Six months ago both events sounded wonderful and I couldn’t wait.
One month ago both events sounded terrifying and I wondered if I could get out of them.
I can make no promises about tomorrow, but today I am on top of the world; I’m staring down the barrel of two very different experiences and I feel… ready. Sassy. Myself.
But I’m a little bit worried that it’s just because my hair looks so damn good.
In a move of strategy and power usually employed by the likes of Barbie and Britney Spears, I went and had my hair cut AND COLORED at the salon today. I have NEVER had my hair colored by someone who knew what they were doing. (Previous colorists include… me. And… me.) But long ago I decided that I should have fabulous hair for BlogHer, and as I do not believe fabulous hair includes
1) brillo-like greys poking out in every direction
2) a color not commonly found in nature (which encompasses EVERY SINGLE COLOR I’ve managed to dye my hair on my own),
that meant saving my pennies for this sacred day.
[Save my pennies = cash in my Discover cashback bonus. Woo!]
So I went into the salon today and my therapist wet herself with glee the moment she saw me arrive. “Is it TRUE? Today do you let me HAVE AT IT?”
I clutched the O Magazine I’d grabbed a little tighter, under the cape. “Yep. Today’s the day.”
“AWESOME.” She started combing through my hair with her fingers, as if she was checking for nits. “Do you want to talk about it, first?”
“Nope. I trust you.” And I do trust her, but that was very hard to say, anyway. I know she’s an awesome colorist. I know that I’ve been going to her long enough that she knows what I’d like. But, um, part of HER hair is PURPLE. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you understand. But my goal is to be… not grey. Preferrably just plain brown, like it was before life set in.
She skipped away and returned pushing a colorist cart laden with foils and bowls of goo and brushes. We chatted as she loaded up the front of my head with foils, sectioning off tiny bits and brushing them with… something. Finally satisfied with those, she set about coating the rest of my hair with… something else. And then I was sent to go sit somewhere else and “process.”
I’m not sure if, strictly speaking, processing always involves reading a heart-wrenching story about a woman who talked her best friend through her final hours of life—describing the journey to the other side and assuring her that it was okay to go now—but I sure hope not. Damn. If I had known that O was going to make me CRY I would’ve stuck to the “15 Signs He Might Be A Cheating Douchebag” quizzes in Cosmo. Seriously.
Anyway, by the time she took me back to rinse, I was a mess. Maybe this had all been a mistake. People were doing important, difficult things for those they loved, and I was worried about my grey? More importantly: What if my trust had been misplaced, and now I was worse off?
Back into the chair for my cut, I tried to get a good look at my color. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I really had no idea until she was done. At which point I discovered that…
… I am a smokin’ babe.
Well, okay. No. Not really. But in addition to a good cut, I’m now sporting the hair of my teen years. It’s dark. It’s shiny. It DOESN’T HAVE ANY GREY. And to cap it off? I have these little copper highlights that totally make it look like sometimes I go outside! It’s awesome!
I have completely spent the remainder of the day admiring myself in any and all shiny surfaces. These sightings may include (but are not limited to): mirrors, silverware, plate glass windows, my reflection in my daughter’s glasses, my keychain locket, and a puddle. Because sometimes shallow is deeper than me. (That’s a Kira quote, and SEE MIR ATTRIBUTE, because WOE BETIDE the blogger who doesn’t link to Kira when Kira wants linking.) (P.S. to Kira: I love you. Ow. Please stop hitting me.)
BUT there was not adequate time to sit around and simply ADMIRE MY HAIR, no, because Big Doings were afoot tonight. Yes. Tonight was our final fundraiser for the 3-Day, which meant spending 3.5 hours at a local restaurant and hoping that some of the gazillion people we’d given vouchers to would show up and eat something!
It’s very nice, the way it works: Bring in our voucher on the designated night, and we get a cut of the proceeds. Easy. But because we are overachievers, this was not enough for us. Oh, no. We also decided to raffle off Fabulous Prizes, and this is exactly how we say it, just like that, Fabulous Prizes, with the capital letters undeniable even via the spoken word. So we set up our little table with our Fabulous Prizes and our information and our tickets, and spent the evening trying to convince people to give us money for a chance to win a gift certificate or some wine.
Just to give you an idea, here’s an example of what happened around 5:00 when a patron walked into the restaurant:
Hi, how are you this evening? We are raffling off Fabulous Prizes tonight as a benefit for the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation! We’ve committed to walking 60 miles to raise money to fund research, and every penny from tonight’s fundraising goes directly to them. Would you care to buy some raffle tickets?
By 6:30, it was more like:
Hi, how are you? We’re running a raffle here, all proceeds to benefit breast cancer research. Tickets are a dollar, or six tickets for five dollars. You can see the various prizes on the table there. Surely there’s something we can interest you in? A shot at cool prizes for a good cause?
Aaaaaaand by 7:40 I’d actually blurted out:
Hey! You there! You look like you like boobs! And wine! We have wine, for boobs!
Yeah. Folks, this is me SOBER. Needless to say I don’t think I’ll be doing any drinking at BlogHer. I’m more than capable of making a scene without any sort of chemical interference.
(But for the record, I’d just like to point out that that guy bought SIX TICKETS and put THREE of them into the bin for the wine set, so I WAS RIGHT.)
It was a successful night; we made over $200 off of the raffle alone, and will find out what our take is from the food tomorrow. And—as it turned out—both of us were over the minimum amount and ready to go BEFORE tonight’s event. So this is just icing.
And although I commented a couple of times, “WHY are we doing this, again?” I’m glad that we did it. I’m glad we raised all of the money we could, and I’m glad we had one last event to help us get psyched about the walk itself and for us to SEE how many people are supporting us. (The majority of my church choir came, which was nice. It was also nice that they were long gone when I started shouting about that guy liking boobs.)
In short, I am JAZZED. I want to believe that it goes beyond the sassy copper highlights, but even if that IS all it is, I can live with that. For now. And for the next two weeks. Because I’ve got things to do, and I if I MUST look good while I do them, well, that’ll just be my cross to bear, I suppose.