My Wal-Mart Haircut

In my relatively short time one earth, I have spent a lot of money on my hair. Initially, I did this believing there was a direct correlation between the amount of money spent at a salon and the quality hair style you received. This, however, is misnomer. Over time, I learned that you can get just as crappy results for half the cost, so why waste all of that extra money for the same end product?

And so, I went to the Super Wal-Mart in town (the store that is like a small city) and had my hair trimmed.

They only take walk-ins, and the going rate for a hair cut (with shampoo) was $12.95. "Why not?" I thought. I was overdue for a trim and I wanted it done cheaply.

Prior to my visit to Wal-Mart, I had been going to a mid-level salon in "the big city." I had been seeing my stylist, Jamie, for about a year before she left the salon to pursue her dream of becoming a navy mechanic: no joke. I was happy for her, but sad for me. It's not easy to meet a stylist who really understands you.

Part of my problem with stylists is communication. Rarely do we seem to understand each other as intended. My mistake in the past has been to put all of my trust in the stylist (who, let's face it, doesn't know me, she just knows the trends) and usually end up allowing her too much power over my hair. My misplaced reverence for her superior authority (as denoted in the certificate issued by the cosmetology institution from which she graduated, displayed proudly by her little hair station) has resulted in one too many bad experiences -- and sometimes, at a hefty cost both monetarily and psychologically.

My last bad experience (before I met Jamie) was with a stylist named Katie. Ironically, the stylist at Wal-Mart who informed me she would be cutting my hair was also named Katie. Under normal circumstances, my somewhat superstitious self might have run the other direction, but it has been my experience that the majority of stylists have two-syllable names with five letters or less. So I hopped in her chair.

Because I was getting my hair cut inside a Wal-Mart (where I also get my eyes checked, buy groceries, get prescriptions filled, and pick up assorted other items) I mentally decided I was not going to be intimidated by this stylist. I (perhaps, unfairly) decided that because she must be working in this setting, she somehow was less pedigreed; this made me feel comfortable telling her exactly what I wanted, without asking her opinion.

"Just a trim, I am trying to grow my hair out," I told her. "And I like my bangs angled, but not too short."

We discussed this a little bit further (If I wanted to get the split ends off, I would need to lose about 1/4 inch from my layers; the rest would be sufficient with a 1/8 inch trim). I agreed to these terms, and she went to work.

After she was done, I told her to blow dry my hair, knowing it was $2 extra. It was snowing outside, after all, I didn't need my newly healthy hair to freeze and break off. So she got out her dryer and when she deemed me adequately dry, she turned off the device and allowed me to view my healthy hair through her hand-held mirror. I gave her my approval and it was time to pay.

My total amounted to $18.95.

Mysteriously, $3 had been added to my bill. Apparently there was a fee for conditioner. By conditioner I mean a CREAM RINSE. Not a fancy conditioning treatment that needs to be left on for 10-30 minutes. This annoyed me, but I said nothing, keeping in mind I did just get my hair cut in a Wal-Mart. I was more annoyed by the fact that my hair was not dry. It was actually quite damp. I try not to make a fuss with people that hold sharp objects around my hair or head, so I just paid the bill and left. This was the first time I left a "salon" without given a stylist a tip.

My hair is adequate. Sometimes that is the absolute best you can hope for whether you pay $20 for a haircut or $50. Right now, I would rather pay $20.

I Did It

I bought and mailed ALL of my Christmas cards...before CHRISTMAS!!!! I can't BELIEVE it. What a TRIUMPH. What an achievement. This could be one of the proudest days in my life. I even sent one to the lady at Hardees who knows my order without even asking. Cheers!

New Digs

As of this weekend, Nov. 17, I moved into a new place. It's a cozy little house on Birch Street. Could I sound anymore cliche? But its true - all of it - the "cozy little house" part and its location on Birch Street. I will have more to say about this when I have more time.

Smalltown Weddings vs. Big City Weddings

I left Smalltown this weekend to go to a wedding. It was one of the only weddings I have attended that was beyond a 25 mile-radius of Smalltown, and did not start with a mass at Smalltown Church and end with a reception at the Smalltown community center/reception hall/intramural sports facility.

This was a “sophisticated, city folks” wedding. I had to drive over an hour to get there and after I did, I noticed some distinct differences between weddings “out in the country” and those in the Big City:

10. The groom was smiling all day and the bride didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights.

9. After the church service, the bridal party did not ride through town on a tractor-pulled hay wagon.

8, The bride and groom did not go to a bar before showing up late to the reception

7. At the reception near the card/gift table, there was no sign informing attendees that “in lieu of thank you notes” the money that would have been wasted on cards, envelopes and stamps will be donated to an unnamed “local charity.”

6. They didn't once play songs like “Find Me A Redneck Girl”

5. There was a toast; it involved real sentences with subjects, verbs and some adjectives and lasted more than a half a minute.

4. There wasn’t a fight in the parking lot after the reception was over.

3. None of the bridesmaids flashed anyone – even as the night wore on.

2. No men relieved themselves outside on the side of the building.

1. The bride and groom didn't have their OWN children play the parts of flower girl and ring bearer.

Kayaking on Smalltown Lake

We've recently been experiencing the many variations of heat in Smalltown, Minn. Today it's a dry heat that evaporates the saliva right off of your tongue. But this is a welcome change from the muggy, humid heat we've previously experienced. Any heat is a good excuse to play in the water and that is exactly what I did Wednesday night.

