Have you ever had a painful haircut? Not emotionally painful, like the time when a "stylist" left me with a rat tail as a child because she thought it was cute. Not emotionally painful like the time I agreed to let my husband cut my hair and he proceeded to grab my low ponytail and cut the whole thing off, proclaiming "Done!" when he finished. No, I mean physically painful.
I didn't think it was possible to experience a physically agonizing haircut...until today. The haircut I received today is proof beyond a reasonable doubt that karma is real and it's a bitch. Every bad thing I've ever done in my life came back to me today. For starters, I should've realized something was askew when I walked into this national chain salon and immediately noticed that the median age of all of the customers was somewhere in the neighborhood of 60. When I finally settled into the chair to have my hair cut, the stylist's eyes lit up with glee at the thought of being able to cut my hair with a razor instead of scissors. (The old people, she said, are wary of the razor.)
She wet down my hair and started hacking away with the razor. About a minute in, she informed me (I swear) that the woman who had her hair cut before me had been exposed to lice over the weekend and had been complaining about her head itching. Oh, lovely. Thanks, master jukemeister!
She pressed on. My hair began to dry, but she did not re-wet it. No, no. She just went on with her razor, systematically pulling every hair in my scalp one-by-one as we lost lubrication and buffering from the water. For minutes I winced and groaned with each pass she made, and she, of course, was oblivious to my agony. Why didn't I speak up? She was in the zone with her razor, overzealously lopping off more and more hair, and I stupidly thought each pass had--just HAD--to be the last one. Why didn't she react to my groans and facial expressions? Because she's obviously a dolt. Regardless, my scalp still feels like someone lit my head on fire.
When she finished, I paid and left hurriedly, lest she find a way to torture me more. I came home and straightened my hair, only to discover she gave me the exact haircut my mom had for two years, which I made fun of ceaselessly for its general poofiness and helmet nature. Think "classic mom hair." Ugh. I should've known better! Median age of 60 up in that place, after all! If that's not bad enough, she didn't even leave it long enough for me to put it into a ponytail for it to grow out for a while. Curses!
On a final, unrelated note, our local meteorologist just referred to the weather as "sultry" six times during the forecast. I don't know about you, but that's both an excessive number of references and a totally inappropriate word choice...unless of course the weather plans to be making bedroom eyes at us in the next few days.
Showing posts with label screwings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label screwings. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
A Plethora...Plethora...of Things to Mention
Last night my husband and I went to a housewarming party for people I later learned had lived in that house for over a year. I don't know about you, but that seems a little belated to obligate people to buy housewarming gifts. Oh well, it's ok. They're really nice and so I didn't feel bitter about it. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to force Apples to Apples (the best game on the planet) on them, as that was our housewarming gift to them. Additionally, they gave us an all-access house tour, which I am always up for.
Before the party we also went to a wine store in town to buy a bottle for the couple as well as pick something up for ourselves. When we entered, a worker approached us and asked if we needed any help. Being the wine ignoramuses we are, we gladly accepted his assistance. He spent several minutes talking to us about the ins and outs of wines, which ones have certain kinds of flavors, etc. Trying to keep on my best (read: least ass-like) behavior because we were in a classy wine store, I complimented the man on his knowledge and asked him if the store ever offers little classes. He said no, but that he himself taught a wine class at the local community college. He talked about it for a minute, giving me way too much information about something I mostly asked about just to be nice. Here's where it got funny, though. The man told us that he often takes expensive wines from his own collection to the class for his students to taste. What a noble soul, I thought as I told him that was mighty generous of him. His response, as he leaned in close as if we were sharing an intimate secret: "I just need an excuse to drink this shit!"
Well, of course! What wine connoisseur doesn't need an excuse to drink "this shit"? A classhole. A classhole, indeed. Don't think for a second that I won't be going back to he wine store to get more wisdom from this man. That, however, will be another blog entry for another day.
Changing gears now....
