Thursday, July 03, 2008

Tiptoe through the poppies

France / Alsace / Kochersberg (2005/05/05)


So I got word from my crit partner about the first chapter of my Bite story I sent to her. She made a few notes, and I made a few changes then bundled it back up and sent it over to her again for another looksee. She seems to like the story and that's like, Yay! and Whee!

I read in the news today that Bozo the Clown passed away. Oh, the bygone days of my youth! :*( I used to watch Bozo every morning on WGN Channel 9 while getting ready for school. I remember one particular episode where the kids were doing the 10 cup toss - you know, they toss a ball into a cup and win a prize, and the more cups they make, the more prizes? Well, in the height of the Cabbage Patch craze, there was one morning when that was one of the high end prizes - like if you made it to the 8th cup or so. I remember thinking (at 9 years old) that I would totally bungle that one just from the pressure! I wanted a CPK so bad that year - thank goodness for old St. Nick - and I watched as this startled looking 7ish year old girl gaped at the doll when they showed off the prizes, and minutes later, her look of total devastation when she made it to something like cup 5 and missed. Good GRIEF the suspence. *heart palpitations*

Anyhoo, hubby got up this morning to take Oldest for a haircut. He drove him to Ruston, to the beauty school - WITH A PICTURE of what we wanted his hair to look like. Can you sense the way this is going already? I thought so.

Hubby waiting for ages, walking Mini around, calling me every so often like a man who paces outside of a hospital delivery room. At the last I talk to him, he promises to send me a cell phone picture when Oldest steps out. I sit through 2 phone calls from my mother, lunch, a round of laundry, two piles of folded clothes, and then the picture arrives.

I eagerly download it, and the first words out of my mouth? WT*everloving*F?!?! I shit you not, this kid came out of that place with a church lady haircut.

Oh.Yes.He.Did!!

I yowled hubby forward and backward, asking him what the heck happened, and why was my son on the way home with that haircut? I would have dragged a wench out by her Dorothy Hamil wedge and bitchsmacked her. Think I'm joking? *_*




Still think I'm joking?

I will never, ever, ever let anyone cut Oldest's hair - not ever - again! Churchlady hair...teased on top, even! Holy Steele Magnolias. *faint*

Tomorrow I've got to sit him down, trim an inch off the top so his hair will spike instead of slump over (it was supposed to be a faux-hawk!). I've also gotta cut the sides very, very close to his head so that it will get rid of that round, helmet shape. OMG, I can barely believe anyone could mess up a head of hair this bad, but oh, I have been proved horribly wrong. Oldest took it like a trooper, I must say, because I would have cried. I would have cried and hit the bottle!

Never fear though, mama will fix it. *evil eye at hairdresser* Tomorrow this vision of my son will be erased forever from my memory. I can only hope.

On another note, the editing is going well. Picking up a bit of speed. I'm still over my 15k limit, so I have to strip out a few more passages. I've cut loads off this thing so far. You know, I didn't realize until yesterday, that what is four pages typed by my prefered settings (TNR in 12/14 pt, single spaces) is something like 10 pages when I format it to double spacing. Yikes! I think this is how I keep going over my allowed word counts. Ah, well. It's easier to strip away than to add in filler. I keep telling myself this will be a beneficial habit whenever I start seriously focusing on my full length books.

So that's it for me today. In case I don't get a chance to say it tomorrow, Happy Independence Day!


UPDATED: Poor Oldest - before and after haircut shots -

Note the Peg Bundy/Churchlady Coif in the first pic!!! *_*

This first shot is the OMFG, cell picture that made me have kittens. Oldest is standing right outside the salon. You can see the Jeep reflected in the front window. We PAID for this cut!




It's okay, my baby. Mimi will fix it.
Since Oldest was going to have to wash his hair anyway, we played in some of my blue "tipping" dye.




Oldest says he likes Haircut 2.0 much, much better.


**
Today's main pic is from webshots. (It's linkied, so you should be able to click on it.)

6 comments:

  1. Oh No!!! Poor Oldest! ((hugs)) Nothing worse than a crappy haircut unless it's a crappy dye job. OMG... At least they didn't experiment with color on his noggin'. Whew.

    Imagine orange or purple church lady hair! Yikes!

    The good news is that haircuts grow out and can be fixed (usually).

    But what a trooper!

    C.C.

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  2. No, thankfully, no one at the salon touched dye to his hair. There would have been one mad momma up there if that had happened.

    But no, no one does that but me. Now that I think of it, I have a back posts where I'm giving him a bleach out. Good times. ^_^

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  3. OMG on that first shot. It really is a church-lady haircut or a REALLY bad wig. I join you in asking WTF the hairdresser was doing. I'm surprised he (or your DH) didn't tell the hairdresser exactly what he thought of it before he walked out. I know my kids would have - especially Guitar Hero, even when was your son's age. Haircut #2 is WAAAY better - and I like the 'tipping'.

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  4. ACK! I'd've been upset too, Cora! Glad you got it fixed up!

    I haven't been by for a while but wanted to say hey!

    Z a.k.a Faith

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  5. OMG. When I first saw the SNL picture, I swear, I thought hubby was kidding with you. But then... OH NO! Poor Oldest! That's so terrible. Gah. I've always had a fear of using students at a beauty school. They're not quite at par yet to be dealing with hair.

    So glad you fixed it. It looks great, with the blue and the spikes.

    Man... you seriously averted disaster.

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  6. I have no idea why DH and Oldest just walked away...I would have had a cow then and there. But, it's fixed - thankfully.

    And Isabelle, I only wish I'd been kidding about the churchlady hair.

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