DLand - Good Day at the Beauty Salon

I was beginning to hate my hair. It was getting mousy. Mousy is a general term I use for "in the same style for more than 3 months". So I headed off to Hair Cuttery on the way home. Let me tell you, I *love* getting my hair cut! I think of it as an adventure in fashion. So I walk in and meet Fiona. She's a beautiful black woman with long silver air-brushed nails and long flowing hair. She sits me down in the chair and says, "Girl, what you need?" This is where I smile apologetically and say that I don't like my hair and that I want it to look better. I tell her to make it less "mousy". I tell her I'm brave and she can do whatever she wants. Bless her soul, Fiona rose to the challenge.

"Ok, baby, we're gonna put some layers in it, see? And that will fluff it right up. And we won't even have to take much off the bottom. Fiona will take care of you, girl."

I nod emphatically.

So she asks me about my shampoo and tells me how fine my hair is and how I shouldn't use conditioner because it just ways my hair down and doesn't do it justice. I grin and wipe the water out of my ear.

So she starts snipping away. Fiona asks me how I part my hair and what styling products I use. Uh, styling products? If I use conditioner, I don't have to comb my hair but can just run my fingers through it. I keep losing my brush (I think it's in the trunk of my car now). She looks incredulous. "So you blow dry your hair, right?" I lied and told her yes but not if I'm feeling lazy. I guess that means I'm feeling lazy most days. "Well, you style it if you're going *out* don't you? You gotta, girl. Gracious, child." If only she new the truth.

Well, she evens and trims and then says she's ready to layer it. She grabs this hunk of hair off the top of my head and holds it in her fingers and says "Ready?". Uh, ready for you to scalp me? I look like a twenty-something Pebbles. "I trust you, Fiona. You said you would do me right." Bam! There go four inches off the top of my head! I swear. Hair went everywhere. I think hair cutter ladies do the layering really fast so you can't change your mind. There was no turning back after that first swipe. I was in Fiona's talented, air-brushed hands now.

She finishes the layering and says "ooh, girl, you're gonna look *good* when Fiona's through with you." So she gets out some volumizing lotion and then this anti-frizz stuff and then this straightener stuff. Damn, this is complicated! This is what makes it such an odyssey of beauty. She says I need all this. And then she pulls out 4 different hairbrushes! This is absolutely amazing! So she turns me around so the hair dryer cord will reach. It gets pretty suspenseful as I wait for the unveiling. She's crooning and "ooh, girl"-ing away behind me. I'm holding my breath. And then she spins me around.

I look like Jackie Onassis! I've got to get some of those giant sunglasses. It's awesome! I didn't think my hair could look that wild! Fiona blurts out, "Ain't it grand, baby?"

"It's amazing, Fiona."

"Girl, you got a husband to go home to?"

"Uh, yeah, he gets home at 7"

"Oooh, that's right!"

I start to run my fingers through it, but they won't budge (there was some hairspray involved too). She smacks me away. "No, you ain't gonna be messing it up 'til your man sees it!"

"Fiona, I won't fit in the car! There's not room for me and my hairstyle in the sports coupe!"

"Get out, girl, you'll be fine!"

"I'll have to open the sun roof! This is awesome!"

"Oooooo, you look so good!"

So I grin and pay her and carry my hairdo to the car. There really was a hit or miss moment of makng it into the Saturn but it all worked out. It's flattened out a little now and I'm sure I'll look like Mary Lou Retton by tomorrow, but that drive home was fabulous. Fiona's the greatest. I can't wait til I grow some more hair to see what she'll come up with next.

And if my story's not good enough check out Maggie Estep's version. ---------------------------------------- 5:34 p.m. EDT 04.06.2001 010406_27.html Her Cross to Bear Well, Wednesday I may have been Jackie O, but today I'm more of a Peppermint Patty. Apparently all that styling Fiona did to my head was not optional. I no longer have a wash and go hairstyle. Ah, Peppermint Patty, "the original cartoon dyke" as Snidegrrl told me. The giant do from yesterday was fun and entertaining but not me. I guess hair always comes back to what it knows.

My old boss Harry said once that "a woman's hair is her cross to bear."

DLand - A Brush with Royalty

Oh! I totally forgot about this! But it's too good not to share. The parental crisis has made me lax in my writing. We went to the SCA meeting on Wednesday. Mostly to attempt to be social again. we checked in with Rosine and she said that the meeting was going to be a boring PAC meeting (Pennsic Action Committee - isn't that so military?) but that afterwards we could go out for food and beer. We were convinced. So we went and listened to Arnie and company organize the encampment crap. It was not overwhelmingly exciting but it sated my need to be anal-retentive and plan things a little. That went on for several hours and then it was off to the White Horse Pub.