In my last post I promised an update on my ongoing holy war with Sallie Mae. You'll remember from the old blog that they royally screwed me six ways to Sunday and then blamed me for it like only a truly soul-sucking evil corporation can do. Well, I called them back and this time spoke to "Jack" (riiiight), who told me he was sorry "Chris" was such an a-hole. "Jack" told me that I was not sent to collections despite receiving an e-mail telling me I was. He also said my account was not considered far enough past due for them to report it to my credit score. So while they are still screwing me on the loan by charging me late fees and upping my interest rate (something that will end up costing me about $600 more by the end of my loan repayment period for something that wasn't even a little bit my fault), they're not ruining my future by destroying my credit. Now, of course we all know I'll check my credit score a month from now and it will be on there anyway, and then the rage will cause me to have an aneurysm and die. But at least I can live for one more month in relative peace (aside from proooobably having to rough up our old landlord to get him to return our security deposit, but that is also another post for another day).
Finally, I would like to comment on Philadephia cream cheese commercials. They've been airing a new ad campaign for their new "same great taste but less fat" stuff, and I'm just wondering if anyone else finds it disturbing that this company's TV ads use angels to get the point across that the cream cheese tastes like heaven. This is the thought process I go through whenever I see it: angels = dead people...dead people hocking cream cheese. Dead people = my grandpa who died 10 years ago. Then I picture my decomposing grandfather zombie-hobbling into my house with a tub of 1/3 less fat cream cheese trying to get me to eat it.
The scenario:
"Why are you screaming? It's grandpa! Come eat some cream cheese with me! Where are you running off to? I came back from the dead for you! It's good cream cheese; try it! Ohhhhhh my arm fell off."
So my point is that angels = dead people = my dead grandpa = I will never eat that cream cheese.
Before the party we also went to a wine store in town to buy a bottle for the couple as well as pick something up for ourselves. When we entered, a worker approached us and asked if we needed any help. Being the wine ignoramuses we are, we gladly accepted his assistance. He spent several minutes talking to us about the ins and outs of wines, which ones have certain kinds of flavors, etc. Trying to keep on my best (read: least ass-like) behavior because we were in a classy wine store, I complimented the man on his knowledge and asked him if the store ever offers little classes. He said no, but that he himself taught a wine class at the local community college. He talked about it for a minute, giving me way too much information about something I mostly asked about just to be nice. Here's where it got funny, though. The man told us that he often takes expensive wines from his own collection to the class for his students to taste. What a noble soul, I thought as I told him that was mighty generous of him. His response, as he leaned in close as if we were sharing an intimate secret: "I just need an excuse to drink this shit!"
Well, of course! What wine connoisseur doesn't need an excuse to drink "this shit"? A classhole. A classhole, indeed. Don't think for a second that I won't be going back to he wine store to get more wisdom from this man. That, however, will be another blog entry for another day.
Changing gears now....
In my last post I promised an update on my ongoing holy war with Sallie Mae. You'll remember from the old blog that they royally screwed me six ways to Sunday and then blamed me for it like only a truly soul-sucking evil corporation can do. Well, I called them back and this time spoke to "Jack" (riiiight), who told me he was sorry "Chris" was such an a-hole. "Jack" told me that I was not sent to collections despite receiving an e-mail telling me I was. He also said my account was not considered far enough past due for them to report it to my credit score. So while they are still screwing me on the loan by charging me late fees and upping my interest rate (something that will end up costing me about $600 more by the end of my loan repayment period for something that wasn't even a little bit my fault), they're not ruining my future by destroying my credit. Now, of course we all know I'll check my credit score a month from now and it will be on there anyway, and then the rage will cause me to have an aneurysm and die. But at least I can live for one more month in relative peace (aside from proooobably having to rough up our old landlord to get him to return our security deposit, but that is also another post for another day).
Finally, I would like to comment on Philadephia cream cheese commercials. They've been airing a new ad campaign for their new "same great taste but less fat" stuff, and I'm just wondering if anyone else finds it disturbing that this company's TV ads use angels to get the point across that the cream cheese tastes like heaven. This is the thought process I go through whenever I see it: angels = dead people...dead people hocking cream cheese. Dead people = my grandpa who died 10 years ago. Then I picture my decomposing grandfather zombie-hobbling into my house with a tub of 1/3 less fat cream cheese trying to get me to eat it.
The scenario:
"Why are you screaming? It's grandpa! Come eat some cream cheese with me! Where are you running off to? I came back from the dead for you! It's good cream cheese; try it! Ohhhhhh my arm fell off."
So my point is that angels = dead people = my dead grandpa = I will never eat that cream cheese.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
