Collegial hair


the hair style

 

This is my colleague Gill’s hairstyle today.  Classy.  Neat.  Effortless.  According to her.

Here are the instructions:

  1. Put your hair up in a high pony (make the lacky quite tight – my elastic broke on the third circuit)
  2. Make a hole in your hair between the elastic and your head and thread your pony through from back to front so that you end up with a weird backwards ponytail at the front.
  3. Pull tight
  4. Take the ponytail and roll it over front to back and tuck in the tail in the back.  You might need a pin.
  5. Voila!  Looking gorgeous.

Ummm….

me and my new style

 

me and my new style

Hello cocky!

Hmmm your hair is quite springy…

Maybe this is an end of the wash cycle hairdo for me?

Maybe the ponytail was too high?

Requires a little more work methinks.

 

My new heroine

I’ve been watching preview copies of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.

The sexy Miss Fisher

I loved the books and I enjoyed the first two episodes which felt like an Aussie 30s style Midsomer Murders.

What’s not to like about that?

I must say that the fashion of the day wasn’t all that flattering.

That said, I like the hats.

Cloche me baby.

So my big question:

Should I get my hair cut like Phryne Fisher?

Seriously thinking about it… your opinion may just be the one that tips the balance.

That’s the way I roll.

Hair stylist

So it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.

I feel runover.

Not from excessive partying… We went out to the new state theatre last night and a civilised affair it was too.

And even though yes, I did indulge in a mojito in the late afternoon with Ali… She of the sculpture, I stopped at one.

(In fact we walked out without paying… Realised on the train going to Northbridge… Rang and apologised… Because hey, the guy made a great cocktail and we want to go back again.   Havana has become our regular. He was very nice about it btw.)

image

So, not feeling tired because of the cocktail…

I hate having my hair done when I look crap.

Hours of staring in the mirror looking at the bags under my eyes.

At least they serve decent coffee.

It is the western suburbs darling.

image

Sitting next to me is a rather dishy fellow. Whose conversation I eavesdrop on while I’m waiting for the dye to process.

Very cute.

Shame I’m not looking my best.

He has a lovely deep voice which is hard to hear over the hair dryers.

He makes eye contact with me as we listen to our cute blonde stylist chatting.  Yes we share a stylist. He is getting his hair cut while my hair dye does it’s funky wild grey covering thing.

He is very cute actually.

Business has something to do with South Africa.

Ah well.

Do you read the magazines at the hairdressers?

It’s about the only time I read fashion mags.

Today’s selection is Madison and Vogue.

I don’t bother opening them.

The stylist goes to get the clippers and he says… Must be boring waiting…

Yes.

He has a cute smile and knows it.

We chat for about two minutes as she tidies up his sideburns and then he takes off his gown and goes.

Hmmm tats.

But looking pretty pumped in his thin white tee.

Not my type.

Ah time for the hair wash.

My favourite bit is when they massage your scalp.

Niiiiice.

Cutting time.

The worst bit is after she dries it off she chops into it to thin it out a bit. Apparently I have very thick hair.

Ouch ouch ouch.

Still at least that means it’s nearly over for another six weeks.

So  what’s left for the day… Grocery shopping, dress sale, and the writers festival.

And that’s enough to be getting on with.

Time to own up

C'mon confess! I know there are more than two of us...

I thought it was just me that kept a pair of tweezers in my car but the other day I discovered another close friend of mine had the same secret.

Yes we’re both (cough) forty-something (cough) and yes occasionally we’ve sat at the lights… looked in the visor mirror and almost spat out our take-away coffee.

Ugh! 

What is THAT doing growing THERE?!!!

The problem is that at 40-something, not only do you start growing hair in unusual places but your eyesight is failing.

So it is rare for you to notice that stray hair until you are faced with the mega-magnification of that little mirror on the inside of your visor.

And even if you did notice that rogue – wtf is that doing on my face – hair… quite often,  because you need glasses, you can’t do anything about it.

Have you ever tried to pluck your eyebrows, needing glasses?

Trust me – it can’t be done.

Hence the tweezers in the car.

The ultra-magnification of the mirror allows you to see the wretched rogue hairs without glasses.

Yes, you look like an idiot at the lights…

But at least you don’t look like Wicked Witch of the East when you get to work.

Job done.

Ringlets!

I’ve always wondered how to rag hair so that you get ringlets – you know, like in Little Women or I guess Little House on the Prairie.

So yesterday I checked out this video and had a go, using Dippity as my model.

ringlets-037

It was much easier than I thought it was.

Doesn’t she look cute?

ringlets-038

This morning at about 8 o’clock, and believe me, that is very early for my little chicken, she asked me to help her take out the rags.

OMG.

ringlets-042

Miss Scarlett, eat your heart out!

It really worked.

ringlets-044

Guess how soon after this photo was taken that Dippity jumped in the shower to wash it out?

Yes.

About 30 seconds.

Ah well, at least she won’t rush out to get a perm now.

Mission accomplished.

Although… thinking about it… how many manga characters have curly hair?

Exactly.

None.

A perm is probably low risk.

Ten years younger

not so grey

Okay maybe not ten…

In many ways now that I’ve decided to dye my hair again I feel as if I’ve given up.

But…

I think it’s better to feel it rather than look it!

I had lunch today with a friend who I haven’t seen in about six months.  She has a new man, is going for a new job and looks happier than I’ve seen her in a while.

I love that about female friendships.

You might not see eachother for ages as life – lets face it – does get in the way but when you get back together it’s as if you have been in touch every week.

I guess male friendships are the same?

For bloggers out there… I’m writing this on Wordpress 2.7.  I like it.  I like the layout, the groovy new functions like get plugin – oh that makes life easy, and well… all of it.

