After my last woe-is-me post, I decided to pull it together and regroup. Too much self-reflection leads me to a slippery neurotic slope. In order to get out of my head, I put it in the hands of a new stylist tonight. I say new because technically, I’ve never had her cut my hair before, but she is also the sister (and near spitting image) of my last stylist who is now a medical assistant. She turned out to be pretty cool and even agreed to meet me about two miles from my house (thereby sparing me an annoying trip to Santa Monica) at this place. But just for a cut. No extensions for me. There was a woman there getting a consultation for hair extensions and she was sitting with a pile of ratty blond hair in her lap–I kid you not. And her stylist kept saying in a totally disgusted tone, “where did you get that hair?”

She didn't look this crazy but it satisfies what I was thinking.

The whole thing was rather bizarre. The “salon” is really an apartment and the “hair washing station” is really a kitchen sink. But I went along with it. And gladly given the state of my hair (not as bad as above but pretty darn fried). She used all Moroccan Oil products which I love.

Yummy for your hair.

If you haven’t tried this, start with the oil and add a bit to your hair wet or dry and your hair will love you.

In the spirit of making more connections this week, I also set up lunch tomorrow with my former co-workers at the clinic. After lunch I’m planning a very exciting Target shopping spree before heading to my wonderful dentist for my follow-up appointment. And I’m not done yet. I also signed up for a pilates class tomorrow evening. I haven’t been in forever so that means I’ll barely be able to move on Wednesday but what the hell. It’s gonna be tough no matter when I go back, so why not now?

The reformer is evil goodness. It hurts so good.

And maybe, just maybe, if I can muster enough energy, I will go to the happy hour for the University of Michigan Alumni Association at one of my favorite restaurants on Wednesday. Big surprise, I’m not a huge fan of happy hours, or bars in general. My voice does not project well and after years and years of going to concerts, my hearing is pretty shot. On top of it, I don’t love drinking when it doesn’t involve dinner. God. I sound like I’m 85 years old.

Kill me Billy!

Today Yogi says,

Those who want to be prosperous must first make others prosperous.

How do you regroup when things get tough?


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