11.05.13

yes it's me

Awkward moment at the hairdresser’s today. I blame the trashy gossip magazine which mentioned some actress being on a ‘most hated in Hollywood’ scale. My hairdresser says, “Why her?… I like her.” “I don’t. She probably smells and tastes of cigarettes,” I said. Because I’ve seen photos of her in other trashy magazines puffing away like it’s her last day on earth.

My hairdresser doesn’t say anything for about five minutes.

Suddenly, I realise that I can smell cigarettes/smoke on his fingers, which are busily trimming my fringe. (How could I not have smelt/known/figured this out before?)

Excellent. Not excellent. Whatever.

I guess I am a little bit on the intolerant side when it comes to cigarettes.

So now I’m feeling a tad guilty about being judgemental about smokers and, by association, my hairdresser too. I was very relieved when he didn’t fry my hair but gave me beachy waves instead. Suffice to say, I hope the tip was enough. Surely he’ll have forgotten about it by the next visit? I guess I’ll know if I end up with a disasterous fringe or a bowl cut. (Of course I’m going to go back – just call it living on the edge. Hah!)

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Listening: Secondhand Rapture by MS MR

13.11.12

You may not be seeing me – or rather, seeing any posts from me – in the next week or so. Work’s a little on the all-consuming side right now, and I have the firm’s annual meeting on my hands, with this year’s gathering being more important than they have been for a while. So it’s all hands on deck, feet paddling frantically beneath the surface, head-down-bum-up, and nose to grindstone. More clich├ęs and body parts than you can poke a stick at!

See you soon!