You might see a few new functions on the site as I’ve got lots of new toys to play with.

Let me know what you think, especially if it gets too cluttered.

If you use WordPress and haven’t upgraded – do it.  It’s worth it

And oh, Twitter.  I am fast realising what a time-waster that is.  I hardly had time to scratch myself between tweets today.  Lucky I had the day off!

So hot and so grey

It’s so hot.

So hot I can’t think, I can’t breathe.

The sweat pools under my breasts, slides over my stomach and drops on my thighs as I type, I’m sticking to the leather chair.

I can’t bear the thought of organising dinner, of even thinking about dinner, which might be a good thing except for the two teenagers who are hungry after their first day back at school.

I’m wearing a gossimer thin sarong tied in a knot above my breasts – it’s too hot even for cloth on my shoulders, for a bra.  And I’m wearing undies.

Frankly I feel over-dressed but my children became unexpectedly prudish about a mother cooking in the nude.

“Is that er… even hygenic?”

And to complete the misery not only am I about to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West into a puddle on the floor but I’m finally over my grey hair.

It’s so grey.

Ever since I read Going Grey last year, I’ve been on the road to letting my hair grow out, that’s partly why I got the short hair cut, but you know… I just don’t think I’m ready.

Bad enough that I need to be exercising more, controlling my intake more (note how I didn’t say the d-word), that I need to increase my reading glasses strength… I’m only 42 for crying out loud – I’m not ready.

I was watching Oprah last night – Mum taped the program and saved it for me to watch – and it was all about embracing your age – but none of the stars, guests that she interviewed had grey hair.  Not even any of the “real people” had grey hair – except for one sad grandmother who has suffered from depression ever since her kids left home.

I don’t want to be in the sad camp!

So I’m going to dye my hair again.  Get back on that treadmill of dyeing and roots and throwing money at the problem.

I’ll let you know how I go on Saturday.

Good thing you can’t read my mind

Don’t you hate it when someone asks you:  “Well what do you think?”

Be it a new car, tv, dress, pair of jeans, website, quality of card play or haircut it is a minefield most of us fear to tread.

Cars for instance.  For me they are a form of transport.  Sure I love that new car smell and shiny leather uphostery.  I especially like blue dashboard lights and expandible cup holders but I’m hard pressed to tell a Honda from a Mazda from a Mazerati (they are the flat ones aren’t they?).

I’m not one for appreciating the line of the spoilers or whatever they are.  I’m never going to fall into that “pimp my car” category, no neon lights under my chassy baby.

Same with television sets.  I like them big and flat but do I know the difference between a Panasonic and a Sony?  No.  Can I really see better definition in one over the other?  No.

So don’t ask me to comment on cars and tellys… or computers – can I tell what graphics card you’ve installed?  No.  

Does my bum look big in this?

When you don’t have the jargon and you don’t want to hurt the asker’s feelings – what do you do?  

It’s the classic – does my bum look big in this scenario?

Frankly you don’t want the answer – you just want appreciation.

So that’s why you’ll hear me comment on the sleek lines of your turbo charged machine, the definition so crisp you feel you could pull a hair out of that actor’s head, the lack of lag time in that grisly-so-violent-I-can’t-bear-to-look game you’re playing.

Do I really have an opinion?  No.

But I care about you and I want to be enthusiastic about the things you like.

Which leads to the real subject of this post.

My new haircut.

It’s a little… short.  But just think of it as always-having-my-hair-up.

Groover has an honesty in comments policy – which is good because I know when he really likes something but it’s bad because I also know when he really doesn’t.

I’m a little nervous.

So here’s my strategy:

I’ve texted him from the hair salon: “Don’t freak out.  I’ve got short hair!”

My plan is to get him to imagine the worst – some scary Prisoner (Cell Block H) style – and then when he walks in the door the reality will be a relief.

That woman up the back looks scary doesn’t she?

I don’t look that scary…

Update:  he’s either a very convincing liar… or he liked it!  (my strategy worked… bwah ha ha!)

By the way, the title of today’s post comes from a great song by Christine Lavin – check out the lyrics!  Classic.

Hair, there and everywhere

02112007242Today you find your correspondent at the hair salon washing that grey right out of her hair.  I got up early to act as scorer at The Orchid Hunter’s cricket match.   Four hours of morse code later (have you ever scored a cricket match?  It’s all about dots, trust me), we lost and I joined the coven for lunch.

The Coven is The Poshi and the Software Engineer and I and we haven’t seen each other for ages so a lunch was in order, sandwiched (omg I’ve just wet myself with the wittiness of that pun) between cricket and my hair appointment.   Much gossip was shared.

So this is me pictured with the grey remover in place and foil on the arms of my glasses.   It kind of looks like there’s a small man on my shoulder sticking his arm in my brain.

The result is a little boofier than I thought but I think will be okay in the end.   Afterwards I picked up a tray of peaches – that is the real hallmark of Christmas!  And dropped in to see The Poshi for a quick pre-dinner drinkie.  It’s good to have her home if only for a couple of days. 🙂

Wigging Out

Groover bought me two wigs for my birthday. What an awesome present! I love wearing wigs and up until now only had a blonde one to have fun with.

My new wig from the back Front of wig

I wore the black one to watch number one son play cricket yesterday and my friend said … how on earth did you have time to get to a hairdresser (as she’d seen me at 6pm the night before and it was now 8am in the morning).

Normal hair

And before you start worrying… no I don’t have a dread disease… apart from ridiculous amounts of grey hair… I just like dressing up.

Red wig

I’m going to wear the red one to Groover’s Christmas Party where I’m playing a saucy barmaid called Mad Rose (they have a pirate theme going on). Can’t wait!