The Sacrifices I Make For This Family, I Swear.

As part of our quest to save money, Luke and I recently examined the ways we spend our time, thus examining the way we spend our cash. Our biggest discretionary expenditures by far were our frequent trips north. With gas climaxing at three bucks a gallon, we were racking up more than a hundred dollars a month on fuel, tolls, and food to sustain us on the road. Not only that, but we were feeling disconnected from Indianapolis--you know, the city we actually live in, missing all the downtown festivals, the free concerts, the opportunities to build on friendships with those who reside within city limits. For both our checkbook and our sanity, it was decided that we needed to focus our energies on building social, productive lives in our very own zip code.

There was just one thing holding me back.

Brenda, My Windy City Hair Goddess. Yes.

The break started out gradually, with me downgrading my post-honeymoon cut and color to a simple trim. Our budget couldn't afford all the attention my hair was getting, and because I keep it relatively short, all the red should be gone by Thanksgiving. So I went for the trim and gave Brenda a thumbs-up, even though I was crying a little inside because the flippy tresses I knew and loved intimately for many, many months were still gone, even though she's followed my very precise yet admittedly vague instructions (hence the word "flippy") to the letter during my last two cuts. Isn't that the way with hair styles, though? You find one you love, and you think it's going to stick around for good this time, but one wrong snip from an incompetent who claims to have gone to beauty school yet breaks into hives because she doesn't know what a blow-out is (geez, bitter much?) and it packs its bags, never to be heard from again. Maybe our hair cuts were never meant to be permanent but instead designed to provide a foundation on which to make important, life-changing discoveries about texturizing and diffusing, with intentions to pack up after the wind changed in order to share its secrets with other lost souls who shamelessly self-trim and purchase Aqua Net hair products.

Or maybe I'm a freak because I align my hair cuts with Mary Poppins. Who's to say?

Anyway, my plan was to continue visiting Brenda's salon whenever I was in Chicago, and if that meant skipping a trim or two, so be it. Last month, I scheduled my next appointment for Saturday, July 21, and went on my merry way.

Then Luke and I invited Samantha and Dan to spend a couple of days with us in Indy, and the only weekend that jived for all four of us fell on the same weekend as my hair cut. No worries, I thought. I’ll just save it for next time.

But that was until the divide between my top and bottom layers became so large that a small child could've been swallowed by its gaping gapeness. There was no Chi-town trip scheduled for July. I could not wait until August. Once again, I had to explore my options "in-house."

I was not excited. My previous two experiences left me wishing I'd followed the advice outlined by Glamour's beauty editor, who insists on arranging a consultation with your stylist-to-be before trusting them with sharp objects around your head. And I seriously considered it this time, but my raise wasn't so high that I can afford multiple visits to a salon with nothing to show for it. I finally decided on a place across the way from our apartment complex and stopped in this past Friday. I figured, sometimes even a bad hair cut is better than no hair cut at all.

My appointment was with an older woman who reminded me of Magda from There's Something About Mary in the sense that her skin gave the appearance of a permanent tan. But she was very nice and patiently listened to me describe my previous experiences and agreed that places who spell "curl" with a K should never be trusted. She used a texturizing comb on my ends, a tool Brenda never relied on, but every stylist is different and I'm not the one with the cosmetology license and I didn't want to be That Girl so I kept my mouth shut and let her do her thing. When she was done, I told her not to bother with a style as I was going to the gym and would wash it out, anyway. She made me promise to call her once I'd had a chance to play with it and let her know if further shaping needed to be done.

I'm usually of the school of thought that pretty stylists make pretty hair. Brenda is very pretty. She has a great body and a mass of blond curls and probably buys her clothes from boutiques like The Limited and Ann Taylor. Magda is old enough to be my mother and had on one of those knit scooped-neck tees you find on the clearance rack at TJ Max. But I’ll be damned if she didn’t give my layers a good talking to before whipping those bad boys into shape. Plus, she was ten bucks cheaper. I just may have made my first Indianapolis friend. (By the way, I'd love to show you a picture of the new 'do, especially since I risked life and limb to take a picture of myself in my office when I forgot to shut the door, barely escaping an awkward conversation with our billing specialist as to why I photograph myself at work, but Blogger's gone all premenstrual again. I am thisclose to making fremanitis.com a reality.)