So we're all sitting down and are gabbing about Pennsic and why things are the way they are and comparing to Gulf Wars which was just over (amazingly wet and rainy, so I hear). And then we were talking about various camp sites and the lake and the naked swimming hole.... And Rosine makes some off hand comment about this guy who showed up one year wanting to get in at Pennsic. For those unaware, Rosine is a head honcho of the front gate at Pennsic War many years running. And she meets many interesting people - some of which not very smart - in her medieval customer service role.

So the story begins when our fearless gate attendant Rosine meets up with Him. He is easily 400 pounds and probably closer to 500. He is too large to drive a car. He is too large to fit in the front seat of a car. He can only ride in the back seat of *some* cars. So our little Jabba undulates his way to the counter at Troll. He apparently in his haste forgot his photo identification. Now that's one of the few rules. You have to show a photo id. So he says his id is back in Ohio - which is like 4 hours away. Well, Rosine tells him the rules and he says "well So-and-So and vouch for me". So Rosine says, if you go to the Barn and get So-and-So (I forgot his name) I'll wait here for you. First there is an argument about whether the Hut can make it to the Barn and that he needs a ride. But it is agreed that he can walk to the Barn or drive to Ohio. Well an hour later, So-and-So comes by and there is no large man with him. Rosine questions Mr. So and he says he knows him but has not seen him that day. Well, Rosine treks off to his supposed camp site to find out how he got lost between the gate and the Barn.

Now's when it gets good. So Rosine goes down there with another woman and finds him setting up his camp. Rosine explains that he is violating the rules of the site and he needs to go home. The arguing continues. As Rosine said, if you were standing behind this man, you could not have seen the two large women that he was arguing with. Well, this huge fellow says, "Don't you know who I am?! I'm a Pennsic legend! I'm the King of the Naked People!"

Yes, that's right, people. Naked people have a royalist society and chose this man to rule as their esteemed monarch. Apparently this man comes to Pennsic every year and wallows at the naked swimming hole for two weeks in the nude. It's people like him that inspire the rule of having two posts in the ground and if you can't fit to walk between the two posts, you should not take your clothes off.

So this thin polite gentleman comes up - he is the King's brother. And he says that they will do whatever it takes to get him there. So they agree that he should have something with a birth date, full name and picture faxed to the site. The thin one (I would call him the Prince, but I don't think he deserves it) agrees and sets off. Well, the fax was a loss (the photo was a black box and the information illegible). So Rosine says he'll have to leave. Well, there's no car that he can fit in. So here come the parents from Ohio after four hours on the road to pick his sorry butt up. They arrive, two very sweet and tired people. They dump a shoe box of papers that his mother found in his room (I didn't get into this man's general scent either). Rosine then realizes that this man staying in Pennsylvania for two weeks is more of a service to the parents than it is to the grown child. So she picks through and finds three documents that mean he can stay. The parents bow and thank her immensely and return to Ohio for two weeks of vacation and the King of the Naked People waddled back to his Kingdom for the fort night.

It's people like this that make me think of just taking up golf as a hobbie instead.

DLand - Your speed is ...

I've been very "police aware" these past few days. Mostly because I keep forgetting my driver's license in my jeans when I leave for work. I put it there so I can drive around all these trucks and stuff while my parents continue to unload the yard (found a Mr. Potato Head's nose the other day. It's very exotic-looking without the rest of Mr. Head to clue you in to its identity). But every morning I put on clean clothes and go to work and then realize that my license is in my grubby pants at the foot of the bed. So yesterday I passed two policemen on the interstate and a sheriff in the mile from the exit to my house. I looked very law-abiding so they did not stop me to ask where my license was but you never know. There are policemen catching speeders on all these streets that I didn't think policemen would even bother to lurk on.

I drive on Lord Dunmore Avenue almost every day to get to work. (which reminds me of another funny story about how embarrassing it is to give directions to my office because you go up Princess Anne and then turn right to go down on Lord Dunmore. Childish, yes, but you'll snicker the next time you're on Martin Luther King Hwy or the like. I guarantee it.) And Lord Dunmore is a "speed trap". It's a really nicely paved, much used shortcut that goes through a residential neighborhood. They have now put up a radar thingy to tell you how fast you're going on it. Build awareness or something. But the damn thing ALWAYS says "Your speed is 28 mph." I've been testing it. I slow WAAAAAY down to like 15.

Your speed is 28mph.

So the next day I gun it!

Your speed is 28mph.

The damn thing is gonna get me a wreckless driving ticket. Bah.