My Hairpeople

In my hair life, I've had two people I've liked. EVER.

I have a horrible hair history. In fact, my life has been a long string of bad haircuts and bad haircut memories. Of sitting in that black chair all robed up, nearing the end of a haircut and secretly freaking out because we are approaching the finish and I HATE WHAT I'M SEEING. Oh how I hate that feeling.

There was the one time I got my hair cut and it there were long roundish bangs, lots of layers and lots of poof, and actually it looked a lot like Rocky's hair from the movie "Mask."

There was the bad perm. Well, several of those because I never "got it" that perms were a bad idea all around for me.

And come to think of it, some of this wasn't my hair person's fault at all, it was my fault for making them do something my hair just wouldn't do. I mean, whose fault is it that my hair performs poorly because of the particular haircut I've requested that was ripped out of whatever fashion magazine I was scouring?

Then there was the haircut I had in New York that was supposed to be a shorter version of the pixie cut I already had. But when I got finished, I just looked like my dad. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. But remember, he's a 50-something year old DUDE. And I'm not really headed into a salon in New York City as a 20-something year old professional woman expecting to come out looking like a 50-something year old DUDE. That's not really the look I was going for.

I remember calling my parents afterward and they asked me how my haircut went because they knew I was going in ahead of time. I told my mom to go get a hand mirror, hold it up to my dad and ask him what he sees.

Because that would be me. And my new haircut.

I've had so many bad haircuts that when I find someone I like, the clouds part, the sun shines down on their beautiful faces and the bluebirds fly into the salon and Bambi starts sweeping up the little stray hairs and I literally hold onto that person for dear life.

And I tip them well because I never want them to have it out for me. You could really get someone through a bad haircut or through telling them you're busy.

When I lived in Utah, I went somewhere that looked pretty cool on the outside and I scored big. One of my favorite people ever and I found her in Utah of all places! I got this girl who when she cut my hair, she made magic come out of the chair I was sitting in and I wanted to hug my hairlady every time I went. My hair was so happy and shiny and I felt like Marilyn Monroe every time I walked out of the salon. The week I was moving back to Florida I had one last appointment scheduled with her.

And they called me the day before to say she had left.

Sheer and utter devastation.

I loved her so much I was fully intending to fly back to Utah to get my hair cut.

I wish I were kidding.

Then I moved to Florida and went back to an old hair place I used to go when I lived here long ago and I got a couple of ho hum haircuts but they weren't spectacular and then I found a great place near my house but it was so expensive and I would spend literally 5 hours at the salon and I just couldn't block out my entire day anymore, maybe half my day but not the whole day. Not while nursing, anyway. Which I was doing at the time.

So then I decided to go cheapy again and I went into what looked like a "hip" place at the mall and I found her. My second favorite hairlady EVER in my life. And I found her at the mall!

She did everything I asked, it turned out just like I pictured, I would be in and out. And best of all, I didn't have to auction off my first-born to have a cut and color. She was even cool, I was sure that we'd have hung out outside of haircutting if I were oh, 10 years younger. At least.

It was heaven. Pure heaven. A good hairperson! Hooray!!!!

What happened next?

I won't tell you.

I'll let you guess.

OK, I'll let my roots tell you.

She has left. About a week and a half ago I learned of it.

She's left and gone to somewhere where she can help me no more.

So I'm stuck again back at square one with no one but my roots to comfort me. I'm alone in my fake blonde-ness. And it's not even like I can wait much longer because I am literally staring down the barrel of a full-on hair emergency.

In a few days, my hair will turn on me. And it will be bad. Yes, it happens that quickly. One day it's not so bad, the next it's like they sprouted as if from nowhere and I have to wear a hat.

Soon my husband won't even be able to look at me. He's seen me when I wait too long to get my 'do did and he doesn't make a secret about what it looks like. And he'll be nice and end the sentence with, "Oh, I'm joking, it's not that bad!" But we will all know that it is.

And the amount of times I wash my hair is not going to help. The chlorine, the salt water, the showers, all.not.helping.

It's dire, people. Dire!

I guess what I'll do is hope my "card" with my color is still laying around in that salon and I'll try to get another person at her salon to match my haircolor. But it's hairperson roulette! It could be good! It could be bad! But there is no way to know!

Oh, I've been through this before so many times. I almost can't take the suspense myself.

But in a week or so I'll know my fate. Either I'll be in heaven again or in hair hell with another story to tell. We'll shall see.

Go ahead, tell me your hairstories and make me feel better! And while you're at it, feel free to recommend someone. I might consider flying somewhere!