Just Because It’s Free, Doesn’t Mean You Take It:

Yesterday, whist walking toward my class at St. Martins, I was approached by a student from Toni & Guy Hair Dressing School. She asked me if I would be a hair model for her class the following day. First thought that sprung to my mind? “FREE HAIRCUT!”
Now, I did get my hair cut very well by a professional about four weeks ago. But for some reason, the idea of getting a trim for free was very exciting. I had never been offered any styling for free before, so of course I said yes! Then I thought for a moment and said, “Well wait, how much are you going to cut off?” The hair cut I had was already fairly short, and I am at the point where I am not sure if I want to grow it out or not. Precious, precious time. She made the universal symbol for “a pinch.” So I agreed, and told her I would indeed meet her at the school the next morning at 11:00 AM.
I showed up mildly early, and a girl that had recognized me from the day before lead me in, and upstairs to the studio. When I got in, I sat down and began to watch Carol, (Her name has been changed to protect her identity) the girl who was my cutting my hair, work on another… patient. We will call her a patient, because in my superficial world, hair is THAT important to me. Right away I should have maybe ducked out and left. She was giving this girl an asymmetrical bob. It was a bit Jetsons. I became a little worried. So when she told me to come over and sit down, fear began to rise inside me. Her instructor came over and they were deciding on the cut. She would say, “I’ll cut it here.” And then I would go, “Well - no, more like… at my jaw line.” And she would go, “Yeah, Yeah… of course. Right here.” She was very obviously NOT pointing to my jaw line. This went back and forth for a few moments, before I had to decide to trust her.
Few things seem creepier to me, than getting my hair cut by a flakey student. You know the saying, “Those who can’t teach, teach gym?” Well, apparently those who can’t teach gym, become hairdressers. She would just snip away, as if I were a manikin head, not really paying attention to the obvious concern in my face. Her instructor would jump in and say, “No, you can’t do it like that – hold the hair to a 45 degree angle, because if you cut it at 90, it will square off. See? See what I mean.” She would go, “Oh, yeah, I get it.” And continue to snip away. By the way… this was her sixth week out of sixth!
It was finally nearing the end. And just to warn you, when someone gives you the pinch signal, they might just be counting the width of their fingers as well. She cut off more than I had wanted, and almost left me with a sort of mullet, had her instructor not stepped in. Ultimately, it isn’t the worst haircut ever. But what I had in the first place was better. I probably should have left it. My sister cuts my hair better when she is high than that chick did. But I took it because it was free.
So lesson learned. Generally when someone offers you free stuff, it never comes from the best intentions. Free food is generally expired or left over. Free merchandise is usually faulty and defective. Free music can sometimes be crap. Free service is mostly likely followed with a gimmick. And free slaves… well that just lead to racism now didn’t it… too much?
Just because something is being handed out to you, don’t feel the need and guilt to take it. Pay an extra 20 for something decent if it is going to make the difference you are looking for. It might just be worth it.

I'm Just Not That Into This Movie

My Ongoing Angst Toward Romantic Comedies:
In Review: He Just Not That Into You (2009)
Let me start off by saying that I am a bit ashamed to have seen this film today. However, I do have crushes on Justin Long and Scarlett Johansson, so for those reasons alone it was almost worthwhile.
The film sets itself up to be an “anti-romance” romantic comedy. Channeled through the narrative of Jennifer Goodwin’s character is the voice of the doting girl, who suddenly realizes that all the rules she has made about guys throughout her life are off (pushed by Long’s character, the practical voice). Initially I liked the idea of the “exception girl” verses the “rule girl.” The exception is fairly self explanatory. If you hear a story about a girl who met a man and he swept her off her feet, and they lived happily ever after, that girl is the exception. The rule is the girl who lives a more realistic life. She, by example of Jennifer Anniston’s character, may date a man for seven years, but they never marry. These situations were setting up to give a somewhat honest example of the reality of romance in life. We don’t get our happy endings.
Yet they ended with a disappointment! In the end, Goodwin and Anniston, who you are set up to identify with, ARE THE EXCEPTION! Jennifer Connelly’s character, who is presented as an anal bitch, is the rule. And Scarlett Johansson, who seems to be more of a sex kitten than someone you respect, is also the rule. And the exception’s male counterparts are the witty doting type! So when you leave this movie, you are right back where you started, but almost more desperate. “Oh, I shouldn’t believe that Mr. Right will come into my life in a magical way. But really… Maybe he will!” I might need to put my finger down my throat so I can vomit that story out of my body.

