Haircut Phobia: Solved!

I hate hair cuts.

It starts with the ding-ding of the bell that hair salons often have above the door to notify the stylists of fresh meat (er, a new customer). They shoot you a look of judgment; their silent moans and groans settle any doubts you may have had about whether or not you're welcome, and they go back to what they were doing without saying a word. (I used to think that this clique-ish behavior was all in my head --- after all, what business would risk customer satisfaction by treating them as an unwelcome new employee instead of a person whose patronization pays their salary? It's unheard of. Grocery store employees treat their customers with more gratification, and they're not relying on tips!)

Eventually someone takes the initiative to see what you're there for. This person is usually an old lady with bad eye make-up and a smoker's voice or a younger woman with a chip on her shoulder, sporting emo-hair with pink undertones.

They then ask if you need a shampoo. This is a rhetorical question, to which the customer's scripted answer is "yes".

Yes, I want to pay you the cost of a bottle of Pantene Pro-V (the equivalent of 20 at-home quality shampoos) to wash my hair. I want to do this because 1. washing my hair is such a huge inconvenience; it's not like I shower everyday or anything, and 2. we both know that ultimately this makes your job easier when you go to cut it, and when it comes time to leave I'll have to pay extra to have it blow dried as well. Now that you've added tasks that require the skill of a monkey, you now have reason to expect a greater tip. (Lose-lose situation, much?)

After refusing their offer to wash my hair, the stylist usually heaves a heavy sigh to reprimand me for not sticking to the script, and we move on.

The time comes to explain what you want done. If you're lucky, you can say "just a trim"; but if you're like me, you're still looking for someone to get it right. Often this step is a verbal battle of explaining yourself accurately without losing their attention to boredom or their subconscious decision that you're just a pain in the ass. Then the complaining ensues. My hair is not only extremely long, it's a deadly combination of thick and fine; one big, tangle-prone chore. I've actually caught the hair stylist rolling her eyes and exchanging faces with the stylist next to her. (Um, if you want to back-stab your customers, it helps if you don't put them in a room of mirrors.) Now for the annoyingly rude questions: the first one being, "Do you cut your own hair?" My hair has been cut by 50 different people 50 different ways, so it's no surprise that my layers look like a disaster to the trained eye (or so I'm told). But to ask this question after a series of complaints obviously bears derogatory implications. Regardless of your answer, the goal of the stylist is to let you know that you've made her job harder and, if you did cut your hair, make you feel ashamed for having robbed them of work at some point in time.

Though I don't know what's worse --- a demeaning interrogation, or forcing me to engage in meaningless small talk. "What do you do?" "When did you get married?" "Aren't you kind of young?"

SHUT UPPPPP!!
...and do your job.

Why is that so hard?

Earlier, I mentioned that I couldn't understand why someone who relies on a tip would treat a customer as anything less than a welcome guest. But now I realize: they're relying on our obligation to tip. At one point in time, a tip was an expression of gratitude for a job extra-well done by a competent and friendly individual who went above and beyond. But no more: it is now expected. There's no question in their mind (or yours). You will express gratification of what will be deemed a job well done. If I don't tip because I'm dissatisfied --- even insulted! --- I'm made out to be a terrible person. For the fools that tip regardless of the quality of service: know that you do not possess some godly compassion, you've just been peer-pressured by society. Thanks to society, people such as myself shake in their boots when it's time to get a haircut because the ones with the scissors have no incentive to do anything but bare minimum. So shame on me for ever tipping someone who ruined my hair and my day, and on everyone who perpetuates such nonsense.

I'm through with dreading something that should be so painless. I'm sick of sitting in that stupid chair, with a woman's chest two inches from my face, being insulted, fists clenched, face itching, heart racing, flabbergasted that not only am I over-paying for this traumatizing experience but I'm expected to either tip an additional amount as gratitude for snide remarks and impatience, or muster the courage to do otherwise.

So last week when I was dying for a hair cut, I got in my car to go to the hair salon and went to Sally's Beauty Supply instead.

The salon I would have chosen cost $25 for the basic cut. After an upcharge for having long hair plus a tip, it would have came to about $34. Which is exactly how much I paid to buy a handheld mirror, a variety of clips, a spray bottle, shears, and a cute pair of leopard print scissors.





In the past, cutting my own hair was out of the question. I once trimmed the little fuzzies that grow next to my ears because they get on my nerves. When I told a hair stylist what I had done, she said "You did WHAT ?! NEVER do that AGAIN !" Initially her shaming tactic worked; she successfully made me believe I should feel ashamed for trimming fuzzies, which I now realize was absolutely ridiculous, not to mention rude. So unless I have an appointment with the red carpet, I'll do whatever I please and thank you very much to shut your trap.

