Yvette's Inner Geek Blog

I went back to the salon this morning and said that I wasn’t happy. I was basically handed over to the same stylist so she could fix her own job. After waiting a few precious minutes (I drove straight to a business interview after leaving), I told her what was wrong and that the fix needed to be quick. She aimed her scissors first at the back of my head, where there was still some semi-full hair below ear level, and I said NO, it’s the FRONT OF MY FACE that looks like ass. I didn’t say ass. I should have. There were a lot of things that I wanted to say but I was tired and stressed and residually polite. Damn my residual politeness.

My original haircut (the “cute” one) basically looked like one of these lovely ladies’ hairstyles, but with longer bangs. And flatter.

Scarlett is the only one who can even vaguely pull it off, but she’s Scarlett Fucking Johansson, you know? Anyway, this morning the stylist rounded out the thin, blunt, and poorly blended hair in the front of my face so that I feel less like Carol Brady, but I still don’t like it. It doesn’t feel like me, nor does it look like what I described to her. I’m usually pretty good with descriptions, for example: “a trim with some subtle layers and a blond chunk of hair in the front. I have fine hair that I want to look fuller without using a ton of product.” My hair was mostly the same length when I went in. I feel like this is a “Utah County Mom” hairstyle. You local people know what I’m talking about. Bleeeech.

I’m no fashion expert, but I’m pretty sure that seeing my neck through my hair does not constitute “fullness.”

I wasn’t wearing a helmet at all today! I swear!

Then again, Tina Fey pulled off something like it back when she was on Weekend Update. Except hers still looks better. Maybe I just need to wear my black plastic cat eye glasses with this cut and make sure that I’m always near a goofy retard. BUT WHAT IF I AM THE GOOFY RETARD.

I bought another package of “Dark Cherry” dye and was preparing to refresh the violet tones on my roots this week, but then an interview-type-thing popped up unexpectedly, and it seemed like a better idea to not have violet hair this week. I was in need of a haircut anyway.

I went to the Nice Salon a few minutes away from my house this morning, where I’ve had good experiences when I go (which ends up being once or twice a year). I’d go more often if it cost less. The stylist I liked doesn’t work there anymore, so I scheduled an appointment with one I didn’t know anything about because she was available on short notice.

Bad idea, as it turns out.

I’m not a morning person and didn’t have my usual amount of coffee this morning, otherwise I might have noticed the little things during my haircut. We discussed the auburn-ish base color I wanted, but she didn’t bring up what color or how bright the highlights would be. She didn’t check in as often with little questions and clarifications. She didn’t give me a mirror to look at the back of my hair after she finished.

My gut told me that that I didn’t like the haircut, but I didn’t listen. I also didn’t feign joy, and a good stylist would have noticed that I was less than thrilled and perhaps inquired about why. But I was tired and keeping an eye on the clock since I had to go to class—so I paid, left a decent tip as I normally do, and walked out the door.

But I didn’t like my haircut in the rear view mirror. And I didn’t like it under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the university bathroom. My friends and classmates—people whom, under normal circumstances, I would never ask what they thought of my new haircut—said things like “it’s cute!” in that certain tone of voice which, as we all know, means that it is not cute. But they would rather be polite than risk offending me even though I am essentially begging them to. Note to self: next time just wait to see husband’s reaction.

The interview is, of course, tomorrow. Washing my hair will help even out the stripey highlights, but it’s the unflattering cut that concerns me. As I twittered earlier, “I either got a Carol Brady-esque mullet haircut or I’m not in tune w/fashionable hairstyles of 2010. Either way it needs to be fixed!”

I played with it more this evening—flattening, curling, mousseing—but can’t get it to a point where I’m even moderately happy with it. I should have called the Nice Salon this afternoon, but I’ve never been in this situation before and I don’t know the proper way to deal with it. I don’t want the same stylist to fix my hair since she got it wrong the first time and there isn’t time (or length) for additional error. I also don’t want to be the bitchy customer who insists that the manager fix it personally—because the salon is relatively small and I know the stylist is working tomorrow. It’s embarrassing. But I’m going to have to call first thing tomorrow and ask if I can come in on my way to the interview.

And no, I’m not going to share a photo. If you want to see an unflattering image of me, you’re going to have to visit me in person.

P.S. Though I wrote a level-headed response the first time it happened, don’t be a dick and tell me that I’m not a geek because I’m writing about my hair. I’m feeling snarly.

Thirty-three candles
Worth seventeen syllables
Happy Birthday, Liz

Ben and I finally watched Inglourious Basterds last night. And… wow. There’s no question that Quentin Tarantino’s films push my boundaries when it comes to violence and gore, but  he is an auteur who creates some really amazing films.

