I think I'm actually going to have to find a decent hairdresser. God, I already feel like a diva for saying that.
I went to the local Hair Cuttery again, even though their success rate with my hair is 40% at best. You would think I would have learned my lesson by now.
But, nooooo. I'm way to freakin cheap to do the sensible thing and actually get my hair did properly.
I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. It's why I insist on trying to squeeze my fat ass into the size 12s that I know are too tight instead of just wearing the size 14s that actually fit. Or just doing something about my fat ass already.
So, when I went in on Tuesday, the bargain hairdresser trimmed up my layers and shaped it up a bit and that was that. Until I got home. I realized that she hadn't really asked me how I wear my hair, where I part it or anything else. She had just snipped and sent me on my way.
After blow drying and styling it on my own, I realized how off it looked. I always part my hair on the side and it pretty much looks like The Rachel, which I'm okay with because it suits my hair. I believe in The Rachel.
However, on this particular occasion, my Rachel was a little lopsided. The layers on the left were way shorter than the layers on the right. Things just didn't match up.
I went back in today to ask them to fix it by touching up the right a little and making it look more even.
They seemed really confused by my request and had to consult with each other several times to figure out how to approach the little princess who didn't like her hair.
After she inspected my hair, she repeatedly explained to me that it's going to look like it's shorter on the left because that's where most of the hair falls since I part it on the side. She kept parting in the middle to demonstrate this to me.
I tried explaining to her that I don't part my hair in the middle. I always part it on the side. Always. Just like Rachel.
She blinked, confused. I heard crickets in the background and realized that Friends may have been before her time. Then, I got sad inside.
I reminded her that I was not complaining about her coworker or anything. I just know the way my hair lays and I know that I like it to look even. She looked at me like I was a little insane. I chose not to tell her that the little man who lives inside my earlobe also likes my hair to be even.
She snipped a little here and there and then asked me to look at it, parting it in the middle. I quickly shook it out and parted it on the side.
She again explained how it's going to look shorter on the left because of the part, etc. I again explained that I always part my hair on the side. She again parted it in the middle.
I blinked, confused. Are we having different conversations? Do you not get that my hair is all I have? I'm fat, out of shape and none of my clothes fit. It's getting harder and harder for me to bend over without making old people sounds. And without my sagging boobs getting in the way.
The one thing that I like about myself right now? The one thing? My hair. My god damn hair.
I just stared at her and said, "So, your suggestion is that I just need to part my hair in the middle?". You know, instead of fixing it so it looks good the way I actually wear it.
She said yes and I got sad inside again.
The little earlobe man told me I should just stop arguing because she clearly didn't get the power of The Rachel. He also told me that the only remedy would be cupcakes.
That little purple bastard is a god damn genius.
I left, feeling unhappy and slightly homicidal. My hair looks like shit and I don't feel bad about not tipping her. I do feel slightly bad about not crashing my car into the front window. I'm sure that will pass after the 3rd dose of red velvet.
I don't know, people. Am I being unreasonable? Should I just part it in the middle, stop shaving, trash all my makeup and call it quits?
Or am I just being a bit dramatic? I mean, I can always take my friend's suggestion and tilt my head to the flattering side like I'm really interested in what the person on my left is saying.