Oh yeah, and...

The whole reason for me ranting about the little teenage drama queen was to mention that first off, how one client can just fuck my whole day, another client can make it all better. My client after was an Irish redhead with the accent of a southern black woman. She was hilarious. More importantly, someone else made me feel better. From time to time, I'll get comments on my blogger blog and they're always real nice. Saturday after work I got one from Kate telling me how once she read my blog she marked it as a favorite and that's just the bee's knees. I've gotten other similar comments, most of which are anonymous so I have no way of letting them know how I appreciate their words of kindness and the boost to my ego. Thanks to you all, you make my day after dealing with retards at work and I heart you guys. *The cheesy part is over.*

A few things

Just a little word about what's been going on in my salon, in my head and just all around me. Not necessarily in that order.

1. So Saturday, I'm having a good day. Non-stop clients, big tips, I was on my comedy game, when it happened. She walked in. Every stylist knows what I'm talking about. That girl. She was about 14 going to her first homecoming dance. And a cheerleader. I normally love styling hair, shit I practically do it every other weekend for Kendra. So anyway, she tells me what she wants done. Curled hair, half up with a pouf but not too formal. I can already tell she's going to be a pain because as I'm curling her hair, she keeps trying to look at herself in the mirror. You shouldn't move your head too much when someone has a 400 degree ceramic rod inches from your face. I'm getting more and more annoyed as her face gets more and more worried. I pride myself on my styling abilities, but there's always that one person that just fucks your world. Her two little friends that were with her were done, I'm trying to finish through her head turning and fidgeting when I just get to the point where I just don't give a shit anymore. Finally I'm done. I take one look at her in the mirror and her little brace face is scrunched up like she's about to cry. "You don't like it?" I say to her and all she can do is shake her head no. One of the moms hears me and comes over to tell her she's crazy since her hair looks great (duh), while she's still trying not to cry. I ask her what it is that she doesn't like about her hair and she doesn't answer me. At the point I'm just irritated. I'm pretty sure I'm pms'ing, my blood sugar was low and I was too tired to deal with a spoiled little brat who was being coddled by her friends. I contemplate charging her less since she wasn't satisfied, but decided against it since I knew she wouldn't tip me and for my pain and suffering. She leaves, I sit my ass down to eat something, anything, when I get another haircut. I just don't really want to do it. I ask to pass on it, but the stylist who it went to complained about it, so I said fuck it and agreed to take it. As I was cleaning my station getting ready, I could feel the tears coming on. I'm just pissed. I go to the bathroom to pull myself together. I hate crying, though I do it often, especially in front of people. Like I said, it just takes one person to fuck my whole world.

2. I happened to catch a show about women who collect life like baby dolls. This struck me as quite odd when I remembered a woman I'd met when I was about 18 and worked at a little thrift store in Mesa. She would come in carrying a doll, which upon first inspection looked like a real baby. She would buy an outfit or two for her (her name was Emily, by the way. the baby, not the woman), toys and actually drove with the "baby" in a baby carseat. Crazy or sad? It's hard to tell.

3. I totally forgot what my third point was. It's what happens when I'm writing and watching tv at the same time. Like my sister says, it was probably una mentira.

I should probably go to sleep now, I'm seriously sleep deprived and not so beautiful lately as a result. Man, closing in on your 30's and not enough sleep is real bad for the skin. And the mentality.

All about me

Being a procrastinator has stunted my search for fame. Why would I want to be famous, you ask? Not necessarily for the sake of recognition, although I get a secret high from being recognized on the street (doesn't happen often), but for the money. I'm not going to lie. I would so be that homeless guy on the street with the sign that says, "I'm not gunna lie, I'm going to buy marijuana with your money." So I won't lie now, i just want to be famous so I can actually pay my rent. That'd be pretty sweet.

Not that I do anything to try to be famous (let's see how many times I use the word 'famous'), I just hope that I'll just magically become famous. Like Tila Tequila, but you know, not skeazy or ugly. In my opinion she looks like a retarded asian midget. She literally just got big fake boobs and started making out with chicks in bikinis...then overnight she's famous and gets her own mtv show because a million retards friended her on the space. Wait, did I say retards? I meant wonderful, smart, sexy people (hey, if they like her, maybe they'll like me).

But since I don't wear bikinis, say I'm bi or have fake boobs, I'm going to have to try and make my own way. By make my own way, I mean try my hand at a reality show. I'm not on it yet, but I hope to be. It's a new show for hairstylists. I figure that even if I don't get far in the competion, I'm sure to win the hearts of home audience viewers with my charming personality, dry sardonicism and all around awesomeness. I mean, that's how I make money now.

Since I'm trying to get on the show, the first step is to send in a bio of myself. I seem to be having trouble writing the bio. They want "over-over the top personalities", and while I wouldn't say I'm totally over the top, I am loud, slightly unfiltered and sarcastic to a fault. How do I put that in writing so that the producers, or what have you, don't have a sudden case of the sleepies while reading my bio. Or worse yet, how do I keep them from not tossing it in the trash after reading the first sentence and deciding I'm boring?

