But you can't take the trashy out of the girl. Or something.
I had to go get my hair re-did today at lunch. The Hair Stylist of Accidental Death and Dismemberment and Pain and Suffering didn't do such a hot job with my highlights on Saturday, and it was driving me nuts. I looked like a funky skunky. That's OK. I don't mind looking a little crazy, but I do mind looking like I got drunk one night and stumbled around my trailer with a bottle of peroxide and highlighted it myself.
So she fixed it... or at least she fixed the most noticible parts of it today.
I need to find a new hair person. Someone who doesn't attempt to pull my halfway-down-my-back long hair through a cap to highlight it every time I go in. Someone who doesn't leave 1/2 inch roots when she colors it. Someone who can wax my eyebrows without pushing my eyeballs into the back of my head. Someone who doesn't giggle when she hurts me.
You know, the basic things that everyone wants in a hair stylist.