I want this post to be irreverent and funny

But its not and I cried yesterday ... a lot. So what better way to move on and heal than have a big blog spew about my crapptastic afternoon.



Warning : This post is entirely about my hair... so if you thought that I wasn't vain and self indulgent ... this post will totally dispel those myths for you.



The background to this starts about 2 months ago when I had possibly the worst hair cut and colour from a hairdresser I know through work... It was time to seek out another hairdresser in my constant search for the perfect hairstyle/cut/colour you know the one that is going to make my life perfect. I have been on this particular quest since 1987. There is a teacher at Lulus school who has great hair at the moment and we both agree that its due to her current hairdresser... So I thinks to myself "Im gunna get me some of that".

I wont bore you with details (oops it appears that is exactly what I am doing) but the salon where the stylist works is so uber cool and edgy ... they don't advertise... as in good luck finding them in those tacky yellow pages or that consumerism gone made Internet... they don't even have a proper sign on the door so if you cough drive past/scope out cough manage to spot the salon ... still no phone no. Eventually I do track down the number and eventually after the 11th time I ring someone answers (I promise I'm not making this up). I get an appointment for yesterday afternoon (just a 4 week wait) Hallelujah Brother. I spent all of yesterday with a happy happy heart ...there is nothing I love more than a trip to the hairdresser where peeps fuss over me, care about finding the exact shade of beige that is going to make my brown eyes pop and improve my look all whilst I suck down as many extra hot skinny mochas as I like.

To illustrate just how happy I was about my trip to the salon at about lunch time Dave emailed me (yes from the office next door) and asked me "how it was going" I proceeded to list all the reasons I was sooo sooo happy about going to the hairdressers and what I planned to get done to my hair and knowing how much he likes me to detail all the stuff going on in my brain I may have included pictures of hairstyle's and colours I was thinking of trying out... turns out he meant "How was I going with the (Insert Clients Name Here) drawings" ... oops.



You just know that I was riding for a fall don't you ... I was just way too excited about this afternoon for it to deliver the goods.



So I get to the salon and its all art gallery chic with the polished concrete floors and minimalist furniture... I sit perched on the steel bench with the pretty young girl with full sleeve tattoos next to me and think I really need either more tattoos or a Mohawk to blend in here.

When my HD is ready we start talking about me... But first Kylie stops me mid sentence and says "OK hang on I'm just going to move your part (flips my hair over to the other side of my head) there that covers your cowlick better, now what were you saying?" Wow I hate it when my disgusting cowlick distracts peeps from talking to me.

So we talk and its great although she thinks for the hairstyle she is suggesting I may need to use more product and she also thinks I may be scared of it ... scared of it? I feel like telling Kylie I was a teenager in the 1980's (when she was probably in nappies) so what with the spiral perm and the teased fringe, product or liquid concrete or industrial lacquer were my best friends. I ain't scared of no product. Great we have decided on a style (it goes without saying that she trash talks my current style and most of my ideas but that is OK she knows her stuff and I completely trust her to sprinkle some hairdressing magic over my head).

Then Kylie turns from my spiritual hair leader to my arch Nemesis.



"you know you don't have a booking for the colourist today"



NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO



My regrowth is about 10cm long, I look like a skunk , I cant go another day without a colour... WHAT THE ......!



After much "dialoging" with the colourist ... its decided the computer has made a booking error and I should come back. As in come back another day... as in... I'm walking out of hair nirvana looking as shite as when I walked in. I am not too embarrassed to tell you blog friends that I nearly cried when Kylie was making the next appointment. She kept asking me what days (in two weeks time) were good for me... How about when the stars in the southern hemisphere align and I don't have the drama club car pool or when there isn't a rugby game I'm suppose to be burning sausages at or when a teacher doesn't need to meet with me about my child's incessant need to chat (wonder where the kid gets that from) ... how does that day suit you Kylie???



I slinked out the salon and called David... and bawled " Um they couldn't hic do my hic hair hic bawl bawl bawl" He says " Well we are only gardening and paving this weekend so just get it done next week" I bawl some more " My hair is sooo bad hic you don't hic wanna leave hic the house hic with meeeeeeee" knowing he is on a hiding to nothing with this conversation he tells me to come home .

There is more crying and carry on when I get in the car AND when I get home. At one point Lulu and I are sitting on her bed BOTH crying "about stupid Hairdressers" ... no I never claimed not to be an emotional spaz. Its around this time that Bear and David tell us to shut up or shut the bedroom door with "its only hair" being muttered under peeps breath.



As you can see 18 hours out from the trauma its all still quite raw .... so if you sitting there reading this thinking "Jeez I'm so glad I've got a good Hairdresser who is capable of both giving great hair AND taking a booking" keep your thoughts to yourself... this 37 year old horrible regrowth wearing, wrong side of the head hair part, offensive cow lick girl doesn't wanna hear it!

Maybe Kylie stuffed her booking up too.