Sadly, though, what I saved in hair care was ultimately canceled out in cosmetics, as two weeks ago I finally coughed up the twenty-one fifty at Sephora for this product, which Real Girl Beauty boasts as the best solution to solving that pesky crease problem I've been griping about for months. While it doesn't last all day, I can put it on at seven-thirty the morning and trust it to last until a couple of hours before bedtime, which is understandable, seeing as I usually don't hit the sheets before eleven-thirty, and fifteen hours is a long time for any product to last. The bottle is teeny tiny, but you only need to tap the stuff once lightly with your finger to get enough for each lid. Good times.

In other news, I'm a little nervous, because tomorrow I'm attending a clinical chemistry conference in Chicago to scope out the other labs out who peddle their services on unsuspecting academics and see how we measure up, marketing-wise. At first I was stoked because corporate travel eventually turns into a mileage reimbursement check, and at forty-five cents a mile, those checks help you look at pain-in-the-@$$ day trips in a brand-new light, especially when the location of said trip enables you to visit Mom and Dad on the company's dime. However, I have been invited to make the drive with another coworker, a guy who seems friendly enough but with whom I've had little personal interaction, but since there's no real reason for me NOT to go along—I don't have to stay overnight or get back by a certain time or anything—I figured it wouldn't hurt to show my sociable side with another employee. But how to fill up all that travel time? Do I bring music? Cup cakes? Wedding proof books? What topics are safe to cover? What if he's not a big talker? What if he turns out to be some weirdo who starts forest fires and kills puppies?

He's picking me up at 7:30, so you still have plenty of time to suggest possible ice breakers or activities that don't segue into religion, politics, or the weather.

Comments

[Britt]

Being one who is "socially awkward," I have no advice to lend you on icebreaking in the presence of co-workers, but I think cup cakes are great, and I wish you luck with your trip!

[Mrs. S]

Talk about his car - the color, the seats, the radio, whatever... men are all into that stuff :D I'm sure he'll be able to think of something quasi-intelligent to say from there. Worst case scenario, you could always gossip about work together?

And, in case he's NOT a huge talker, bring a book and if the conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere just say "you don't mind if I read, do you?" and then you're set. Nothing worse than getting stuck in hours and hours of awkward silence.

(I've been lurking for four posts now, by the way, but I can't remember how I found your site.)

[Dawnie]

Man, I have no advice for the car trip. Bring a book, so if he's not feeling chatty you can just read and there won't be any pressure or weird silences? Perhaps also CDs or some such. Cupcakes are always good.

And not to make this all about me, but what are the odds you could let me know where your hair goddess works? I'm still looking for one around here....

[Phil]

you know......."fremalicious.com" is open.....i say go for it!

[auntie betty]

let us know how the trip went

[mjd]

How about, "Don't you just love puppies?" Or, "Have you ever visited Sequoia National Forest? Aren't the redwoods magnificent?" Listen closely to his answer to this one, "Smokey the Bear is my hero. Who is yours?" Perhaps, "Do you have a light?", would fuel just your fears...so to speak.

[Silly Hily]

Dude, it's sounds like you found someone to do your hair. Someone that is actually close. YAY!!!!

[daddy d, chemistry]

Now nice, a chemistry trip. Super fun. As far burning material, remember liquids and solids don't burn. They need to be vaporizied first. Only gases burn. The most important chemical for life is probably water. The human body is about 65-70% by weight water. You could also say those same %'s by mass, since mass is directly related to weight by the constant of gravity's acceleration.(9.8m/(sxs))

Have a fine trip.

[Lost a Sock]

I hope all went well with the drive today. And I also hope you had the decency to hang your head out of the car window for a moment to yell "Holla!" at me as you passed my neck of the (hood.) Do tell how you passed the time.

And I love Phil's idea up there. My body's too Fremalicious for you babe.

[Luke]

But it turned out fine, and you even got to stop for some DQ.

[Sambo V.]

I hope it went okay, I'll find out in your next entry. I'm assuming there was no stop home then.