Why I'll Never be A Hairdresser

I didn't realize that here in Vegas you can buy professional hair dye just as easily as box dye if you just try a little harder than googling “beauty supplies” and giving up after a few minutes to walk to the nearest CVS because that store is EVERYWHERE. And also you are impatient and need to dye it like now.

And by you I mean me.

So after I unsuccessfully tried to put two boxes of “light brown” dye over my previously blonde locks, my hair turned a weird shade of dark red, brownish green. I don't think the green tinge is overly apparent but in the light you could see it.

Also, the first thing the hairdresser I went to for a cut said was: “it's green” so I am not delusional. Luckily she was super amazing and told me not only where to buy professional dye but what color to get to take the green out and prevent it from fading into “ashy greenish blonde” which incidentally sounds like the color of something I might throw up.

After purchasing the aforementioned dye, I went home to discover the main pipe to the house had sprung a leak meaning we had to shut the water off, meaning no showering, no dying of hair, no nothing. For three days.

On the third night my dad rose again (just kidding, that was Jesus) no, he told me he would turn the water on so we could do the dishes, have showers and fill up the emergency teeth brushing water receptacles in our respective bathrooms. So up I went to mix my dye using a paintbrush and plastic container I'd bought at the dollar store for this very occasion and slathered the mixture on my head.

Which was precisely when I realized that no where on the dye or developer did it say anything about how long to leave it in. 25 minutes later I shouted down to my dad to turn the water on. Turns out someone (from the water company?) had put a lock on the turn thing. So there was no way to turn the water on:

I managed to rinse my hair under the boiling hot drizzle in the bathtub while my dad filled up bowls of water from the drizzle in the sink downstairs. It was a disaster. I'd be lying if I said I didn't throw a major conniption hissy-fit complete with deep ugly-cry  gasp-sobs but thankfully my hair didn't fall out.

Note to self: check water source before dying hair.

Why I'll Never be A Concert Pianist

Perfectionist. Overachiever. Organized.

These are all things I’ve never been accused of being, though my resume may say differently. Then again my resume also says “plays the piano” and if you all want to know how that turned out:

Click for full effect

Yes, I’m sobbing while practicing. I loved me some piano playing. I’m also pretty sure my braces even match my stripes there.

As I’ve matured (luckily so has my fashion sense) I’ve realized that though I’m not any of those things outwardly, it’s because I’m really good at hiding them. Take my plans for traveling for example.

Here’s how my “plan” started: “Hey, after I get my English teaching certificate I’m gonna pack some stuff, go traveling for a while and try to find a job in Central America teaching English”.

So I packed some stuff and here I am in Vegas with a flight booked for Mexico in two weeks. That was basically the extent of my plan. Meanwhile, in Vegas, I’ve been researching Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica day in and day out.

It’s like I hurry to get started, then I go back and fastidiously fill in the blanks.

I even made a spreadsheet. (Okay fine, I made 3 spreadsheets).

So while I have activities listed, hotels and costs, where to be when, resume printed, backpack sort of organized (clothes, books, flashlight, first aid kit, sewing kit, nail kit); it’s basically all pretense. I know once I get there my highly organized plans will go out the window. My beautiful spreadsheets will probably serve as timber when I end up on a beach somewhere because all the hotels are booked over Christmas and I haven’t had the foresight to book anything.

I guess I like the idea of being organized, the feeling I’m prepared for anything, and the thought of being one of those people for whom nothing goes wrong and the days unfold as tidily as a road map.

On second thought I think my days do unfold like a road map – it seems to be coming along nicely when all of a sudden I find myself upside-down and backwards with no hope in hell of getting the folds right, or of getting back on the right track.

So I just fold it back up as best I can and pretend that’s where I was going in the first place.

Why I'll Never Be A True Las Vegas-anite (Las Vegan?)

Vegas is a confusing, overwhelming, daunting, looming kind of place. As soon as you step off the plane you're assaulted by dinging machines, smoky air, flashing lights, and throngs of tired, hungover people. Your eyes glaze over practically instantaneously and the sounds make you want to reach for an aspirin. Which is conveniently sold in machines lining the huge hallways. 

Luckily my dad and I drove down here – essentially avoiding all the parts of Vegas that make you want to stab yourself. 

The first time I came to Vegas I was 8, so let's ignore that for a minute because to me Vegas = stuffed animals, watching movies and ordering pizza with my older sister and cousin. Don't worry we also got to go to Disneyland on that trip. 

So the REAL first time I went to Vegas was 2 and a half years ago. I came down with one of my good friends when our original trip (to Mexico) was canceled because of the swine flu. We spent pretty much the whole time lying on the “beach” at Mandalay and dancing at the clubs. 

The next time I came down, a year later, was to visit my dad. My younger sister and I spent the week exploring the area around Vegas, the “local” hang-outs and of course, a few casinos. 

Eight days in Vegas was actually very palatable when most of it was spent away from the strip. 

Then there was BiSC (for those who don't know – rainbow amazing) but the problem lay in the fact that I stayed too long. Most people arrived Thursday or Friday and left Sunday. I arrived Wednesday and left late Monday night. 

When you spend time in Vegas, on the strip, having an amazing time and then all of a sudden you're alone and your hotel room has too much oxygen and the finale of LOST is on but all you want to do is curl in a ball and rock yourself to sleep, weeping – well let's just say the thought of spending any more time in Vegas makes you want to punch small animals. 

So naturally here I am – in Vegas. Again. 

Nobody's ever accused me of being rational.