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Jun. 4th, 2013 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolSo yesterday I got Richie to cut my hair. This is not a soppy story of how our love is true or anything like that, although I rather suppose that might be an element of it. Nor is it a story of how broke we are, as we're not, although we are making an attempt to save like crazy meaning we feel a little broke.
Mostly it's a story of how fed up I was with my hair. I have to wear it out in order to hide my bling at work, so I can't just cut it all off like I'm occasionally tempted to do, so it's been growing and growing. At the front it is a charming and slightly pretty length with delightful curls. Many parts of the back are like that. Unfortunately at the end of the back it looks like a horrific set of rats tails. I basically freaked out and decided the best bet was to chop off the ends, which led to Richie rather charmingly offering to neat it up and cut it slightly shorter.
There are loads of cheap hairdressers is Walthamstow, I will be the first to admit, but they are either terrifying ("GET UR BRAZILLIAN WHILE YOU WAIT!" er, no thanks) or hidden which makes them a terrifying unknown quantity. I suppose it makes a certain level of sense to have 'hidden' shops for gyms and hairdressers for the large quantity of women who wear burqas around here, and logically it's a sign of female-led businesses too, but I have no idea how I feel about it in general, and also it means I can't assess them on the outside.
In conclusion - a Monday night with Richie wielding some scissors, and a pile of hair on a towel on the floor looking like the leftovers from a blading cocker spaniel.
Anyway, it actually looks rather nice, and Ive kept the length at the front so I'm rocking a graduated bob, or something like that.
Anyway. A day of new hair and a complete disaster of an evening; Richie is home, so I wanted to have a big bowl of pasta and watch 'Watchmen' on DVD. Came home, failed to put on the DVD player - managed it in the end but the plugs were all messed up - and then eventually sat down to eat pasta. PEsto was somehow contaminated with what tasted like soap, which was a right shame when you take into account I had made extra portions so me and Richie could have the cold leftovers for lunch.
Already being in pajamas and being too lazy to leave the house or cook anything else (no microwave means everything takes FOREVER) means I have now eaten a boiled eg for tea. I am starving but still can't face leaving the house, and have ran out of bread so can't make any more toast and basically if you are in the Walthamstow area and fancy bringing me a bag of chips and then fucking right off again because I sort of just want to finish watching my film, then feel free to go nuts. (Yes, this is an impossibly selfish request, what of it?)
I don't even have any wine in the house. TYPICAL.
Mostly it's a story of how fed up I was with my hair. I have to wear it out in order to hide my bling at work, so I can't just cut it all off like I'm occasionally tempted to do, so it's been growing and growing. At the front it is a charming and slightly pretty length with delightful curls. Many parts of the back are like that. Unfortunately at the end of the back it looks like a horrific set of rats tails. I basically freaked out and decided the best bet was to chop off the ends, which led to Richie rather charmingly offering to neat it up and cut it slightly shorter.
There are loads of cheap hairdressers is Walthamstow, I will be the first to admit, but they are either terrifying ("GET UR BRAZILLIAN WHILE YOU WAIT!" er, no thanks) or hidden which makes them a terrifying unknown quantity. I suppose it makes a certain level of sense to have 'hidden' shops for gyms and hairdressers for the large quantity of women who wear burqas around here, and logically it's a sign of female-led businesses too, but I have no idea how I feel about it in general, and also it means I can't assess them on the outside.
In conclusion - a Monday night with Richie wielding some scissors, and a pile of hair on a towel on the floor looking like the leftovers from a blading cocker spaniel.
Anyway, it actually looks rather nice, and Ive kept the length at the front so I'm rocking a graduated bob, or something like that.
Anyway. A day of new hair and a complete disaster of an evening; Richie is home, so I wanted to have a big bowl of pasta and watch 'Watchmen' on DVD. Came home, failed to put on the DVD player - managed it in the end but the plugs were all messed up - and then eventually sat down to eat pasta. PEsto was somehow contaminated with what tasted like soap, which was a right shame when you take into account I had made extra portions so me and Richie could have the cold leftovers for lunch.
Already being in pajamas and being too lazy to leave the house or cook anything else (no microwave means everything takes FOREVER) means I have now eaten a boiled eg for tea. I am starving but still can't face leaving the house, and have ran out of bread so can't make any more toast and basically if you are in the Walthamstow area and fancy bringing me a bag of chips and then fucking right off again because I sort of just want to finish watching my film, then feel free to go nuts. (Yes, this is an impossibly selfish request, what of it?)
I don't even have any wine in the house. TYPICAL.
