Friday, February 02, 2007

'm slowly getting over the trauma of being called a pregnant momma. and mind you, forgetting it is no easy feat. not when you got your lovely gfs diligently reminding you about it every brand new day (actually, its the no. 1 item on their to-do list)..hahahaha... erm...

nay actually, i'm through with mulling over it. the issue is as basi as last night's stale bandung-started off quite good, but now doesn't quite pack in as much 'punch' anymore.

and in case you're wondering, i'm no anorexic-jane, thank you very much. that issue hasn't made me go around thinking i've bloated up like the king puffer fish. i am not about to dump my mr ben and jerry (yes, i'm polygamous like that) to settle for a life of abstinence with some uncle toby either. (mr imran, you still top the list, hokay?)

the hair's 3 weeks old since i visited the salon. and this time, i specifically asked them to list me their senior stylists over phone, then i booked the name which is clearly male. i'm done with female hairstylists. i've said it before, but i'm saying it again: female stylists have serious fixation issues with the term 'layering'. they just can't ditch it. i get seriously anxious whenever they place me in the hands of some female stylist, cos i know from the moment i place my tush on the chair, my fate is as sealed and as certain as the school posting which has just been presented to me. no matter how much i scream and protest, i'd end up with obnoxiously layered hair. here however, it is shameful to note that when the situation called for it, i didn't so much as fidget, nor flinch, nor frown-let's not mention scream and protest. my mantra of 'throw a fit and swear' conveniently made way for the its docile version of 'grit your teeth and bear'. -_-

if you ask me, there's something strangely unnerving about messing with the person holding scissors in one hand, and your lovely hair in the other.

what made me swear off female hairdressers once and for all? let's see...

- how about pulling my hair so tight, my eyes watered? (so yes, i know hair's dead cell and all, but dammit the scalp's still quite alive and well-thank you)
- or how about doing a rebonding job so bad, my hair snapped at the 'rebonded point'?
- or how about the classic case of moronically handing me a wide-toothed comb and asking me, "can you show me your parting, arh?" (?!!??!!?) just leaves you dumbfounded, doesn't it?
...at that point, i didn't know whether to laugh or cry, really. i think i must have just stared at her with eyes unblinking, mouth agape. i didn't remember how i responded to it, either. its probably so traumatising that the brain locked it outta my system and feigned ignorance that the episode ever existed.

"while you're at it, why don't you hand me the scissors too? i'll snip my own hair...?"

good point, fida.

r.z 4:30 PM  0 comments