Hairdresser, thy name is Sarita

After being on the North Shore for eight months I have finally found my hairdresser. The other two were but red herrings, our relationships starting out promising, and then being defiled with missed appointments (hey, I showed up) and language barriers a la "Seinfeld" where I was pretty sure I was being spoken about in a foreign language (surely they were discussing my acerbic wit and ethereal beauty).

Today I met Sarita. She has a nose piercing, isn't too much older than me, asked a lot of questions as to what exactly I wanted done to my hair (the little bit that I have), gave me a bit of a head rub, laughed at my jokes, stowed my wine (which, upon purchasing, I was ID'd!!!), did I mention laughed at my jokes? And, because all hairdressers seem to do this, sent me out into the scary world looking like a dazed lesbian. What's with that? Hairdressers need to look at their patrons' hairstyles when they come in - because that's obviously how their clientele wishes to look - and then try and replicate it on their way out. I all but ran home because it was sticking up and I felt like a huge dork, but having been through this scads of times I knew it would be okay once I washed the product out and tried to make myself look like more of a boy, and less like a lot of the women that stroll Commercial Drive.

So, with my cool coif and floating on cloud nine because I was ID'd (though in retrospect I think the guy was hitting on me because he winked at me while I was standing in line) I decided to really live it up by renting 4 videos from Rogers and drinking alone (Prospect Point Pinot Blanc is very good). I. Am. So. Happy.

Well. Must hop to it. These movies aren't going to watch themselves. I am so unbelievably exhausted from this week. I'm secretly hoping that I fall asleep on the couch because for some reason this has become an objective of mine of late: it means that I have pushed it so hard that I can't even make it to bed. Normal people would maybe try not to push it so hard, but I've never indicated that I'm normal and I seem to have inordinate fear of missing something (I know not what) by going to bed.