my new color…hard to see in this light but trust me, it’s awesome!
I get my hair colored at Waves Salon in downtown Albuquerque every three weeks or so. I do this so that I look good enough to keep the interest of my gorgeous 29-year-old boyfriend, among other reasons. I know. I’m shallow sometimes. Sue me. You know you’re shallow too. But just…LOOK at him. Okay? It’s worth the extra effort on my part. Which reminds me, I need to go to the gym. Like…RIGHT NOW. But I digress.
I often feel stupidly fantastic after my hair appointments, but lately I’ve been dreading going. I’m writing this post on my phone, from the salon chair. I was filled with anxiety about this appointment, this morning at home. I couldn’t figure out why I felt such crushing trepidation about coming here, at first. So I thought hard about it while I sucked down the free espresso in the stylish Italian cup, and realized what was bothering me: My stylist is just too fucking hot.
Actually, every female stylist at my salon is too fucking hot. ..just absolutely gorgeous. And tiny. And super fit. And fashionable. And young.
I hate it.
See, I come here to improve my OWN looks, spurred by my insatiable vanity. How can I get excited about my ostensible improvements if there is still no way in hell I will ever look as good as the shiny-tressed woman standing next to me in her skinny jeans and high heels? I mentioned this all to Rosalee, my stylist, just now. She laughed. Rosalee is bright, married to a doctor, funny, runs marathons. I can’t compete with her, and told her so.
“You all look like models, ” I griped. She looked embarassed.
“You wouldn’t want to get your teeth done by a dentist with gross teeth, would you?” she asked. This only made me aware of how much whiter Rosalee’s teeth are than mine. I shrugged. Then I smiled because now that my insecurity is out in the open I feel better.
I don’t look that bad…I mean, I look good….for me. Okay, let’s be honest. Rosalee made my hair look completely A-MAZING today. I look good. I admit it.
But, I will wait until I’m alone in the car to celebrate my new ‘do. Because until then I will feel like the love child of Cathy Bates and Rosie O’Donnell. Which is what I am. Compared to Rosalee, who just told me she’s in a competition at her gym to lose the most body fat in six weeks. She has no body fat to begin with.
Grr.
I hate you, gravity. I hate you, ice cream. I…love Rosalee. I just wish she were not so hot. I think the perfect stylist would be cute, but not hotter than you. Maybe this is why so many women like gay male stylists….
Tagged: hair stylists, hot
I think your honesty. Beloved and I were taking about that this morning. See I am about 20 pounds overweight with a pouch belly that everyone assumes in a pregno-belly. Beloved and I were talking about the defining factors of a beauty, how it varies from person to person, culture to culture. I went away from the convo thinking how much I love this Beloved of mine…. he is madly in love with me, thinks I am sex even though I look like I am ready to pop, and he is willing to jog with me ever evenings and try new diets with me, so I have a support group. He has a couple of things he wants me to keep though: clear eyes, a pure heart, and intelligent conversations. What would I do if I had accidently married a dog?
I loved my mom’s hair salon. The women there are genuine, have curves and enjoy life. They wear makeup and are nice looking but not model gorgeous. Mike would love you no matter what. He wakes up next to you and probably kisses you with morning breath and all that good stuff. He probably loves you for the same reason we all love you. You’re honest, humble, down to earth, and beautiful without trying too hard. Love you Alisa!
I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You appear to be aging backwards, Benjamin Button style, in every new photo you post. Alas, I keep missing your Texas apperances, so I have not been able to verify this phenomenon.