The point of telling you all this is to get you to understand exactly how ill equipped I am to take

When I was little so I liked to cut off all my hair myself. When I was a little older I shaved off one eyebrow my because I'd check on daddy's razor worked even though I pressed the button. My first memory of hairdressing world was when my grandmother tricked me into a salon in Risør, and I came hylgråtende out again, convinced that my grandmother tried to kill me. So it went for many years without that I went to the hairdresser (happened about the same amount this year as it did without that I went to the dentist, the hairdresser was avoided because I was afraid I would start crying, dental office because I was biting the dentist so hard the first time I was there that nobody had any desire to repeat the success.) In the time it took from the first hairdresser meeting to the next, I dyed my hair several times, but never with something more real than like three-day color from the toy store, preferably for performances old chang kee or other nonsense. At one time I painted both the hair, eyelashes and eyebrows gray with plain water paint (!). This is a picture from when I dyed pink hair with spray paint from a craft store. (Sure, it's been blogged before.) old chang kee My hair felt like uncooked spaghetti in a month afterwards. old chang kee
The point of telling you all this is to get you to understand exactly how ill equipped I am to take care of what I have hair on your head. Yet. Today I have been to the hairdresser. (Fanfare!) I have the longest summer vacation (from 5 May to mid-August - and I go on the wall already), so to make the time go, I do a lot of things I would not have dreamed of doing under normal circumstances - which eg to go to the gym, reading the local newspaper, old chang kee take the phone when people call and, of course, to go to my own personal Tartarus in the form of a nice, small lounge in Bø. Things I hate about going to the hairdresser. 1 Kappen. The damn cloak as one of death and life must wear. One thinks like, "Oh my robe! Then I'm like that here,"
So that if you feel like complaining about something you believe hairdresser make mistakes, so you dare not, for how can you somehow have the right, who looks like a complete idiot? No, viz. 2 I feel like a boy. And not by the stylish, metrosexual kind that you find floating by around Blue. When I sit there and languish in my chair, becoming wearing black robe, without makeup and with my soaked hair curled up like little bunches of seaweed old chang kee on top of my head, I feel about as feminine as a thermal suit. That I am besieged by elegant gazelles in high heels and nice clothes, perfect eyebrows and fragrant wrist does not help anything worthwhile. That these graceful creatures as well ask me if I remember what side I tend to have the parting of (no) or if I use some products (haha! - Oh, you meant it seriously? Ah. No.) or if I have some thoughts all about how I want my hair to look (no), makes it even a little worse. old chang kee 3 Sink. Firstly, I can not get expressed how skeptical I am that someone other than me to wash my hair. I'm skeptical. That's pretty skeptical. Secondly, the sinks are so painful that you would not believe it was legal. Stiff and hard and a little too high and au. So there must therefore sit, with a neck that is trying to kill himself and you from the inside, with strange hands in your hair, and a lady who does not realize that you can not answer her at the idiotic questions her about the weather old chang kee as long as she insists to push your ears under water. And this takes the getting paid. 4 (The absurd stalling) payment. This point becomes I (and student my wallet) for sad to think about, so I can not bear to write something more than this: I CAN NEVER EAT AGAIN. Thank you. 5 The girls you did not like in high school - now with weapons! You know the pretty girls who liked to listen to NRJ and went with tights without shorts / skirt / dress over and wanted to be like Regina George in Mean Girls, and you generally used embarrassing amount of time and energy to dislike and you this day still have prejudices against? Well. They did not like you either. That they now will stand behind you with a sharp object against your aorta (and even worse: having the power to control how you look!), No reassuring thought. (Disclaimer: Yes, yes, many hairdressers were naturally benevolent geniuses at school and it's mean to cut all of one comb (ehehehe, comb, right) and so on, but am thinking I am not over when I'm sitting in the barber chair, looking out like a mushroom and generally hate my life.) I'm afraid old chang kee during most of the visit. I'm waiting like forever that beauty with scissors to look at me and say "you remind me of a girl I knew when I went to school and who used to bully me for my grammar. old chang kee Die, bitsj. Die." 6 The music. Is there a law that says that hairdressers only allowed to play Rihanna and her where other lady sing? I'm going crazy. Gal. G