The Day I DID Get My Hair Cut

So many adventures, so little time.

A few weeks ago, I shared a story about the day I couldn't get my hair cut and then madness ensued... I'm sure you've been concerned: Did LeeAnne ever get her hair cut?! Inquiring minds want to know!

So stop fretting! I did, in fact, get my hair cut, and that story makes me chuckle as well...

You may remember that Mother Nature seemed to have a personal vendetta against my attempts to manage my mane...

The extreme weather didn't stop, by the way. Another week passed after my previous attempt and the rain and tornado warnings kept up. I was about to give up and take matters into my own hands, like one of my favorite train wrecks:

Fortunately, I didn't have to go that route. I finally lost my mind and called around to find a salon that would cut my hair. Tornado or not, my windswept hairs would at least be short if  the weather took me out.

I arrived at the salon despite ominous clouds and fell in love:

You'd think that phrase would be expected in a salon, but I was traumatized. Anyone offering to cut my hair at this point was an angel on earth.

I changed my opinion about the "angel" bit pretty soon after I arrived though.

Rude comment, yes. But I was so happy to be getting my hair done that I didn't care. Even though it did some damage to my ego, I let out a feeble "yes" just to appease her so she would would cut my hair. She was probably right: my eyebrows were so untamed that she might have mistaken them for caterpillars or a furry headband or rascally kittens. I couldn't fault her for that.

While I was getting my eyebrows waxed, the lights flickered a few times. The thunder was, well, thunderous. I was getting really nervous, but she was just chat, chat, chatting away. To calm my anxiety, I interrogated her before we moved on to the actual slicing and dicing.

I was in heaven. Chatty, chatty heaven.

Things were going as normal despite the tumultuous weather. Even after the sirens sounded, I considered myself in good shape.

I'm not sure why the siren sounded like it was really excited, but it didn't affect my hair stylist. She kept up the chit chat to my monosyllabic responses: "Yes," "no," "wow," and "huh."

But that chit chat came to a screeching halt.

Call me sensitive, but I didn't really know what to do with that. What am I? 


Sookie Stackhouse would say "I'm a waitress." That would make me a housing professional? That doesn't even mean anything to this lady. Was she confused about my gender? I'm a woman. About my legal status? I'm a US Citizen. About my mood? Content, until that split second.

I knew what she meant, but I still wasn't sure how to respond:

I, of course, chose to be difficult. When people are rude, I like to make them uncomfortable. That's probably not healthy, but I am what I am. The conversation went something like...

      "Excuse me? I'm not sure what you mean."

      "Well, what are you? Where are you from?"

      "I already told you, I live just down the block. I work at the university."

      "No, no, no. Where are you originally from?"

      "Oh! I was born in northeastern Ohio."

      "No, I mean, WHAT ARE YOU?"

      "Oh, you mean my ethnicity?"

      "YES."

      "I'm half Vietnamese. My dad is white, my mom is Vietnamese. They met in the war."

      "Huh. I don't think so. You're Polynesian."

      "WHAT?"

      "Or maybe Hawaiian. Definitely. I lived in Bowling Green and I saw a lot of you people."

Oh yeah, that rude all right. But that horrifying conversation ended with shorter hair, at least.

I was happy again, so I tried to forget about the conversation and just have myself a nice evening.

Then I walked outside.

Mother nature still rained on my parade. Literally. 

So help me, I may never get my hair cut again.

The Day I Couldn't Get My Hair Cut

Sorry it's been so long, folks! Don't worry about me; I'm just busy being funny somewhere else. Hardy har har!

It's been about a month, so I figure it's about time I tell everyone about:

As a woman (or, more accurately, as LeeAnne), sometimes I decide that I'm in desperate need of a haircut. I can't bear to look at myself in the mirror. The very feel of the hair on my head makes me want to puke. Once these feelings mature into self-loathing, it is imperative that a haircut occurs within 60 min or all hell breaks loose. Imagine my horror when my plans were halted by a tornado of all things. Mother Nature herself was playing a major role in my misery.

Before I go on...

*(AP photo from Joplin, MO) I completely understand that this entire post is petty and insensitive, like most low forms of humor. I really do feel lucky that there WASN'T a tornado and that my only gripe is that my hair was unkempt for a few more days. I don't mean to take away from the tragedy of the tornadoes that have been tearing through the nation-- just trying to comment on a comical situation. 

At any rate, I was fortunate enough to be in civilization when my sudden desire for a haircut struck. On whim, I acted on it.

Up to this point, it registered only remotely that I'd heard tornado sirens in the distance. However, when I walked into the hair salon, I was greeted with a stylist who was completely panic-stricken. She literally kicked me out of the store.

I was disgruntled, having grown up in the boondocks where we foolishly ignore warnings because they're sounded by p******* who don't know how to weather a storm (AKA where we're completely ignorant and have irrational views on mortality). I wasn't downtrodden for long, though. 

I would soon learn...

*This photo is actually from my hometown. The cat man is a regular ol' celebrity on PoW. 

So my friend and I walked across the parking lot to Walmart, sure we could at least accomplish something before we headed home... We were wrong.

We were literally told that if we "crossed the threshold" that we would be escorted to the break room. I had completely forgotten about wanting to get a haircut and now was focused singularly on my urgent need to pee. I could see the restroom from where we stood, but my pleas were ignored. NO, we could not just come in and pee. We could enter or take our chances. At this point, I started to think maybe this was something serious.

...But I had only just started to think it was serious, so I wasn't completely there yet. Thus began a conversation that could have determined the future of our young lives:

So, of course, we crossed the threshold.

And we really were walked all the way back to the break room. When I dallied to look at some flippy floppies, I was chastised and pushed onward. This was serious stuff.

And when we got to the breakroom, we discovered...

...Paradise.

It was spacious, they had a big screen tv, their own private bathrooms (*which I used), well-stocked vending machines... Heck, they even gave us water and oreos! (The employees had Sunkist, but I didn't protest. The customer always comes first... unless you're asked to risk your life in the service of Walmart. In which case: just drink the effin' Sunkist. Go ahead and keep it to yourself.)

So we sat on the floor and made new friends and planned our new life in the post-tornado Walmart.

We decided that we would take over the first aid aisle and form alliances with non-perishable foods. Everyone left in No Man's Land wouldn't have had a chance. 

A little boy across from me played his DS the entire time and we discussed all the neat things that could happen if the tornado hit. Overall, we decided we'd get really wet and grumpy. Needless to say, the seriousness of the situation had waned considerably for me by this point.

True to my generation, I tweeted every fifteen minutes or so because surely everyone was very concerned about me. After a while, I realized that I'd probably regret all those tweets and jokes if something really DID happen, so I took great care to consider my legacy and what would be remembered of me.

After an hour, they set us free. I bought toilet paper and I had completely forgotten about my need for a hair cut. I'd had an adventure and had a good day...

And then...

Kidding! But as I joked again and again about the tornado, I had a very distinct vision of every other car in the parking lot being perfectly fine and mine being utterly destroyed thanks to karma. Lucky for me it seems God and/or Mother Nature is numb to my sarcasm and I made it home safely.

I had to wait an entire week to get my hair cut after that. The tornado sirens went off AGAIN, but my stylist promised to keep cutting until the power went out or the tornado hit. Now THAT is dedication to a job.