This is just too much pressure. Among other things, I'm a big, fat pussy. I know I don't look it, but I am pretty bashful and not very forward. Though I am a real good bull-shitter. Which is how I hope to get through any of this, if I make it. We'll see, I guess if this is my meal ticket, it'll happen. My fingers are crossed.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Hair extension information.
Here is a quick look at the different methods of applying hair extensions:
Hair extensions can be attached to your head in many different ways, including gluing, tubing, sewing, and clipping on. Different methods have different advantages. The method you choose will depend on many factors: your hair, your lifestyle, your budget, and your needs, for starters. If you are looking for a long-lasting, natural-looking hair extensions, though, consider one of the fusion methods.

I myself prefer the cold fusion method as it's the least damaging to your hair and look more natural.

Fusion is generally the preferred method as fused hair extensions can last up to three to four months with proper care. With fusion hair extensions, the extensions will be indistinguishable from your natural hair.

Fusion hair extensions can be applied in different ways: hot or cold fusion.

Hot fusion– (lasts 3-4 months) Hot fusion or bonding uses hot glue to attach extensions to your hair. This is the more traditional method. While it does have many happy followers, others say that the glue causes the extensions to feel stiff and unnatural. This method won't harm natural hair but doesn't have a lot of adhesive for holding power needed for extended wear. You generally loose about 3-4 strands throughout the period they are in. $125-150 full head.

Cold fusion- (last 3-4 months) this method uses no heat, it is good for all hair types. Uses a metal tube with a silicon lining and they are clamped over the real hair to attach extension hair. $125-150 full head.


Weaves – (lasts 2 weeks) Tiny braids hold hair extensions against the scalp, like cornrows, except these braids are hidden. $75 full head.

Bonding – (lasts shampoo to shampoo) The extensions used for this method have a latex plug meant to be glued to your own hair for short terms use. Because this method is fast it's also inexpensive. However, to remove extensions, oil and heat must be used to dissolve the bonding agent, which messy and time consuming. If not removed with care the latex can pull your own hair out. $30 full head.

Braids, Cornrows, Twists, Locks - Integrates extensions in a visible way in that the braided attachment is seen but blends into the hairstyle. $ upon consultation

PRICES DO NOT INCLUDE HAIR. YOU WOULD NEED TO GOTO SUNNYS OR ANOTHER HAIR STORE FOR HAIR.

e-mail me for information regarding an appointment or any other information: greteljane37@hotmail.com

Wake up call

One of the best ways to wake up, in my opinion, is morning sex. One of the worst? Hearing your 11 year old boy scream like a little girl because there's a cockroach in the bathroom.

The only reason why I miss having a husband? Because he killed the roaches. I know, it sounds really girly for me to say this, but its true. I'm not a fan of the roaches, as is most of the populous, but i hate killing them even more. i think its the whole crunching thing. And the grossness factor.

So after being jarred awake by the girly scream and looking up to see the genius naked cupping his teeny peeny, I try to get him to kill the roach. "No I can't, I'm naked!", he yells to me. So with my blurred vision due to slept in contacts, i get up, slip on the geniuses 3 sizes bigger than mine shoes (did I mention he's 11?), and run over to squish it. Now its my turn to scream like a little girl. The roach won't die. And it was probably the size of my hand. No exaggeration, I have small hands. So I twisted and squished as hard as I could until I was sure it was dead. Now the harder part, for me anyway, to pick it up and toss it. I prevailed and got it in the trash then made the genius take the trash out for fear it would put itself back together and come crawling out for revenge. Eeesh, I did more this morning before 7 a.m. then most people do in a day. At least it felt that way. Call me a drama queen, I don't care, when it comes to roaches, I don't fuck around. Ick.

So as much as I love living alone, I don't like being alone when I almost impale myself trying to take a shower. Alright, I guess impale is a little strong a word, but I was close to impalement of some body part. Let me explain. Sunday, after a long arduous day at work trying to recover from a gnarly hangover and seeing a movie I didn't want to see with a boy I didn't want to see it with, I got home and wanted nothing more than to shower and go to bed. So I shower. But I got as far as stepping up to stand under the stream of water when my left foot slipped out from under me. I went flying into the shower door. Lucky for me, the door didn't break, merely fell off the track, and I didn't knock myself unconscious on the sink. I did, however, slam my right shoulder into the door rather hard. Well, really hard. It was an imperfect end to an imperfect day.

My shoulder's okay now. Though I could do with a really good massage, I'm not a total cripple anymore. I guess I bragged too much about how I hadn't hurt myself in a couple of weeks, because before the shower debacle, I fell in front of a client on Friday afternoon when I decided to actually wear heels. Guess I should have knocked on wood.