Hairy Scary

So here we are again, facing another long weekend and our usual trip to the hairdressers. Sabrina had her hair layered just a bit more than usual, while I insisted they fix their mistakes from the last trip in.




I find it really annoying they will dye my hair, then streak the hell out of it, then only cut bits and pieces out, followed by an hour of flat ironing, or blow drying. I keep telling them, "I won't be doing this, why are you...can I do this at home?"

They tell me it has to be dried anyways, part of the price I pay. So I'm still a Canadian schmuck and politely agree.

I sit in my uncomfortable, leather chair that has white cotton bleeding out of it. The woman has her crotch pressed against my knee as she leverages herself to tame my hair. And, you know, I'm thinking, oh fuck! not again, but if she starts moaning I'm outta here! This hair style will last until my next shower, which is probably going to be tonight.

Reason: we still seem to have a lice problem.

It's getting on my nerves. Because I own a daycare I am basically informed about lice issues, often sent home notices from the kid's school of outbreaks, yet I feel oddly disgusted that me or my family could get it. We should be immuned by them, shouldn't we? We live in a upper-class sort of area in an executive home, have four bathrooms that cleanse us and keep us pure of trailer trash filth.

Fact is, kids are kids, teenagers have sleepovers, at home or at camp, they style each other's hair and some of Sabrina's friends have questionable hygenic routines. So I buy the lice shampoo stuff that costs about the same price as a case of dry cider, or a 6-pack of Heinekens.

Hubby is extremely embarrassed. L-l-l-l-iiii....bugs.

I've had to buy the stuff a few times now, particularly after one of my previous daycare kids seem to be the carrier, all the time. I remember exactly my first encounter with the buggers. 3-year old was standing at the window, looking out towards a promising afternoon play in the yard, as the sun nestled down upon his brow, it struck me eerily how his crew cut seemed to be moving.

I look closer and discover little critters running here, there and I was so disgusted and freaked out by it. I checked the internet first to confirm what lice look like. I had no idea. Seems there's a lot of lice and shapes and breeds and sticky eggs and, just really gross up close pictures.

I managed to pick one off his head and put it in a sandwich baggy and passed it off to another customer to form her analysis. She happened to be a Vancouver Police Officer, who had no experience with lice, but extremely knowledgeable about scabies. Oh, fuck! What in the hell are scabies? I'll tell you what it is, it's another goggle search of gross pictures.

Anyways, I don't feel all that disgusted by lice anymore. It seems to be a natural thing that occurs at daycares, at school, amongst teenagers. So hubby and I go to Safeway to buy "the shampoo". Hubby won't even say the word.

I'm standing at the pharmacy counter because the lice shampoo is hidden behind bars, away from five-finger Mary. I think people won't take care of the problem because they're too embarrassed to ask for the LICE SHAMPOOOOOOO.

Hubby is standing nearby, pretending to buy condoms or some manly thing and I suddenly find myself in a long, winded detail of our current situation with the pharmacist, who's of asian descent and needs several translations of my english.

Weeee....Need...to buy.....shampooooo....FOR LICE...

You have the lice?

No, I lie. My daughter does.

And possibly my son....maybe my husband.

In my best apologetic voice of explaining, which instinctively makes my voice rise a few decibels and in one heaving breath, "We have THE LICE, we just bought this stuff a few weeks ago, why isn't it working? I think I might be doing it wrong. Is my daughter's hair too thick, too long...we do a lot of camping, you know."

Pharmacist: Did you perform a second treatment after 7 days.

7 Days!!! Isn't that, like, The Ring, the movie. I will kill you after 7 days. Look, I'm about to kill someone myself. I'm tired of these critters invading my life. But more annoyed that hubby is hiding behind Depends napkins and Polygrip.

Yes, Mr. Pharmacist, I ....would....like...to buy....some LICE SHAMPOO....the real good stuff.....the...one...with...the nice....LICE COMB THING....that will go through....my daughter's hair easily......

AND BETTER MAKE THAT.....TWO BOTTLES.....WE'VE GOT A HELL OF AN INFESTATION AT MY HOUSE....

Oh, hey....there's my husband over there...come on over honey, look see what I'm buying....

Killing Lice

Tonight Pink Floyd is in town. It's a concert hubby would have killed for,



Except we needed to ready ourselves for camp trip...especially to set up our new "seasonal spot", which was announced to purchase last Sunday at $1,600 for the balance of the year. Yes, we took the spot immediately...it's a lake view spot for Pete's sake....and it will be ours forever and ever, should we opt out on our continued yearly agreement.

We finally got our camera out of warranty repair...I took tons of pictures of my night solar lights, not one picture turned out.

Nutella Hair

At the cusp of every first long weekend, where we anticipate the return of living in the wilds of British Columbia, where the lake has not yet warmed up to a comfortable swim, yet enough for a ride on the speedboat and children full of jiggy for white wash.

For my family it means hair appointments. Daniel gets the usual plastic cap coverage, turning what is left of his scalp into a spikey blonde bimbo, accompanied with the 10 minute tan sessions.

Then there's Sabrina, with her long, thick mass, pulled and stretched and streaked, and streaked until I can't recognize her anymore.

Brandon...nada...zip....he wants to be a rockstar, so his hair hangs like the Vancouver Canucks flag, down...limp, straight, and careless.

My hair has gone through many changes. Recently, my new hairdresser wants to impress me by making my thick, full hair, thin and dead. It takes her about 4 hours, but she eventually gets it to go thin. $260.00 later.....
This took two days to achieve. The first night was to only cover up my grey roots, after already been streaked two months previous. But I had to come back the next day to have those roots re-streaked, to match the rest of my hair. Instead, the hairdresser re-streaked, and re-streaked to achieve "the blonde look" which I suppose hairdresses do now, to make a 40'ish old fatty feel younger. Geez, the assumptions....I don't want to look younger, I want to feel younger. There's a big difference. And there's no way in Hell I'm gonna' stand at a mirror and flat-iron and prim and priss....my shoulder joints won't allow it.

Anyways, when I got home, Brandon immediately noted that my new hair looks like Nutella, the chocolate/vanilla mix.

Kids, eh....what do they know. But then, he sent home some class work that asked "who is your favorite person...(who turned out to be me this time, instead of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy)...is she thin, medium, or fat? Brandon checked the "thin" box. Now, he's either really stupid, or really, really smart.


Anyways, on my road to transforming myself, I decided to get my eyebrows waxed...not plucked, waxed. I've never had that done before, maybe because I feared the pain.I feared the thin tramp look, you know the one, where it's mistakenly over-plucked and pencilled in later. It's hard to see in this picture, but my brows have been waxed! It wasn't as painful as I thought it would be. This picture is the first day at the hairdressers, with root touch-up only.

But then my hairdresser asked if I wanted to wax "down there"....you know, "down there". So there I am, lying down on some cot, in the dark, like I'm at the Dentist or getting X-rays, and I suddenly feel nervous about "down there", since my stomach hasn't allowed me to see it for several years now.
OMG, I get this on-rush of realization that my hair-stylist is from Brazil!

I tell her maybe next time.

In the end, I feel rejuvenated by my new transformation and anxiously await our first long weekend at the lake, the enivitable problems we will encounter with poop overloads and come-along friends, the eventual rain that historically ruins every long weekend. But, at least, we will all look fantastic in our misery.

God help me if I become the movie......

Lukas' cool hairdo