Girl Talk: The Long, Long Saga of a Very, Very Bad Hair Day in Podunk

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O.K. This is really long, but stay with me.

Saturday morning started out full of promise. It was gray and rainy outside, but I was excited about going to a swanky downtown salon in the “Big City” (Kalamazoo) for a haircut and some pampering.

I’d done a lot of research scouring the Yellow Pages and Internet for area hairdressers. This salon looked like it would be THE ONE.

You know.

The one where I get a haircut so fabulous that it changes my life, forever.

Choirs of angels come down from heaven singing.

Hollywood starts calling.

That kind of fabulous.

I wasn’t the only who wanted to get my haircut at this salon. There was a two week wait for an appointment.

I did my hair that morning even though I knew they’d wash it, because I couldn’t have the people at the salon thinking I went around with messy hair.

Why is it that your hair lays wrong for weeks because it’s too long, but when you do it right before going to the beauty shop it looks perfect?

Finished with my hair, I obsessed for 20 minutes over what to wear. You can’t just go to a salon like that in shorts and a T-shirt. The employees and other clientele were sure to be hip and fashionably dressed. What would not look like I tried to hard, and not like I spent most days cleaning up spilled milk and Legos? I settled on some flip-flops with a wedge heel, capris and a floaty linen top. It probably still said “Mom”, but hopefully “Mom with a Little Flair”.

While agonizing over what to wear, I used up the extra 15 minutes I’d given myself in case I had trouble finding the salon. I grabbed my Yahoo directions, and ran out the door. In the car I skimmed over them, pretty sure I knew where I was going.

As I entered downtown, I had a feeling I wasn’t quite in the right place. Looking over the directions more carefully, I realized I should have taken the business route rather than the freeway. I was on the opposite side of the city from where I needed to be. But the salon was located on the Kalamazoo Mall, a popular downtown destination. There was directional signage everywhere leading the way, so I followed.

I found the Kalamazoo Mall, a ONE-WAY street lined with shops. I turned right, the only way I could. And I drove and drove looking for a building number to give me a clue about where I was on the mall. Finally, I saw a number that told me that I was again at the total opposite end of where I should be.

So close, yet SO far away.

It was 9 o’clock. My appointment was at 9 o’clock, the same time the salon opened. I reasoned that it would be alright to be a few minutes late since they were probably just unlocking the doors and getting things set up.

At this point I would have parked my car at the wrong end of the street, and walked the four blocks in the other direction, except that it was pouring down rain, and I of course did not have an umbrella. The rain would have turned my oh so carefully selected white blouse into see-through tissue paper.

Traffic was light this early on a Saturday in downtown, and I weighed the risks of simply turning my car around on this one-way street and dodging the few on-coming vehicles.  But I decided against it, and went around the block to the parallel one-way street running in the opposite direction.

I was naive to think that the street ran parallel. For it curved. It curved so much that I ended up at the business route exit I should have taken in the first place. Now I was 10 minutes late. But all I had to do was turn around, and follow the Yahoo directions to my destination.

According to my directions I was supposed to turn onto Burdick street. I looked and looked for Burdick. I looked until I was a half an hour late.

I never did find Burdick.

Frustrated beyond the point of return, I headed toward home.

Why didn’t I ask for directions? At 9 a.m., on Saturday morning, in downtown, in a rain storm, there is no one to ask.

Why didn’t I call the salon from my cell phone? I forgot to bring the number with me.

What makes me a COMPLETE IDIOT is that this was the SECOND time in less than a year that I’d made an appointment to try a new salon in Kalamazoo, and missed that appointment because I couldn’t find it. And it’s the SECOND time that I’ve taken the freeway, instead of the business route, and gotten completely turned around.

On-Star, Garmin — I need some kind of help.

Let me just say this Kalamazoo. It would be easier for a girl to find her way around if:

1. You put address numbers on the front of your buildings

and

2. You marked your streets with signs!

I discovered later that I crossed Burdick three times. I didn’t know it, because there is no sign at that particular intersection.

The story could, and should, end here.

But it doesn’t.

If you are bored to tears this is a good place to stop and click over to the giveaway contest. If you want to know more, go to the bathroom, get a snack, then settle in for The Rest of the Story.

As I drove home the only thing holding back sobs of disappointment was the thought of how bloggable my misfortune was.

I had no idea it was about to get even better — or worse.

Back home, I stormed in the door making it clear to husband and son that I was in no mood to be bothered. I locked myself in the bathroom with the phone and Yellow Pages, determined to find some place to get my hair cut.

I live out in the country between Hooterville and Bedford Falls, with Mayberry just a stone’s throw away. There aren’t a lot of what I would call swanky salons close to home, but a well-designed ad made a salon and day spa in Mayberry look like a good choice.

I called.

Could I come in at 11:30?

Yes I could!

To get there all I had to do was follow a few familiar roads a short distance.

And there are NO one-way streets to deal with in Podunk.

I drove a little slower than usual, afraid that I was about to get in a car accident just because it was One of Those Days. But I arrived at the Mayberry Salon and Day Spa with out incident.