I didn’t always think so, though. I generally dislike gory films and still get nightmares from psychological thrillers. But I was forced to watch Pulp Fiction for a (really awesome) creative writing class at Miami University in 1999, and not surprisingly I had a hard time with the violence. But I toughened up enough to want to see Kill Bill in the theater a few years later—and was blown away. (Har har.) The second Kill Bill was just as amazing and made me brave enough to watch Pulp Fiction again. I love it more every time I see it, even though certain scenes still make me cringe.

I kept waiting for both Kill Bill films to be released as a special edition set on DVD before I would buy them. Not long into my wait, though, I was introduced to HDTV and started paying attention to the HD-DVD/Blu-ray war (March 2007). Kill Bill jumped off the DVD wait list to Priorty One on my future high-def home video want list. But eleven months later, when HD-DVD officially died, I knew it would still be a while until we bought a Blu-ray player. And so I have waited. Blu-ray players, and the discs to some extent, have come down in price over the last two years.

BEN ORDERED A BLU-RAY PLAYER FOR US YESTERDAY.

I would like to officially thank Quentin Tarantino for the film Inglourious Basterds, which reminded us how much we’ve wanted to own Kill Bill on home video, and thus directly tipped the scales on the final decision to purchase a Blu-ray player.

(I am vaguely suspicious that the Ghirardelli caramel-filled chocolates I gave to him for that recent hallmark holiday also had something to do with it.)

We won’t be replacing/upgrading any of the films or shows we already own on DVD, but we did order a few Blu-ray discs (are we calling them BRDs yet?) to start off our collection: Kill Bill I and Kill Bill II, Bourne Identity, Wall-E, and Gattaca.

Next up on the wish list (Pi Day is coming up soon!): Battlestar Galactica complete series (the new one, yes, even after the last episode), Bourne Supremacy and Bourne Ultimatum, Iron Man, Ratatouille, and Up. Go ahead and judge me if you like. I’m also looking forward to renting delicious eye candy via Netflix.

What are the first five movies you would purchase (or have already purchased) in high def?

There may be everyday stories, but I’ve struggled to find a bloggable story every day.

I’ve been disappointed with the number of “cop-out posts” I’ve used in order to fulfill my 365 challenge. I suppose that I was hoping for something somewhat meaningful, or at least mildly amusing, to come out of my brain every day. Friday night I started to write an entry but got tired and disinterested in what I was writing. Finally, after 2am, I shared a link in a post that was not much longer than a tweet. I forgot to pre-date it to Friday at 11:59pm, per my “I’m still awake so it still counts for the previous day” guideline*.

Instead of fixing it on Saturday, I simply didn’t blog at all. I slept in and kept myself busy all day—either subconsciously procrastinating or just plain not thinking about my blog. Then, well after midnight and after my computer was shut down, I remembered my blog while I was brushing my teeth with my eyes closed. Screw it, I thought. I just want to go to bed. And I did.

So, there it was. My first missed blogging day of the year. I’ve wrestled all day with what to do. Fix the dates and pretend it never happened? Post another boring entry about this challenge and whine about my failure? Delete the entire blog and change my name and move to Costa Rica?

Eh, as tempting as Costa Rica sounded… here I am, blog and name intact. No dates have been changed to save face. And hopefully I’m not whining.

I blogged for 43 days straight and I’m proud of myself for that. Rather than throw in the towel (I always have a towel with me, don’t you?) at this point as I normally would (and have), I’m picking myself back up and gunning for the next 321 days. I still have a chance of 99.7% success for my 365 challenge. Go optimism!

*which I’m totally invoking for this post

Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe it’s just a hilarious article that is undeniably based in fact. Whether or not you like cats, I highly recommend 6 adorable cat behaviors with shockingly evil explanations.

I’m a habitual list-maker. Cleaning up my desk and perpetually seemingly-hurricane-stricken office always yields small piles of post-its with notes I’ve written to myself: to-do lists; names and phone numbers and addresses; small phrases that inspire a story I didn’t have time to write; spontaneous categorization that is forgotten as soon as it’s recorded; doodles and diagrams, etc.

Many of them I feel I need to keep at least until I compile the data and ideas somewhere more permanent. Notes scribbled with expired relevance can be safely thrown away. Sometimes I’ll come across a note that isn’t easy to categorize because I don’t know what it means. Take this one that I found tonight:

Paper
Stationery
Blog about
Story prompt
Top Priority

That’s it. I can tell you that I wrote this note sometime in the fall, but I’ve forgotten why. Paper could mean anything. Stationery could indicate that this is a “to buy” list since I’ve had somewhat recent thoughts about what a shame it is that I don’t hand-write letters anymore and perhaps having some decent stationery would change that.

