The Donnas, Hair, and Pho

Suffering through a glass half full attitude kinda day, my work day was over and it was time to get to my 4:30 hair appointment.  I dug through a stack of cds, all of which were burned and titled in black sharpie from you know who...Mr. Bromance.  Finally I found one with a color label.  I shoved it into the cd player and instantly began to rock out.  I hadn't listened to the Donnas in so long.  I didn't care that every song sounded exactly the same. It was exactly what I needed. And I head banged shamelessly through the entire rainy commute to my salon...

Note: As I was writing this, I was wondering what happened to The Donnas.  I googled away, and as their website was loading, an image of a feather loaded first...funny, what is up with the feathers again?  Anywho...they are still around and recording their 9th album. Woohoo!

I arrived promptly at Bowie Salon and Spa in Capitol Hill. For the sake of her potentially gaining much deserved new clients, I will use my stylist's real name, Karie.  She is a wonderfully cool chick and is super talented.  She has saved my hair from the disastrous aftermath at another unnamed salon. She is real and down to earth, despite the hipster ratio of the salon's location. She isn't cheap, but there are things in life that a girl should not go discount on, and one of those things is getting your hair done.  Especially if you get your hair colored like me.  You get what you pay for.  She knows what she is doing and has earned my trust. Finding the right stylist is like finding the right man.  Hold onto them when you find the right one!

Karie and I chit chat about my newly single status (yes, this wonder woman is also my therapist) and the holidays and our thoughts on doing volunteer work.  I attempt to snap some photos for the blog (which she was unaware of) and we giggle like teenagers about how bad the pics come out. I purchase some clip on feather hair extensions (I know, I'll quit it with the feathers, I promise...) and hope that 31 isn't too old to sport this trend.  Once again,  pleased with my new highlights, I leave the salon to head out into the world with bangs that are no longer long enough to hide behind.

Since I am in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, I hop on over to a favorite restaurant, Pho Cyclo Cafe, to grab some Pho to go.  If you live in Seattle, you know what pho is and probably love it as much as I do.  If you live else where, than you should probably go find pho and eat it immediately*.  Pho Cyclo is great because you can order your pho with quail eggs, which I'm finding they don't have at all restaurants.  I didn't realize until leaving the restaurant how this part of my day was where I failed my Single Girl responsibilities miserably.

Single Girl Task #2, given to me by Ms. Mejor Amiga, was to eat out at a restaurant, alone, once a week. There's something very vulnerable about sitting in a public place, at a table, shoving food into your face, with no one sitting across from you. Will people stare? Will they think I'm a loser? What do I look at while I'm there? Eating soup with a spoon and chopsticks is hard enough to do by itself, let alone while reading a book or sending status updates on Facebook. Honestly, it was getting late, and I just wanted to get home to "Lost" and my animals. And so I chose to do just that. The art of pathetic eating would have to wait until the weekend.

Before I could head home though, I had to wait for my food.  During dinner on Friday night, Ms. MIT, upon my request, suggested that I say hello to one random person per day, for a week.  I thought this exercise was interesting. I'm kinda shy, not the let's-talk-to-strangers-type, so I thought this one could be challenging, but beneficial. As I stood, leaning on the counter, waiting for my food, I dawdled with my phone. The man who ordered after me, then stood two feet in front of me, facing me, toying with his phone as well.  Perfect time to say "hello" to a random person.  He didn't look menacing.  He looked nerdy, in that cool, Capitol Hill, kinda way.  Somehow, standing there, ignoring the opportunity and "Like-ing" random crap on other people's Facebook pages seemed to be the easy way out. 

Sigh. Time to start living and stop taking the easy way out. Maybe tomorrow.

*For my pho newbie friends: Pho is pronounced "fu", like "fun".  Seattle/Bellevue has a local pho restaurant called "What the Pho".  Someone had a sense of humor.  I would never send you, my friends, out into the world asking for "fo".

For my PA friends:  If it's still there, visit Little Saigon in Whitehall.  It might look a little sketchy, but it was legit Vietnamese.  If it's not there, all y'all get together and head up to NYC or Philly.  I'm sure you can pho it up up there.  Good luck, order the rare beef, and let me know what you think!