The first thing I noticed was that the building resembled a log cabin. Not exactly what I expect of a salon and day spa, unless maybe it’s in Aspen.

The second thing I noticed was that underneath the salon’s name on the sign were the words, “And Storage”. Glancing behind the log cabin I saw rows and rows of storage rental facilities. Odd, but by that point nothing was going to stop me.

I opened the door expecting to see lodge decor. I would not have been at all surprised had some kind of animal carcass been hanging on the wall.

Instead my eyes landed on zebra striped wall paper and hot pink trim. Over the load speaker Gwen Stefani was hollerin’ back.

The receptionist introduced me to my stylist, Charity.

Charity was probably born about the year I started high school.

I don’t have anything against younger people. When you’re looking for a hip hair style, it’s probably better to go with a young hairdresser.

It’s just that I am not used to people being younger than me. For most of my life, hairdressers, teachers, doctors were all older than me. Then they started being in my peer group. And now they are younger.

I will never forget the first time I encountered a doctor younger than me. I’d gone to my OBGYN for a pre-natal check-up. My regular OB was detained at the hospital delivering a baby, so he sent an intern.

I’m tellin’ ya, when Doogie Houser walked in that door, I almost went into labor right then. He looked so young. I was afraid that if he did a pelvic exam, I’d get arrested for some sort of misconduct with a minor afterward.

Fortunately there were no stirrups involved. I didn’t get arrested, and his innocence remained in tact.

Young Charity showed me to my chair, and I took my glasses off. My near-sightedness dimmed the wallpaper enough that it stopped hurting my eyes.

Charity tried to make conversation with me as she cut my hair. She told me all about her weekend plans to hang out at some hot night club downtown, where I had just been. (Should I have offered to give her directions?) Then when she asked me about my weekend plans, it became all too painfully clear how little we had in common.

I decided that, “This,” was too lame of an answer. So I tried to explain to her that with a three-year-old, weekend plans don’t really happen so much.

She just gave me a sympathetic smile. I’m sure she was wondering how I could stand to have such a boring life, and vowed right then and there to never get married and have children. I’m very sorry if I shattered all her illusions about Happily Ever After.

I have to say, Charity did a nice job on my hair. There aren’t any angels singing and Hollywood hasn’t called yet, but I like it.

I don’t know if I will return. There’s just something disconcerting about that much animal print in one place.

I am going to get in my car, go back to Kalamazoo and find that other salon.

Then I’m going to make an appointment there, under an alias of course, so that they don’t know I’m the women who blew them off when there was a two week waiting list.

And maybe I’ll buy a GPS.

O.K. If you stayed with me for the whole thing you deserve a prize, make sure you enter this week’s Girls Just Wanna Win Swag Giveaway.

I Blogged in Church or Love is THE Thing

“…He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.” Isaiah 53:2

They showed a short video during church on Sunday that mentioned the above verse. The person speaking in the video was making some point about how we don’t know what God looks like. But I’m not sure exactly where he went with that, because after I heard him quote from Isaiah 53:2 my mind went off on a tangent, as it is often apt to do, and I missed the rest of that particular presentation–

and a few announcements–

and maybe a worship song or two.

The truth is I was formulating this blog post in my head while I was supposed to be praising the Lord. He and I are OK. I’ve since confessed and repented. It’s a good thing I can’t afford the IPhone or it’s ridiculous monthly service fee.  I would’ve been bloggin’ on it right there in the middle of the offertory.

There. I just went off on another tangent. See what I mean?

Anyway, I took that verse and went in a whole other direction with it.

The “He” Isaiah is talking about is Jesus. According to that verse Jesus just looked like any other ordinary Jewish man on the street.

And I always thought Jesus was an attractive Caucasian man with long flowing hair. Seriously? Why do artists’ interpretations make him out to be some sort of sandal-wearing Fabio?

Tangent again!

In fact we know that Jesus had no real earthly possessions. Not even a home to call his own as an adult.

While Jesus may have been ordinary looking during his days on the earth, we know that he was, and still is, extraordinary. And though not drawn by his appearance, people were drawn to him because of the person that he was inside. People were drawn to his love, and his character. Even those that didn’t believe he was the son of God, such as the Pharisees, took notice of Jesus.

If you’ve accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior of your life, you too were drawn to him by his immeasurable love and sacrifice of his own life on the cross that you might live forever in heaven with him someday.

As I was contemplating all of this during a rousing — well, apparently not rousing enough — rendition of some Micheal W. Smith song — I wasn’t paying attention, remember? — Could I use the  Em dash one more time? — Yes, Yes I could — TANGENT!– I began to question with what qualities of my own do I desire to draw people?

I want to be thin and have great hair, nice clothes and well-applied make-up so that people will find me physically attractive.

I want to be funny and clever and interesting so that people will want to be my friend — and read my blog.

I want people to think I’m Mom and Wife of the Year. Both awards I probably don’t deserve.

I want people to think I’m smart.

I want people to think I belong to a certain level of social class.

In this world where image is EVERYTHING it’s easy to get caught up in keeping up appearances. But all those reasons for wanting people to like me are shallow and selfish. They put all the glory on me, and actually do nothing to contribute to the well being of those people I want so desperately to like me.

