After many weeks of fussing with my hair to do the impossible--that is, to defy gravity--I finally mustered up the courage to call a hair salon and book an appointment. The secretary, or whatever her position is, juggled the times to fit me in. Thank god. Now for those of you that don't know me, my hair is troublesome when long. It is jet black, completely straight, somewhat thick, but most importantly, it grows straight out. Think of a porcupine with it's quills upright and you'll have a better idea of what it looks like.
Anyways, at the salon, completely new to me, sent me to a middle aged woman, nothing very distinguishing except for her bright red flats. She seemed nice enough and asked me questions that I could only give curt answers to. I always feel the need to fill the silence, but end up thinking of hundreds of questions that may seem intrusive. Instead, I read the name tag stuck to the mirror over and over.
Hello. My name is
Feryal.
Interesting name I thought to myself. I was going to ask the origin of it, but luckily I didn't. After the chop-chop-chopping of my top, the lady handed me her business card. Sylvanna, it read. Now, I don't know about you, but when I see a sticker posted in a location in a salon, I assume it to belong to that person. I suppose it doesn't matter all that much, but that agitated me as I was fully ready to thank "Feryal." In any case, I paid the cashier and tipped Sylvanna a nice $5. How come it always seems that your head feels a significantly lighter when you get a new hair cut and the wind rushing by gives you a sensation of happiness? The hair cut was adequate, but as always, I hated it. I realize that it will take a little time for it to grow into place and become, even for that little bit of time, what I had imagined it to be. Of course, when my head hits the pillow, I will wish that when I awake, the look I wanted will be just that. As always, I know when I awake, it'll be another 13 days before that happens.
On a brighter note, I met with my friends for our "bimonthly" game of Scrabble and bubble tea that was supposed to happen yesterday. Either way, it was a deadly battle of teams with the reigning champion, although unjustly so, soloing. With the board filled, all spots seemed impossible to expand upon except for one slot. A single letter that could change the game and I had it in my possession. After begging the opponents to hurry with their turns, and there was much begging and fighting, my game winning move had come. I placed the letter P between an S and AN to join the letters. Coincidentally, it spanned the gap. That P placed yielded 6 points, 2 more than I needed to get ahead. YES! However, the controversy occurred when the opponents realized an "i" was below the "p." "Pi." The Greek letter began what seemed to be the next Trojan War. Yelling and screaming to determine the legitimacy of the word began. Of course, pi can be seen in two contexts: the Greek letter and the mathematical constant, 3.14(etc etc). Invoking the use of the number, I claimed that it was just as it is anglosized to use "pi" as there is a "pi day." Having intonations accepted in our game of Scrabble, pi should prove to be legitimate. Either way, since the declaration of the use of Greek letters was not prohibited in the beginning rules, I had come ahead of the game by 5 points. The final blow had landed winning me (and my partner) the game.
I suppose the moral is just because your head feels lighter, doesn't mean it is full of hot air.
you are such a loser =P
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