Well, I've been in Cincinnatti for two months now. It is time to find a hair stylist. Keep in mind, I haven't been too concerned about finding an OBGYN or a dentist, but BY GOD I have to find a salon.
Because I have moved so many times over the years, I have come to dread this task. Finding a stylist might be worse than dating. You see, I don't just have bad hair days. I have a bad hair LIFE. And it's all my fault. While I would very much like to have gorgeous, sexy locks, I don't want to actually have to DO anything to get them that way.
Over the years, I have had my share of really bad stylists, but I have been fortunate to find some really good ones to.
In St. Louis, there was Donna. She was a waitress at The Olive Garden, where I was a bartender. She dated Earl the Surly Cook. She was your typical Heroin Addict/Crackwhore with a Heart of Gold. One day, she asked me if I would consider being a hair model for her because she was working on renewing her license and she liked my "virgin hair." That meant that I had never had it colored. Once I found out I could get a free color and cut, I was in. Happily (and luckily), she did a good job, passed her test and got a job at a salon. I remained faithful until we moved to Maryland.
Since I don't remember my stylist in Maryland, I either A) Never got my hair cut, or B) I never found a stylist I liked.
In Pittsburgh, it took me 6 months to find Lori at Jakay's in Plum Boro, PA. When I first met Lori, I remembered being scared of her. She was about 6 feet tall, had fierce feathered hair and could totally kick my ass. SHE WAS AWESOME! Not only was she a super nice person and gave great hair cuts, but she was HONEST. I would come in with all of these crazy ideas for a hairstyle. A typical response was, "Um, no honey, I'm NOT going to give you Jennifer Aniston hair. You won't pull it off." I also LOVED the fact that after she cut my hair she would style it so that it was mega-big hair. While it wasn't my taste to wear my hair like that every day, it was certainly fun to come home and startle my husband. My girlfriend Annie still goes to her and loves getting poofy hair too. I loved her so much that, after I moved to New Jersey, I tried to get her to cut my hair when I would come back to Pittsburgh for business. Incidentally, the only time my husband has ever noticed that I got my hair done was when I came home poofy from Jakay's.
It took me 2 years to find my next stylist. I will call her "Pamela Anderson's Long Lost Sister." A friend of mine worked as a masseuse at a salon/day spa and referred me to her. I had some serious doubts when I met P.A.L.L.S. She was far too pretty to understand my hair angst. She had never had an ugly day in her life. But she was great. I liked her right away because she didn't recoil in horror at my recent bout of cradle cap (I know--I'm 36 WTF?!) I officially fell in love with her when I made the mistake of coloring my hair on my own after Peaches was born. It was a disaster. Not only did it NOT hide the gray, but I missed half of my head. The half that wasn't missed was a very unattractive shade of red/orange. I went in and begged her to fix it. She got down to business and made my hair beautiful. She was even nice enough to write everything down so that I can give to the NEXT stylist I find.
And so the search begins...