I should preface this post by saying Smalltown, Minn. is not all hillbillies and tractors. There are a lot of "progressive" (by urban people's standards) businesses and activities in some of the larger small towns. For example, one slightly more populated town has just welcomed a SPA to the Chamber of Commerce. Wal-Mart recently came to the town where I am employed, which is society's way of saying "you are on the map!" Well, also in this town, a weekly enterprise is Ladies Night kayaking on the Lake.

Last summer and this summer, my employer offered to sponsor an evening kayak outing for all of the women in my office. Last summer, and so far, this summer, I appeared to be the only one interested in taking him up on it. Unfortunately, that means it is no longer a "work" outing and is more of an individual outing at my own expense.

I could have taken that $10 and gotten a value meal at Hardees and two 20 oz. diet Pepsis from the gas station, but instead I went to the Lake at 6:45 and waited for the kayak crew to arrive.

Suse, the woman behind the Ladies Night kayaking adventure, arrived with a trailer full of kayaks, every style and color of the rainbow. I was pretty pumped, even though the one co-worker who had swore she would go with me had in fact, stood me up. Suse introduced herself to me, I filled out a form giving her permission to call a doctor in the *unlikely event of an accident, and she hooked me up with a kayak.



I had the option of a sit-on-top kayak or a sit inside kayak. I wanted to get as wet as possible, so I went with the sit-on-top. It was a Dimension Kayak, baby blue, although Suse told me I could have whatever colored kayak I wanted.

Most of the other kayak-ers who showed up that night were regulars, although there were two other rookies like myself. Suse gave us each a life jacket, an oar, and short instructional on the shore. The oars are pretty long, with spoon-like paddles on either end. Suse helped us each off the "dock" (a series of wood planks on the shore) and off we went. I should mention that kayaks are pretty heavy for one person to carry. Maybe more so for pencil-pushers like myself.

Kayaking was fantastically fun! Part of it was just being out on the water on an excruciatingly hot day. Part of it was doing something I had never done before, which can be, but isn't always, fun. For me it took a little concentration, because you are supposed to hold your oar in such a way that your elbows are "hinged." This ensures that you are putting your strength into the paddling and not into your booty and hips. It was hard to just use my arms. My legs felt so useless and I normally do activities that require leg usage - biking, roller blading, walking, etc.

I would really love to go kayaking again, and I might, next Wednesday when Suse and her trailer of many kayaks returns. It's only $10 for two hours (or until the sun goes down) of pleasure on the lake. I felt really relaxed after I was done and I would recommend it to anyone.

The "frot brot" fräulein

This weekend, Smalltown, Minn. had its annual Town Church Bazaar/Citywide festival. Even though I am not an official “parishioner” of the Town Church (club memberships such as these do not fit into my meager budget) I am a registered voter in Smalltown, so I volunteered to help out at a festival booth.

The booth where I was stationed for about three hours Saturday night was a German fry bread stand. Smalltown and its slightly more or less-populated neighboring cities are heavily of German descent, so I suspect this is why the stand was called Gebraten frot brot. I am not sure what that means, although I am told “frot brot” translates to “fry bread.” I don’t speak the language, so I cannot confirm or deny this. I also don’t know that concept of deep frying bread dough and sprinkling it with a cinnamon and sugar mixture is that uniquely German in origin.

Much to the relief of all who knew that I was volunteering at this booth, I did NOT have anything to do with the hot grease or the deep fryer. I was in the less perilous position of coating the “frot brots.” This required that I pick up the drip-dried “frot brots” with tongs and drop them into a sugar-filled canister. Then (after returning the lid to said canister) shake it to provide the “frot brots” with their sweet coating.

Given my track record, I mentally prepared myself for the likelihood that the canister lid would (at least) one time slip off and I would be covered in sugar and pelted with “frot brots.” Fortunately, I left the festival the same way I came - for the most part.

I didn’t actually try a “frot brot” – though I was told repeatedly I could sample the product. Inhaling their sugary fumes for three hours straight was enough to trick my stomach into thinking I had already eaten a quantity that could make me sick.

At the end of the night, some of the “frot brots” were getting cold, and the drunken city folk began to cluster around the beer garden for “last call.” It became clear we would have to give away our remaining inventory, although many of the “frot brot” booth folks thought taking them home or eating them ourselves would also be an acceptable alternative.

I kind of felt guilty giving a cardboard tray with three “frot brots” to young children for the low price of $1.25. I knew those children would eat all three “frot brots” themselves, and also that there was absolutely no nutritional value in them. They are like sweet lard-biscuits.

I just hoped that this poor, parent-approved dietary selection was reserved for fair time only.

The Town Church Festival seems to bring out the best and the worst in people. Some people become their best selves, giving of their time, their money, and their energy to help their community; others become their worst selves, drinking too much, eating too much, or just behaving badly and taking advantage of the kindness of others. In the end the two groups probably balance each other out, but it’s the prevalence of the latter that makes me happy that the festival is over.