We were supppose to have a 70% chance of wicked rain today, and yet it is brutally hot and the sky is a lovely blue. Screwed again.
I got my hair cut, finally - and I love the new Hair God. He's awesome, makes the old Hair God look like a mere wannabe. He totally gets what I want with minimal communication, and suggests things I'd been thinking before I say it. So I have an even better "growing in" cut that will go another six or so weeks and then we'll shift the shape to something longer and looser. He's the bestest. I am too low maintenance for my own good and I need a stylist who can save me from myself.
So it was kind of funny that we spent my entire time in the chair bitching about Orlando and plotting to move. We both started bitching about the heat, the traffic, and the general lack of any "here" here, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein.* Theme parks and traffic jams and a growing crime rate, and none of the benefits of a real big city. He's ready to bag it and is thinking of Savannah. He misses formal occasions and dressing up, and loves doing up-dos and hardly ever gets to do them, and bemoaned that people here wear jeans to the theater. (Yes, he's middle-aged and gay, and in that wonderfully Southern "wistfully dreaming of cotillions" way. And yes, he actually mentioned cotillions. Wistfully.) We spent my haircut discussing Southern cities we like. Wistfully.
So I found the ultimate Hair God and spent the entire time in the chair planting "Flee! Flee Orlando!" messages. I'm an idiot. And up-dos? Where was this wonderful man when my daughter was in prom mode, and the former Hair God, now demoted to demi-god, blanched at putting the Eyetalian Horsetail into an up-do? (Thank God she found feisty Puerto Rican hairstylists with similar genetically blessed follicles, an endless arsenal of hairpins, and no fear of putting a hole in the ozone layer with the Aqua Net.)
I hope it rains tonight. We were getting fairly regular rain so I turned off the sprinkler system, but if it doesn't rain tonight I'll have to turn it on tomorrow. Between the water and the electric bills this house is killing me this summer.
*That was bothering me because I wasn't sure I had the right snarky woman so I checked, nope, it wasn't Dorothy Parker. Fixed it.