Tag Archives: hairdresser

This is Not a Resolution

pink fleece3Most of you know by now that, other than having a penchant for the “Top 10” of anything, I don’t really make lists. There are no resolutions at the start of the year; nothing in my bucket; and certainly no promises I can’t keep. Having said that, I am always open and ready for suggestions that just might make my life a tiny bit better than it already is. Not that it isn’t great. I mean, here I am in one of the most beautiful places in the United States of America spending my days sipping on a “grande” and evenings watching the sun sink into a sea of remarkably vivid yellows, reds and oranges. But every once in a while something happens that makes me want to change things up a little. And that’s what happened just the other day.

Big surprise. I’m sitting on the patio of my local Starbucks working hard at listening to the interesting conversations going on around me, at least the ones that are taking place between people. Because something I may not have mentioned is that there are a lot of dogs here at the beach and most of them appear to be very close to their humans. So close that for some reason unbeknownst to me (I share my home with a cat, which we all know is a horse of a different colour), the humans here seem to believe their dogs have an excellent command of the English language, and so they talk to them. In full sentences. And sometimes, when you’re listening in on other people’s conversations, that gets just a little confusing. Although none of this has anything to do with my life changing experience because on this day there were no interesting conversations. There was only a very cute little girl.

Let’s face it, with a few exceptions, kids in general are pretty cute. I see lots of them everyday and, other than the ones that live in my house, they normally have little to no impact on my life. But this little girl with her shiny jet black, silky locks, was different. It wasn’t because she was able to amuse herself playing a lonesome game of hide and seek while her parents chatted away at their table. Nor that she was exceedingly well behaved as she patiently waited for them to finish their afternoon delights. There was nothing remarkable about that. Nope. What made this little girl stand out from all others was her extraordinary sense of fashion reflected in her outfit which I am pretty sure she alone was responsible for putting together. Here’s what she wore. To protect herself from getting a chill she donned a purple, leopard patterned, down vest. She sported this over a red striped jersey dress and for added warmth, a pair of apple green leggings. To complete this ensemble she chose a pair of pink striped socks and blue canvas shoes. Although looking very “couture” not one item in this collection of designer duds matched. And she looked perfect.

I’ve said it before so I suppose I’m saying it again. I’m no fashionista but if there’s one thing I know about, it’s matching which, I get, is not all that difficult when your wardrobe consists primarily of black t-shirts and skinny blue jeans. But I do get “dressed” every once in a while and when that happens you can bet your bottom dollar there will be no conflicting colours or patterns to jar the eye on my 5’2” frame. Although my shoes may not always match my purse, mostly because I get up late and who has time to make the transfer of goods from one bag to another, you can be pretty sure they will at least coordinate with whatever else is on my body. Listen, you’re talking to a girl who has 15 watches in a variety of colours, and north of 30 belts so there’s a pretty good chance that those accessories are going to harmonize. I mean how could they not? And while many would say this propensity to coordinate is a “good thing” I cringe just a little as I recall my latest conversation with my hairdresser when, in her attempt to complement, referred to my style as “matchy, matchy”. Translation: “boring, boring”.

Which is why I was so inspired by that little girl on the Starbucks patio that, while not making an actual “resolution” I have decided to change my ways. Of course this is easier said than done as my predilection for dressing in complementary tones is rather ingrained in my being.  Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like “everything” I wear matches. I mean I have been known to arrive at work with one navy and one black sock but that’s usually because I have put them on in the dark and who couldn’t make that mistake. And I do have a pair of shoes that are designed to be mismatched (the left is different than the right) but maybe that doesn’t count since they actually are a matching pair. Nonetheless, I am painfully aware that to fully meet my goal I’m going to have to put in more than a modicum of effort but there’s always a first step to be taken and I have taken mine. Yesterday, as I got ready for my daily walk on beach, against what was heretofore my better judgement, I chose from my otherwise monochromatic wardrobe, an orange “t” topped by a rather shocking pink fleece. And without a second glance in the mirror, out the door I went in all my unmatched glory.

Now I know what you’re thinking and to put any of your doubts to rest, the answer is yes, as unlikely as it may seem, I really do own a pink fleece.

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I Admit It!

magnifying_glassI am almost absolutely certain that there are more people reading this blog than reflected in my WordPress stats. I say this because there are times when my weekly numbers don’t even account for the relatives I am foisting my words upon. Nor for the numerous business cards (or perhaps more accurately stated “blog cards”) I have given out to almost everyone I have come into contact with over the past year. Or even the close friends I have cultivated on my Facebook page for the sole purpose of augmenting my readership. All told, if I believed the stats I would have to conclude that there are many people who should be, but are not, reading the blog. Which leads me to what appears to be the only other logical conclusion, that my most loyal followers are receiving the blog in their emails and simply reading it there, and that’s fine with me. Because even though the numbers don’t always add up, there’s enough other information there to allow me to speculate about who stops by, how they get there and what they might be looking for, which is no more a waste of my time than what I would normally do while sitting in my chair.

