samantha is a fucking genius with a pair of scissors
November 26, 2003, 10:40 pm
I didn't mean to cry sitting in the chair at the salon.
The appointment at the salon started as per usual: I was five minutes late, I had my brows waxed by the cheerful, chipper new waxing girl at Jeanie's, and I was fine. Samantha was as awesome as freaking ever; so chill, so down-to-earth, and so fun as we quoted movies and talked about zombie plays and the like.
Then we started talking about Jonathan Brandis, and I was kind of chuckling about being so obsessed with him, and she was quiet.
"Dude, that's so sad. It's sad he couldn't get help. Man, I think about my life this past year, getting divorced and the break-up and everything, and I get stressed sometimes, but there are people...people who just really have too much going on that no one knows about, and I feel bad for those people. They can't even do whatever it is that makes life great because they're so wound up, you know?"
"I'm really sorry for standing you up the day after Halloween." I'm saying this as she's arranging hunks of hair into my face.
"Ah, come on dude, I figured it was something pretty major to keep you away. I mean, I knew you must have had a serious reason for not coming in. I told Jeanie, 'Something's wrong with my girl; she'll reschedule.'" She flips a piece of foil out of my eyes. "Or," she whispers, "I figured you might be hungover."
She smiles, and I tear up.
"Um," I stammer, "I went through a bad few weeks."
"Is everything cool now?" she asks, not as someone who just wants to dismiss it by not directly addressing it, but as someone who really wants to know.
"I think, I don't know what was really wrong. I'm just stressed...I, well, I'm lucky, you know? It just took me being down to realize it completely."
"Dude, absolutely. It's okay to get upset and stress, but man, look at how freaking hot your hair is; don't let the world get you down."
She's right, you know. My hair IS freaking hot.