I spoke too soon...

Just when I was seduced back into my optimism, the new culture strikes back, and I have the crooked hair to prove it.

One of the hard things about moving to a place is finding the new stuff. New doctors (ugh, we aren't even going to talk about that), new shopping places, new bank, new everything, including the dreaded hair dresser. I've had an ongoing battle with my hair and some struggles with maintaining a consistent hairdresser even back home, and some really bad haircuts as a result, so I had been a little gun shy about this particular process, but hair grows and needs to be cut.

The first try was really bad. When you have an entire conversation with the guy about how you have really straight thin hair and need products to add more volume and then he takes out a flattening iron...bad only begins to describe it. I finally got around to making another appointment before the holidays, and despite some confusion and cancellations, a really nice women cut my hair really well. She took time and care and it was very nice and I was very happy with it. So much so, I made a second appointment in 8 weeks time before I left (something I never do.) The management of this particular salon was a mess, but I figured the good haircut was worth the hassle. That was 8 weeks ago. Yesterday I realized that I knew my appointment was today, but I didn't know what time, it took 2 phone calls to the salon to figure it out, but again, I knew my haircut would be ok so I went with it. Today, after a lovely morning of exploring the city a little, Hub dropped me off at 1pm (the appointed time) and was going to pick me up an hour later, so we could continue our day together with a little antiquing.

My hairdresser was running a bit behind because someone had "called in". At 1:30 I sent a text to hub to say take his time, I hadn't gone in yet. At 1:40 she started to wash my hair, and put in some kind of free conditioning treatment, then left me under the heat lamp for it to cure (?). At 2 she told me to get out from under the lamp and sit by the sink, she'd be "right with me". ~10 minutes (I gave up on paying attention at this point) later she came and rinsed me and brought be out front. Where I sat for another 15 or 20 minutes while she finished up flat-ironing another patron who had shown up sometime during this process. She started combing my hair when hubby showed up at 2:30 and assured him it would be quick, just a trim and reshape, "15 minutes or so". At 3:02 I finally got into the car. Agitated as could be.

I'm not a girly girl, and while I enjoy a good pampering now and then, 2 hours for a trim is WAY beyond my comfort zone. I read an entire In-Style magazine, cover to cover, admittedly not alot of actual reading in such a publication, but still. We have just reached the point were we can start to expect and plan for the phenomenon that we are calling "southern time", everything moves much slower here than it does back home, but this was well outside of the parameters.

And, the haircut, the one that I was willing to put up with a little BS for becuase I was going to be happy with? Terrible. So bad, that I for the first time in my life, went back to have it fixed. Somewhere in between her ordering lunch, discussing color options with the next client and searching for her round brush, the entire left side of my head was left uncut. Leaving it a full inch longer than the right side. And the bangs that had reached that really annoying place where they hit you right in your eye: yup, still right in the eye. After about 20 minutes, hub convinced me to go back, which I hate doing, and get it fixed. Which she kindly did and we left at 4:00. The three hour ordeal was awful and we never did get to go antiquing.


And, there is still a chunk of hair uncut, which Hub will take the sisscors too for me in the morning.

That'll teach me to get too optimisitic.