I volunteered at last week's Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (of Portland, OR's) Hope Gala, at the Governor Hotel. Since it was a fancy event, I had tried to make an appointment with my regular hairstylist, to do my hair all fancy. She was unavailable so instead made an appointment for me with another one of the ladies at the shop.
Saturday morning rolls around and I get a call from the stylist saying that she won't be able to do my hair today, because she tripped on her daughter's shoe, and has fractured her finger. So she gives me the name of another lady that works at the salon that could possibly help me.
I ooh and yikes, the appropriate amount of time regarding her finger and then call the salon back to try and schedule the appointment with woman #3. It's now 1:00 pm and I need to leave for Portland by 4 pm. When 2:00 rolls around, I decide to take matters in to my own hands and I head to Target to get a curling iron. I'm positive that I can remember how to use one. About 15 minutes in to trying to do my hair, I realize that it ain't gonna happen. By this point the front of my hair is straight, so I decide to let the front stay straight and let the back go curly (as it wants to do anyway). I add some beads to my dress, decide I look punk-ish and call it a day.
(But not before I document...)
From the front:
From the side:
Stylist #3 calls me back at 3:50 pm saying, "So you want to come in for an appointment today?" And I tell her that she is too late.
To be continued...