Instead I should be more like Jesus, drawing others to me by demonstrating God’s love and ultimately helping draw them to God.

It doesn’t matter how thin my thighs are or how nice my house is or how hilarious by blog posts are if I’m not outwardly showing the love of God to others.

Verses 1-3 of 1 Corinthians say, “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”

The real kicker is that I don’t need any of those qualities that world thinks are important for God to use me to share his love with others. I only have to surrender to him and allow him to work through me.

I going to work more on showing God’s love, and worry less about what my hair looks like.

Whew! I got through the rest of that with out another tangent.

Next week I’ll try harder pay attention to the service.

As long as the church doesn’t get free Wi-Fi.

Listen, I’m still human, so if you do like me, or this post — even just a little  — give me some luv and leave a comment. 🙂

Some Random Thoughts and a Few Questions

I’m tired of it raining almost every single day this summer. Global warming, climate change, El Nino, La Nina — whatever it is please just move the jet stream. 3 1/2 year old boys need to be exercised outside daily. I’m going crazy here!

I’m wondering what our neighbors are suspiciously burning in a barrel in their backyard every morning. Life in the country ain’t what it use to be.

Is it strange that two of my son’s favorite TV shows, Wordgirl and The Mighty B, have girls as the main characters? And why do most of the kid’s shows with main characters that are male make the boys out to be bumbling fools who only get things right by chance?

Am I the only one who thinks Oprah has gone completely off her rocker lately?

Why is it so hard for a 3 1/2 year old boy to poop in the potty?

Fireflies are a beautiful miracle of nature. I’ve seen them every summer for 33 years, and am still as delighted by them now as I was as a young child. How creative is God to come up with a creature like that? Would you in a million years have believed a bug could have a light bulb in it’s bum if you hadn’t seen it first? Hey Bobbie, do they have Fireflies in Australia?

My son just informed me that his ears are growing. I may need to investigate this.

What did SAHM’s do all day before blogging?

Oh, yeah. HOUSEWORK!

All By Myself

I have a dilemma much like I had last Saturday, only this time my husband isn’t even here.

I. Am. Completely. Alone.

Well, unless you count the dogs, and they aren’t very good conversationalists. Though I do talk to them quite a lot. So much so that my husband says he doesn’t listen to half of what I say, because he never knows if I am talking to him or the dogs. I think if he listened to EVERYTHING I say, he would be able to discern when I am talking to him, and when I am talking to the dogs. Rarely is he the one I am speaking to when I say, “Come here puppy wuppie. Oh, behind the ear? Does that feel good? Scratchy, scratchy. Good boy.”

We have two cats also, but I don’t like cats. Very unsympathetic creatures. I would never waste my time talking to them.

As I was saying, I am all by myself. My son is at his other grandparents’ tonight. I guess it’s grandparents’ week. I didn’t get the memo, but it appears to be so.

(Ouch! As I’m sitting here, in my house, on my couch, typing this, some strange little bug just flew over, landed on my arm and bit me. Not a mosquito. Weird.)

My husband is in Indiana recording a CD with the southern gospel quartet, The Helmsmen, that he sings with. I think I have failed to mention the fact the he sings with such a group until now. It’s a fairly new development in our lives, and though I’ve meant to, I never gotten around to it. So here’s their site and here’s some videos on YouTube. See the problem is that while I think my husband is wildly talented, and I am wild about him, I am not wild about Southern Gospel Music. David Crowder is much more my speed. And just to clarify, we are not southern. We live in Michigan which is about as northern as you can get. Why that particular genre is specified by geographic location, even though many of it’s musicians aren’t actually from that part of the country, I don’t know.

It’s eerie to be all alone. Not that I’m scared. I do have two ferocious Cocker Spaniels to protect me. It’s eerie because since my son was born, I can only recall about three other times that I have been home alone. Usually if my son is gone and I’m home, my husband is here, because we’ve sent him off so that we can spend time together. And when my husband is gone, my son is always here.

I don’t have to be quiet and turn down the TV and tip-toe to the bathroom, so that my son, who’s room is right across the hall, doesn’t wake up. I keep catching myself listening for him. Then I remember there’s nothing to listen for. I was going to go down to the basement — that’s where I keep my husband — to ask him a question. (O.K., I don’t keep him there. That’s where he escapes from me and my crazy dog conversations. And his computer is down there too. He did not have the foresight to purchase a laptop as I did.) But then I remembered he’s not there either.

It’s actually kind of a nice feeling to be alone. I can do what even I want. I can watch whatever I want. I don’t have to do anything for anyone. Ahhhhhh! That’s me letting out a big relaxed sigh.

I’m not sure what to do wtih myself actually. I haven’t had so many options in quite a long time. I do have a chick flick from NetFlix that’s been sitting on top of the DVD player for a month. Probably should watch that and send it back. Or maybe I’ll just sit here and enjoy the silence. To tell the truth, I wasted most of the time already reading blogs and writing this.

O.K. Well, I’m gonna get this party started.

Shhh…. Can you hear that?

I don’t hear anything either.

Whoot!

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday