Day 3: Lost in Translation

I speak a different language then everyone here.

Per my pattern of having other more important things to do then take care of myself, I looked a hot mess. My hair has gotten long and straggly, my eyebrows had finally merged into one, my toenail polish was growing out.

This was not a strong day. I can't say that I haven't doubted this decision before. Somewhere at the end of July, I started to think about my career and my friends and was this the right decision? I helped my mother pack up and move to Colorado and I thought, "Would she kill me if I changed my mind?" I thought at some point in the rain storm in Alabama, "Am I even going to make it and will it be worth making it through this apocalypse?"

Some people say that they have no poker face. I have no poker tear ducts. But I did not cry once the whole trip. I did cry once during the packing but that's because I lost my car key in my own car. You try to not lose it when you've been packing for 8 weeks with no big fiascos and then you lose your car key IN YOUR car. It's impossible. I had no shame in that moment.

I cried like a baby today. Since I looked a hot mess, I yelped some options for eyebrow waxing and pedicure stylings and off I went on this aesthetic repair adventure. The pedicure was nice, a little pricier then I'm used to. I'm quickly learning that New Orleans is not cheaper than New York, you just get more for your money. However, my eyebrows, my poor forgotten eyebrows.

The waxing woman took off half my eyebrows. Now I understand that most women like their eyebrows on the small side, I am not one of them. I give detailed instructions because I know I am not the norm. I didn't think any thing of it on the first rip, but when she laid wax down on a strip of skin BELOW the first rip, I realized this was not going to end well. She stopped, handed me the mirror, and asked me how much more I wanted taken off. I told her nothing, that it was already too thin. She laughed at my concern, I started to cry, she laughed even harder, I cried harder. This escalated until I finally told her that I was clearly very upset and it was bad enough that she screwed up my face, but she didn't need to laugh at me. She finally got it that she had wrecked me and thought hugging me was the way to express her remorse, but she never stopped laughing.

I know I'm hilarious, but this is a little much.

I decided to continue this streak of service disaster and headed off to get a haircut. The stylist, who was clearly nuts, did an excellent job with no direction other than "please just cut it." However, my requests for no product and no blow dry were rebutted by "Oh, why not?", "It won't be that bad". With all the fight ripped out of me by mustard yellow hot wax, I walked around with stiff hair. Luckily, this place is so humid that I sweat it out in 20 minutes. Gross but effective.

This is clearly my "Make it Work" smile

This has to work.

There is no other option.