(All the stationery I have is a few holdover pieces from my childhood that I could use ironically, but would otherwise defeat the purpose and feel of real stationery that reflects who I am today.)

But the inclusion of the action words Blog about confuse me. Blog about what? Stationery? Or a Story prompt? And what is Top Priority? Why is that at the bottom of the list? I have no idea, and I’ve been mulling it over in the back of my head for a couple hours now. I don’t believe it will come to me.

And so I’ve placed that post-it note in the recycling bin to make room for future lists and ideas—hoping that its meaning was simply displaced instead of being lost forever.

I generally don’t go to the mall unless I have to. This evening, I had to. Serendipity put me in the path of a women’s 2-piece denim suit at Macy’s. For $280.

Um?

Denim, perhaps a little softer than normal—more like jeans from an “everything $10!!!” store. With large stitching as decorative trim. Maybe you’re thinking what I’m thinking regarding those dress slacks: Aren’t they just technically jeans?

Perfect for when you want to dress up on Casual Friday.

My friend Liz introduced me to the term “Canadian Tuxedo,” which is basically the pairing of jeans with a jean jacket. That was cool in the 80s, right? (I’m pretty fashion-impaired…. what are you supposed to wear a jean jacket with, if not jeans? Ohhhhhh, maybe you’re not supposed to wear jean jackets at all.)

Then Liz linked to a horrid example of a Canadian Tuxedo as an actual tuxedo (or at least suit) on Justin Timberlake. With Britney Spears in a denim evening gown.

And then I started searching for more examples of denim suits. Like, for real. And people out there are buying them. I just don’t understand. Fashion is so confusing. I try to stick to jeans (as denim was intended) and a geeky t-shirt with maybe a sweater if I’m cold.

Because if I depended on retailers’ selections to guide me, I would only end up hurting myself. See below.

Available from overstock.com for only $52.99! That’s a way better deal than the Macy’s 2-piece denim suit! I nicknamed it the “Sergeant Pepper Sleeps With Levi Strauss.”

After I posted yesterday’s blog about the outdoor wall urinal, I started clicking on interesting links. I passed through 2leep.com, then clickety-clicked through several articles on oddee.com—stopping on 12 Creative Beverage Packing Designs (the last one is mildly NSFW, depending on whether or not you could tell what it is without the label). Which has a “related” link below to what I really want to talk about:

Vodka in a crystal skull.

It’s a real product and, better yet, the website features an auto-play infomercial hosted by Dan-freaking-Akroyd.* So bizarre. I want one, no matter how crappy the vodka might be. I’ll set it (empty or full) next to the bust-of-Napoleon brandy bottle I brought home from France many years ago. I think it’s appropriate timing for me to discover Crystal Skull Vodka since I just recently met Karen Allen at the Sundance Film Festival. Even though I didn’t think too highly of Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, it’s hard to argue with the awesomeness of crystal skulls.

Too bad Crystal Skull Vodka is not currently sold in Utah (and I doubt they ever will be). I’ll have to travel to Wyoming or depend on the kindness of an out-of-state friend to bring me one (and for the record, I’m okay if the vodka is pre-drained. I can find something else with which to fill its head!)

* * *

A former coworker, younger than me, once told me that he didn’t go on the internet much because he got bored. The internet bored him. I was flummoxed and fell into a mild state of shock. Obviously we never became friends. When I came to, I still should have punched some sense into his face.

*Tmesis in action.

I pillaged my bookmarked links to find a bloggable topic, clicking first on “Axixa, a hygenic way of peeing on the walls.”

It’s weird and fascinating and I tell you what: I would have really appreciated hygienic public wall-urinals being around during that scorching summer I spent in central Spain. Holy hell, it smelled like roasted piss. My nose still curls as I think of passing the popular wall where men had no problem peeing in broad daylight.

Of course, if you’re a woman, you’ll need an adapter to more efficiently use a hygienic wall pee hole. Enter the “female urination device,” aka FUD, which sounds kinky but is very practical if you are in the wilderness or faced with a skeevy-looking toilet at a bar or LAN gaming center. There are a surprising number of FUD models available in either disposable cardboard or reusable (and washable) materials. I haven’t tried one myself, but I will admit to being FUD-curious.

(I’m technically posting this after midnight, but since I was having internet connection issues (THE HORROR) I’m fudging the time so it will still show up as a post for Monday. It’s still Monday to me because I’m still awake!)