First of all, can you believe this rain? Me either! I half love it, half need some new socks.
Second of all, can you stop listening to Blind Pilot? Me either. It's a sickness.
Third of all. I keep touching my hair.
I just went to a salon. Like a real one. Like, one where they wash your hair. And then tell you nice things. And then gingerly chop your locks.
This is a big deal.
This was not my normal supercuts run.
First I went in there. I dressed as cute as I possibly could. Those hair cutting kiddos are trendy. I think they thought I was a celebrity because they asked if I wanted a drink, and they took my coat and umbrella. I'm not complaining. Then I met my stylist. I instantly loved her. She let me sit in a massage chair while she washed my hair and asked me about life. I confessed all my previous hair sins: I use cheap shampoo. Some days I forget to brush my hair. I have split ends. I haven't had my haircut since, oh, last year. She shook her head. And taught me the ways of hair care while her and this guy with skinny jeans and a cool watch styled my hair. I was in heaven. Now my hair feels silky smooth. Now all I want is to go in for their free fringe trims. Now I want it to be 8 to 12 weeks from today.
Haircut at a salon? Check!