This example just shows you how hair stylists try to embarrass you for even thinking about cutting your own hair. If the whole world caught on to the fact that with practice cutting hair is no different from any other routine task that is done to maintain personal hygiene, hair stylists would be out of a job, feel unimportant, and probably regret not going to college.

In my case, I already cut my husband's hair (and do a better job than the last girl who did it "professionally"), and I'm all about DIY and saving money. These facts --- combined with how much I dread going to the salon --- made me wonder why I hadn't thought of this before!

I took about two inches off. If it's not technically perfect, the paparazzi will just have to deal.

It was easy --- and I can already tell it'll get easier. For healthy hair, it's recommended to get a hair cut every four to six weeks. So for the cost of one cut, I saved $300-400 a year (way more if you spend above $20-25 on a single cut). My husband requires a hair cut almost every week, so I already save about $800 a year doing his myself. That's about $1,200 a year out of the pockets of nasty opinionated old women who think they're pretty rad stuff for doing what an inexperienced housewife casually picked up one day, and back into my checking account.

If saving thousands of dollars doesn't impress you, look at it this way: everytime you cut your hair you can take the money you didn't spend at a salon and buy a quality hair product. (Biolage = my guilty pleasure.)

Either way, I would say it's worth YouTubing some how-to.

If any part of this entry made you say "I can relate to that!", then I encourage you to stop paying way too much for something you can do yourself! But if this blog didn't boost your confidence enough to take a pair of scissors to your own hair just yet, then at least tip appropriately --- not regardless of the quality of service received (and be honest about it!). Withholding a tip for rude and/or awful service is not depriving anyone of income; it's asking them to work for it.

*Note: These grievances are not in regard to highly qualified and capable stylists who know the importance of customer service and emphasis satisfaction. I am not referring to qualified individuals who charge top dollar and give you every pennies worth, such as my cousin who works at a higher-end salon in Chicago. However, some people cannot afford high-end and are forced to forfeit customer service at a not-even-affordable price; these are the culprits of my frustration.

New Year's Resolutions: Better late then never. No, really!

Now that every other blogger has moved on from the topic of holidays, it is probably time I formally acknowledge the new year and that stupid, worn out "R" word: resolutions.

In a country where delayed gratification does not exist and discipline is neither a word spoken nor a thing used, it makes sense that the words "New Years' resolutions" are not taken seriously, and lose our interest about as fast as the oldest and dumbest knock-knock joke. We've all done it: proclaimed with excitement "this year I'm going to do such and suchhh!!" ... but by the end of the month, "such and such" has been a thing of the past for 26 days.

"Maybe next year."

Yeah I think we all just dislike the "R" word. But to that word's credit, a resolution in itself is not a bad idea. Rather, our choice of timing plays a large role in its reputation lacking of credibility.

A couple of days before the new year I had asked my dear sibling (I will not mention which one... ok, the only one... but last I checked he doesn't read this anyway) to go on a run with me. He adamantly refused, with the justification that it was his "new year's resolution... I have to wait till the 1st!", or something rather comical and close to those lines. Obviously it was an excuse; he just didn't want to go. I contemplated reminding him that I once gained over 30lbs with that mentality, but figured it'd do no good and resigned to taking my run solo.

However that is a very dangerous mentality. I personally think that establishing resolutions on the first day of the year is the best way to ensure defeat of determination. You know what I'm talking about. The enthusiasm lasts till about the third, and the second you slip up -- whenever that may be -- well, now it's "all ruined". You dirtied the slate. Of course it's purely psychological -- subconscious, even -- and the funniest part is the fact that January 1st is just another day, isn't it?

And so you see, it's no tragedy or coincidence that I am doing this entry on a random number of days after the new year. Because as always, there's no better time than the present. Whatever random day of a random month the present happens to be.

Without further adieu, my resolutions for 2011.

- Whenever I'm checking out at a grocery store I want to make it a habit to look and see if the person behind me has a considerably less number of items and if so offer them to go ahead. People have done this for me on several occasions, however it was just the other day that I was next in line with my usual half-cart full of groceries when the cashier asked if I would let the elderly gentleman with two items go ahead of me. I felt like smacking myself in the forehead. Why didn't I think of that?

- I used to frown upon the motto of "no regrets"; to me it implied irresponsibility, and was often promoted by the same people with a "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" type of attitude. But I would like to adopt my own rendition of the term. I'm quite the perfectionist, and with this trait comes a memory of everything I've ever done wrong. There's absolutely nothing I can do about those things. You'd laugh at them, that's how silly and petty most of them are. Anyway I'm so over them. No regrets!

