she is, I can't go back there. Which is a pity because I like my hair. But if Hitler gave wonderful massages, I'd like to think you wouldn't go back there because, you know, Hitler.
So let me know your thoughts. Paula, my Seattle friend, is on her way here for the day. Yes, of course Heart is playing somewhere in North Carolina. Anyway, I took the day off so we could scissor.
I know I still have to tell you about my breakup anniversary dinner with Ned, and I will, but I will leave you with the fact that we had dark-chocolate mousse for dessert.
Hell, yeah. Breakups are da bomb.
XO,
Joooon
