On Friday BluDoor Studios is taking some new headshots for me since the ones I have up now are 3 years old and I feel a little deceptive not showing off these stellar lines and bags under my eyes that Motherhood has bestowed upon me.
I’m behaving just like any woman would the week leading up to having pictures taken- irrationally. I would like to have everything about myself fixed a little bit, whiten my teeth, mani/pedi, eyebrows waxed, hair cut and colored, new outfit, makeup application. Problem is I have the budget for about 2 of these things to happen. I already bought a new dress and necklace yesterday at Nordstrom Rack, where I was treated like a convicted shoplifter.
I was told I couldn’t take the necklace into the dressing room to try on (even though I was in the dressing room right across from the attendant, she couldn’t even hand it to me for me to try on in front of her), then told I couldn’t wear the dress out to the jewelry section to try the necklace on. Finally, I was granted access to walk to a mirror at the back of the dressing room to try on my precious accessory, which maybe makes sense in the retail world, but I’m still not understanding it. <<That is how NOT to sell jewelry… except, well, I did buy it. It was perfect and 35% off.
I can do my eyebrows and nails and even my makeup myself, but I would really like to have something done to my hair. The problem is, I just don’t love my hair dresser. The last two visits have left me with streaky, bleached out highlights and a cut that was right on par with Great Cuts at 5x the price.
Okay, there is a lady that I do love. I went to her when we first moved here (but switched to the other lady because she did cheaper highlights- lesson learned). I had every intention of going back to her, though, until this went down last year during my internet free week experiment for CBS 11.
Day 3, when I have to learn to use a phone again
I was looking over my Day 2 journal tonight and began to wonder if I was using the
word “ironically” right. I run across predicaments like this a lot when I’m writing,
and my first stop, as with many questions in life, is the Google search bar.
Unable to access such awesomeness for the next 4 days, I scratched my head and wondered
where else I might turn for guidance. Then I remembered I have my friend Tara’s
number. She’s a high school English teacher in Colorado, and also an “online” friend.
Even though I’ve met her, spent a weekend with her and “talk” to her nearly every
day via a message board, I haven’t heard her voice in over two years.
She did say to call her if I needed anything this week, though, so I figured what the
heck. I was sure she’d be thrilled to hear from me. I looked her up in my contacts
and pressed the dial button.
“Hi Tara! It’s Jill!”
“I just have a grammar question for you about the proper use of the word ironic,
and you know I would Google it, but with this no internet thing, well, that’s not an
option. I know you’ll have the answer though.”
I proceeded in a peppy voice to tell her all about the manner in which I used the
word. She responded with, “Errr…. I don’t know….”
Really? She doesn’t know? Huh. I told her more about the journal and the sentence it
was in. She then responded with a very confident, “Yes, yes you are using it right,”
and she laughed.
“Great! Thanks so much. So anyway, how are you? Did I catch you at a bad time? Are
you making the girls dinner?”
“I’m fine. Really busy! Not a bad time, just got done eating dinner with the girls.”
Then she laughs.
Wow. I looked at the clock. It’s only 5 in Colorado. She’s really on top of things!
“What are you laughing at? Is it that big of a shock that I don’t know how to use ‘ironic’?”
She laughs again. She seems nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t have called. Maybe this is
weird for her to talk to me on the phone instead of online.
“How’s the weather? Is it snowing like crazy? The news just said we are getting a
system from you guys that will leave Denver under a foot and a half of snow,” I said.
“Uh… no. No snow here.”
“Oh. Well, I guess you’re pretty far removed from Denver. I keep forgetting you don’t
live that close,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re pretty far from them.”
Sensing that this conversation was getting really awkward I ended with, “Well, I’ll
let you go, headed into Albertson’s to go get toilet paper. Sorry to use you and abuse
you for grammar advice. I’ll talk to you soon!”
I sat there for a minute after hanging up, thinking over our weird conversation.
Something just didn’t feel right. I looked her up in my contacts again, and that’s
when I noticed she had a 214 area code. I scrolled through and noticed all my other
Dallas contacts had 214 area codes. It slowly began to dawn on me that I had not
made a call to anyone in Colorado. Who did I call?? I couldn’t figure it out. I don’t
know any other Tara’s…. do I?
I had to call her back.
Well, of course she didn’t pick up this time, obviously screening her calls now for
crazy women. The moment her voicemail picked up I started laughing so hard I
almost peed. She was my hairdresser… from a year ago… a hairdresser I’ve been
cheating on with another hairdresser who gives me a better deal on highlights. I.
AM. MORTIFIED. This would have never happened with the internet.