23-02-2009
I came to the decision yesterday that I am trying to give up two things in my life… well not GIVE UP. But I am attempting to push them toward the back burner.
First and foremost, I need to drink less. I realized this yesterday, while sitting in my room with a sore knee. Had I not been SO drunk Saturday, I would not have encountered this problem. It wasn’t as if I was wasted. I was just clumsy. Clumsy in everything I did. Interacting, moving, BEING. Aside from all that, it’s also just plain unhealthy. I think if I drink less, I will lose weight, which I always continue to try to do. Not that I am desperate. I just don’t mind shedding a few pounds here and there.
Also, I have re-decided that are men are generally scum. I just don’t like trying to “pull” guys. In the past, most guys I have dated, I met through friends. Mutual acquaintances (though sometimes they also suck). I have never met a guy in a bar and actually had anything move on past that time, when we met in a bar. I am done with all that. If a man decides to chat me up, that’s fine. My ears are open! But I am sick and tired of awkward attempts at forced interactions.

“Hi there. You trying to get to the bar?”
“Oh no, I’m hanging back.”
“Can I get you something from the bar?”
“No, thanks.”
“Alright, well I need to go give this to my friend, but I’ll be back”

Exit Me
All in all its just not worth it.

Plus: I'm in love with Noel Fielding this week.

...And We're Back!

So, let me just start by saying I haven't written anything here in months. I will continue to tell myself that I will, but I probably won't. We'll see.
Also, what I am going to publish today is filled with grammar errors. I over use my "either ways" and "howevers." I always have. I need to educate myself and learn more conjunctions!