As we know we live in an increasingly global world and since my mission is to help all people, regardless of race, religion, colour, ethnicity etc. to become one with their shallow self, there is nothing that makes me happier than discovering that people from the four corners of the globe (are there corners on a globe?) are reading the blog. I’m sure it won’t surprise you that, outside of Canada, most of my visitors come from the United States of America which I think makes sense since for the most part we speak the same language, in more ways than one. But part of the fun is that I never know who’s going to stop by. There have been visitors from as far away as Iran and Iraq who, I’m thinking, may not only struggle with the words but also the sentiments expressed heretofore. And if they do understand, I often wonder whether they spend time exploring the archives or simply cut their losses by navigating away as quickly as they can. Just today someone from Guernsey came by and, even though it’s a country that’s so small it doesn’t show up on the handy world map that WordPress provides, I’m glad to have been able to share my thoughts with him or her in whatever part of the world they might be. But not only do I know where my visitors are coming from, I also have an inkling of how and why they arrived as WordPress shares the search terms that brought them to me. And that’s where things get really interesting.

I’ve learned that many of the people who come upon my blog by chance have actually been searching Google for an image that I suppose they want to put on their own blog. Some have stopped by for a pic of the world while others, who have perhaps shared with me the misfortune of moving a little too quickly on the blacktop, are looking for flashing police lights to display. I have both of those and I’m guessing that I searched Google to get them too. I’ve got to say though that I’m a little baffled by the fact that the search term that most frequently brings otherwise unsuspecting people to the blog is conversations with my hairdresser which raises a number of questions in my mind. I mean do people really plan and prepare ahead of time what they are going to say while their hair is being shampooed? Has the art of conversation been so lost that we need guidance on how to speak more than 140 characters at a time? Or is there just so little happening in their lives that they have to look to others for inspiration? Come on people! We’re talking about an hour of chit chat, most of which won’t even be heard over the drone of the blow dryer. And while I am more than happy for the increased traffic and would never turn anyone away, surely we can do that much without Google.

However, perhaps the most significant information I have recently received on my WordPress stats page was the fact that someone found their way to my space using the search term “Doesn’t anyone admit that this is a shallow world?”  I admit it!! And that’s what they discovered when Google brought them to my  “It’s a Shallow World After All”  post. To be honest, it kind of gave me goose bumps because as you know, I want to help in whatever small way that I can. After all, shallow people like to give back too.

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Conversations with my Hairdresser

Hair on floor in a hair salonI really like my hairdresser. I’ve been going to the same person now for over 15 years and I can say with confidence that I have never had a bad haircut from her. Or highlights, because I do that too. I know quite a bit about her, well if you consider the fact that she has twins and likes to travel to Mexico, “quite a bit”. And I thought she knew quite a bit about me too. Because one of the things that happens when you go to the hairdresser is that you chat a lot. After all, what else are you going to do when you find yourself sitting in a chair for two hours (yes, that’s how long it takes to get highlights in this hair) with the same person standing behind you the entire time. So you talk. About all kinds of things. You talk about your kids, and your holidays, and your Mother, and what you ate for dinner, in a pinch the economy and, because you’re Canadian, the weather. And you would think that for a shallow person this is just about as good as it gets. And it was until I realized that my hairdresser doesn’t really remember anything that we talk about. Which, since I have started thinking about this, has come to make a lot of sense to me and I’m ok with it.

Here’s the thing. I only have one hairdresser who I see approximately every seven to eight weeks. During our time together she tells me stuff and, if you recall from one of my earliest posts, my memory is really not all that bad so it’s not hard for me to remember that her kids have just started high school (I can hardly believe they got so big so fast) and that she takes a yearly vacation to an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta or some facsimile and the details here don’t matter much because from what I know about “all-inclusives” it really makes no difference where they are since all you’re going to end up talking about is how much people ate and drank while they were there. Conversely, my hairdresser, depending on the day, sees between eight and ten people which means that in any given week she has 40 or 50 souls sitting in her chair, talking to her about their kids, holidays, Mothers, husbands, Mothers-in-law and who knows what else. And if we say that on average, each of those people have their hair done once every six weeks, it means that in the interval between each appointment my hairdresser may have seen somewhere in the vicinity of 240 people. And she has no choice but to listen and pretend that she has a modicum of interest in what each one is saying beyond how many inches of hair should be trimmed and whether you’re sporting ash or strawberry blonde highlights.

Now I don’t want to be presumptuous here but I’m guessing that only a fraction of these people see my hairdresser outside of getting their hair done and since few would be included on her “friends” list, she has no real obligation to even attempt to recall the stories we relate to her from one visit to the next. I mean to do so would be almost superhuman and beyond all reasonable expectations. Come on now, who would really expect their hairdresser to juggle the massive amounts of data she receives simply because she has chosen an occupation whose residual effect is to have people talk to you incessantly about things you don’t care about?  The answer, to what you may have thought was a rhetorical question, is no one. Not one person would expect this of another human being.

So having thought about my conversations with my hairdresser for the past two weeks (I know you noticed that I didn’t post last week and that’s because I was still thinking) I am ok with the fact that when I mention my Brother’s impending nuptials (and that’s happened more than once I’m afraid) she gazes at me rather inquisitively with that “oh, you have a brother?” look in her eyes. Which has led me to two conclusions. The first is that I no longer have to think up new stories to tell my hairdresser because she doesn’t remember them anyway and a couple of really good ones in rotation will suffice. The other is that I think I should have been a hairdresser.

Happy Chanukah and remember that extra blessing as you light the first candle this evening.

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