- I'd also like to use more cash. Research shows that the use of cash reduces impulse spending. Not that I do that of course! :)

- I want to give those stupid pan-handlers the time of day. Sure more than 95% of them are scam artists, but what about the one dude that's actually hard up? I still won't give them money, but since they claim to always be out of gas I might carry a gas can in my trunk, so that if they're legit I can lend them a hand.

-Oh, and if I lost ten pounds it wouldn't be the end of the world! (Come on, what would a list of resolutions be without it?)

Santamas time. I mean Christmas time.

I'm currently sitting at my parent's kitchen table, far, far from our own apartment in Texas, soaking in Christmas and this moment before the holiday passes and my husband and I have to reload our little truck and trek halfway across the country back to where we came from to resume our daily lives. This is the first Christmas that I've lived away from home, and I'm so thankful to spend it with our family. At the same time the length of a round-trip between Texas and Florida and the efforts and expenses involved have brought home the reality of over 1,100 miles. The realization of the distance is put somewhat of a damper on my happy time. At this point you're probably inclined to encourage me to enjoy my stay and not think about it. But it's hard to do when I look around this cozy little house I know so well and can't help but tell myself "soak it in because you have no clue when you'll be back".

At the same time, living far away has made the holidays mean much more. Which in turn has made me want to go in to Walmart and tear the wrapping paper off of every check out aisle number, shred every cardboard Santa Claus, and punch a few panhandlers in the parking lot who grow in numbers around the holidays to take advantage of the season of generosity. Never in my life have I felt so disgusted by this facade of Christmas spirit. They throw prayer out of schools with no problem (and with little protest from us, to boot) but if Jesus' birthday can make money then everyone is all the sudden interested. How did it go from a celebration of God incarnate to dragging a dead tree into our living room, saying it's beautiful, and telling our children to sit on the lap of an overweight elderly man in pajamas? I'd like to know! The answer is that no one cares what it's really about. They don't even seem to care that secondly, it's about family. There's nothing in the world that I need or want, but if there was the excitement of its acquisition could not possibly compare to that of being at home with my family doing simple traditions.

One of my favorite things to do this time of year is to take a Christmas song we've all heard thousands of times and really listen to the lyrics. It's easy not to, because we know the song so well before we're even old enough to understand it. So the next time you hear a super old Christmas jingle, stop and think of it's meaning. Pay attention to the words...

O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees! O hear the angels' voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night Divine.

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land.
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.

He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before Him lowly bend!
Behold your King, Before Him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.

Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever,
His power and glory evermore proclaim.
His power and glory evermore proclaim.

A Hundred Years Goes Faster Than You Think...

If you know me, you know that I am the definition of a type-A personality. So much so that just being married to me has made my husband a somewhat stressed individual--which is no small feat because he was the textbook definition of type-B! A perfect example of our differences was just yesterday evening in the grocery store when we were making our way to the check out and I pulled a hold-that-thought on a conversation we were having so that I could stand in express lane number 3 while he stood in express lane number 4, the ultimate goal being to give ourselves the option to choose whichever one went faster. He called me back over to his lane and said "We don't always have to be in the shortest lane,"and proceeded with the conversation.

It kind of blew my mind. I mean really, I had a miniature revelation. "We don't have to what?... But I thought that was the goal... Apparently I need a second to rearrange my priorities in life!" I'm always go go go, and I don't think you have to be type A to have a sense of what I'm talking about; you just have to be an American in the 21st century.

The last several years of my life have gone by faster and brought more change than I like to think about. It brings to mind the song by Kenny Chesney:

"Don't blink, just like that you're six years old and you take a nap, and you wake up now you're 25 and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife."

Realizing how fleeting life is is a sobering thing, and for me the sobriety has left me with a mentality of urgency. It's like a clock is silently ticking in my ear. (Psychological parallel alert: I do not own a single clock; I hate them.) It's caused me to make the most of my time, but the irony is that a fast-paced lifestyle only makes it go faster.

"So I've been tryin' to slow it down, I've been tryin' to take it in, in this here today gone tomorrow world we're livin' in..."

For some people this is a harder thing to do than others. Being that I work 0-16 hours a week, I personally have little excuse. For myself, I prescribe playing a little more with my puppy, spend more time kicking back, and buying a clock, ok not buying a clock. For those of you who relate to this post but don't have time on their side, try taking the first line at the grocery store you see instead of searching for the shortest. Maybe even make chit-chat with the cashier (no matter how unfriendly they seem or how long and dirty their nails are, if you shop at WalMart).

"Trust me friend, a hundred years goes faster than you think."