22-02-2009
Last night was, in more ways than one, a mental and emotional adventure. I decided, at some point yesterday afternoon, that I was going to go to Proud Galleries in Camden to check out the bands. I wanted to get there early so I would only have to pay five at the door. This put me inside at around 9:00. I grabbed a beer and started circling the place and observing the crowd. This is when the flow of thoughts started, and why I came to decide on writing this. I started taking notes on old receipts I had in my purse.
My first thought was about my own personal form of age discrimination. I have a strict bracket with age and dating, which tends to affect how the delivery of the question comes about. How old are you? Stressing the “how” indicates that the person is mostly likely younger than me. There is sadness in it. Me telling the person they are too young, and the immediate thought that I am maybe scouting out a young man. Then there is the alternative. How old are you? This time stressing the “old” I am almost accusing the person of their age. As if they should feel some guilt for nature pushing them through the years. Either way, neither of the tones can be taken as a compliment.
I moved on from this thought, and the bands began to play. The first band, Hexa, was from New York. I had actually decided to go to Proud based on the fact that a hometown band was going to be there. Regardless, they were fun. Their songs were short bursts of energy. I heard a man behind me complain that they were ending their songs just as people started to get into them. I understood his point, but I thought they just had good sense of humor. They were obviously having fun and not taking themselves too seriously. The English don’t seem to like that.
The second band was forgettable… Loads of dreary heavy sounds that bored me quickly. I think they were called Apache Beat if you are looking to avoid them in the future. I left the room and started to circle again. It was a wasteful endless circle.
The third band was called The Kabeedies. They were a lot of fun. The members were all very young, and that showed in their performance. The lead singer rocked. She was a feisty little red head, and she danced the shit out of that stage. One of the girls in Hexa did too. It made me happy to see so many girls rocking it out on stage. I remember having an epiphany at that moment. I decided that I wanted to go back to Brooklyn and start a band on the basis of simply being sexy and getting laid. Generally my dreams to become an aspiring rock star happen while I am intoxicated.
After the bands performed everything started to go downhill. It wasn’t a series of immediate mishaps. It was a building block system of failure. However, I will first go through my drunken notes and comment on them as I feel they should not be left out.
1) Two guys in Plaid: The funny thing is, there was this pair of guys in plaid, dressed the same. I remember looking at them and thinking “Ha. That’s weird… those two guys are dressed the same.” Then I laughed more so remembering that my friend in LA has a problem where he gets dressed to go out, and then his roommate wears the same thing. I sympathize for you dear friend, now realizing the circumstances that can arise. Fadouchery.
I also realized last night… and probably many nights before, that my attraction to a man doubles if he is wearing a plaid shirt. However, my attraction to that man is then divided if he turns out to resemble someone I used to date. Particularly if that certain someone had broken my heart.
One of the boys also looked like a young Mick Jagger, or a 12 year old Rosalyn Chesky. But that is a personal reference. Either way, I now realize that 12 year old Rosalyn looked a lot like a young Mick Jagger.
2) Douchey White Sunglasses Inside: This is self explanatory. I don’t need to elaborate.
3) Using Change in a Bar: Now, I have said this before, but I will say it again. There is too much change in this country. I mean currency, not “change.” There is too much “change” in America. But in England there is too much literal, jingle jangle in my pocket, yes of course I have some change to spare, change! So last night, I brought a change purse with me, because I have been accumulating stacks in my room, and I was looking to get rid of it. My beer cost 3.50. Not exactly cheap! But, I had 5 ten P in my purse (that sounds I little confusing maybe). And I held it out to the bar tender along with twenty quid. She just took the twenty and made a face that suggested she was bothered by my change. But I persisted! When she turned back with her 50 P, I shoved the ten P in her hand; she took the 50 P back, and gave me a pound! Success! I know now that I should just not use change in the first place, apparently, as bartenders who don’t like to, or know how to count, just don’t prefer it.
4) Monet Face: There are only so many opportunities in my life when I can seriously drop a “Clueless” reference, so I am excited to have done so last night. Actually, I could probably use “Clueless” references whenever I want. I just never think I them when I need them. But I did last night! There was this guy who looked rather gorgeous from far away. And when I checked him out, he actually looked back! As it turns out, close up, he was a mess. His face was pocked and scarred. I shouldn’t have let it bother me so much, and still shouldn’t, as I have a constant fear of karma. Anyhow, he was like a Monet. He looks great from far away, but when you get close it’s a disaster. That quote is paraphrased.
So those were my notes. VERY profound. I will wrap up the night as it was…
I continued to drink, and slowly wallow in my sadness. I was alone, obviously, which some people find pathetic. I see their point. I kept eye stalking this really awkward dude, and never said anything to him, because I feared being turned down by his intensely awkward awkwardness. Yeah, I DID just say awkward three times in one sentence. I quickly chatted up this one guy, but the disinterest seemed mutual. As I finally gave up, after a few drunken ventures to the dance floor and back outside… back and forth, back and forth… I decided I should probably leave. BUT!!! As I was leaving I found the most intensely beautiful toy sword I had ever set eyes on! I was so happy, because I few weeks earlier at Shunt I had acquired a nice toy sword. However this one was FAR superior because it lit up and made awesome sounds! I quickly ran outside with it. I went to the bus stop with a smile on my face thinking, “Well, even though the night went south, in the end it brought me to this lovely sword!” BUT NO. I was showing it to these two guys in my drunken, “look at this win” state, and this other dude turns to me and says, “Actually, that’s my friend Sam’s sword. It was his 30th tonight, and these girls searched on eBay to find it. I need to have it back. I can show you pictures to prove it.” He showed me pictures, and it was fact. The sword was in Sam’s hands in many of the photos. I had him take a picture of me with the sword. Why? I don’t know. We ended up riding the bus to Trafalgar Square together. I realized it was an original He-Man sword, and by the power of Grayscull, I was sad to let it go. I wrote Sam a short note explaining how I had grown quite attached to the sword, and that I was sad to see us go our separate ways.
I begrudgingly got off the bus without my sword. And to top it all off, I ended the night by taking a home run style slide across the pavement in Trafalgar Square. NOT intentionally, I was running for the bus and tripped. It was on my bad knee too. Darn. On a light note though, the guy who was running for the bus next to me looked back after my fall, tried to help, and took a similar fall immediately after… We both laughed it off and continued running. He looked to me and said, “Well that hurt.” Indeed, it did.