It's a long weekend, my favourite kind, and so far I've done alot.
Coloured at the Aveda Academy (where the students do your hair). Cut (for free! Winter bonus!) at the Aveda Academy, by a recent grad who clearly has serious talent and natural ability. He had me stand for a portion of my haircut. I was fascinated.
Bought. My sister's birthday gift (products, hopefully she won't read this).
Bought, for me; a lipstick. I will confess something: I didn't own any. I have lipglosses, I lose them, I find them, once in a while I remember to put some on (my desert-island make up would be an eyebrow pencil, yea, I know: tragic). But when this talented young guy was done with my hair, meticulously drying it, trimming my 'fringe' as the instructor called it (oh, yea, by the way: I kind of have bangs again. And I kind of, REALLY LOVE THEM) he put this lipstick on me, and if having my hair done wasn't enough to make me feel like a new woman, the lipstick was the icing on the cake. It's called Clover. It's pinky-beige. It's creamy, it's delicious, and I put it in my little handbag when I went out last night with Mike and some friends, and when I used the w/c I re-touched it, something else I rarely do.
But my hair....oh my hair.
Two dead inches, a good three hours in the chair all in, me reading my iPad the whole time (except during the bang-cutting, I had to put it away then.
Hmm. I did a spin class Friday night. It was good, but it was tough. I was tired. I kicked it in Wednesday's class, and maybe I was still a little spent from that. But I was happy to get two classes in this week. I wanted to run but it's been perilously icy. So I've refrained. There might be a walk in my future today.
Oyster Boy. Mike and I went there yesterday afternoon to pick up some (more) oysters (we had oysters on Valentine's day, with pink champagne, it was lovely), and we were having friends over last night so we bought some more and had a glass of wine while we waited for them. Oyster Boy is in the west end of the city, a place I rarely visit, and the restaurant had a full house of hipsters in super-ugly glasses (hipsters: Your glasses are UGLY. They are UGGLLLYYYY). But it was nice.
Snow was beginning to fall, the roads were getting slippery, and we were having our drink together and just 'being'. Something I don't do nearly enough.
The oysters have the most interesting names, like "Beach Angel" (they come in an "XL" size) and St. Simon (from New Brunswick).
We got home, prepared the oysters (Mike did. I couldn't shuck an oyster if I tried) and we attempted to watch hockey while we waited for our friends to arrive, but the cable was out (I imagined many upset fans calling the cable company and getting the same recorded message I did, which basically said "yea, it's out, we're working on it, screw off" which of course is not a direct quote.
After oysters and drinks, we headed out in the snow to a sports bar to watch some basketball thing on tv which I didn't really understand, but it was fun. I've thought a lot about athletes this weekend, and public personas versus private ones, since reading about an Olympic runner who allegedly murdered his girlfriend. That horrible underbelly of life, these types of events, the ones that haunt us all, that add to those fears about uncertainties that we already have.
I read one exemplary article that my friend H. sent to me, the same writer who wrote the Lance Armstrong article that she and I admired. National Post, if you're interested.
So that's the juxtaposition. Somewhere, in another country, a family is having the worst few days of their lives.
I am here, far away, trying to re-add the joy to life, working hard to feel gratitude and that oh-so-elusive happiness, and getting there, even if it's only for fleeting moments.
Sports on tv.
Lipstick on my lips.
Playing new music.
Listening to my niece and nephew sing along, their sweet, reedy little voices tripping over lyrics.
My fluttering heart, beating more steadily, re-assuring my head, and the rest of me, that all will be okay.