Monday, March 02, 2009
11 days to go and not much left to do. Try on the dress one more time, with the properly procured undergarments, and make any necessary adjustments... Place the order for the flowers (simple, but do this week). Place the order for the food (also simple, but can wait a few more days). Arrange for someone to pick up the food. And make the cake. Yes, I'm making the damned cake. I ordered red fondant, that'll speed up the process considerably. And then clean. Clean this freaking hovel.
Oh, and then there's my hair. Rusty bought me (quite considerately, I might add) a gift certificate to get my hair done. I needed it desperately and I still haven't found a new stylist, so I went to a new place. This makes me nervous, understandably. Getting married, still undecided about what to do with my hair, and a new, untested, unreferenced stylist? I have no idea what criteria he used to choose the salon, but it's not like I don't trust him--it's just that he's not a girl. So I went in a little aprehensive. I was not at all put at ease when my stylist turned the corner and looked like a truck driver, or a bouncer at a bar with a name like "Beaver Tails".
Is there anything worse than the horrible small talk you try to make with a hairdresser while she's holding a pair of scissors over your head? I know I'm bad at it, but that's the worst.
Well, despite the banal banter and the flannel shirt, she did an acceptable job, especially considering I was so undecided about what I really wanted. But now I've got 11 days to figure out what to do with my freaking hair!!
Oh, and then there's my hair. Rusty bought me (quite considerately, I might add) a gift certificate to get my hair done. I needed it desperately and I still haven't found a new stylist, so I went to a new place. This makes me nervous, understandably. Getting married, still undecided about what to do with my hair, and a new, untested, unreferenced stylist? I have no idea what criteria he used to choose the salon, but it's not like I don't trust him--it's just that he's not a girl. So I went in a little aprehensive. I was not at all put at ease when my stylist turned the corner and looked like a truck driver, or a bouncer at a bar with a name like "Beaver Tails".
Is there anything worse than the horrible small talk you try to make with a hairdresser while she's holding a pair of scissors over your head? I know I'm bad at it, but that's the worst.
Well, despite the banal banter and the flannel shirt, she did an acceptable job, especially considering I was so undecided about what I really wanted. But now I've got 11 days to figure out what to do with my freaking hair!!
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