We now interrupt these content filled messages of gigs, new singles, and staining Stuart's shoes with puddles of drool for a rambling rant from Laura Llew. If you were hoping to continue your life as a parasite continued by living vicariously off other people's belle and sebastian experiences you shall have to find another host to post. I have enough ex-boyfriends as it is. Ken Kommented: "Getting a haircut is *such* a scary thing, everytime I go I get abused by hairdressers." Some people fear going to the dentist with the scary drills and mottos of "be true to your teeth or they'll be false to you" but it's all about getting my hair cut which makes me reach for the comfort of a security blanket and Lucien the bear. I've entered enough beauty shops with hair cascading down my back for a simple trim and left with just one dejected craven curl barely long enough to touch the tip of my ear (which then starts mutters that if I'm going to start being around people who've obviously drink too much then I should start tipping the bottle as well.) This is only compounded by the social stereotype that hair dressers aren't too bright. "You know, at the beauty academy they teach us that people aren't black or white or yellow or red, but their hair can be..." Don't even bother writing me to tell about your genius friend who did nails just to earn enough money to get their Ph.D. I know your friend. They cheat. Hey - don't blame me for the generalization. I didn't start. I just perpetuate it. I personally only want the brightest of people near my head with sharp objects. Of course I get lectured for waiting too long to get my hair trimmed. It's such a traumatic experience that I put it off for as long as possible which happened to be until last Tuesday. I peeked into the "SmartCuts" place late in the evening and found a nice looking lady at the front desk. It seemed safe so I walked in and gave her my name. Next thing I know, a young girl with hair that looks as if it was schlacked with a heavy varnish comes up and says, "Oh I'll take her before I go." I won't let myself get melodramatic here but there was an escape attempt made which failed and ended with me being dragged by the scruff of my neck to *the chair*. As usual, all I wanted was a simple cut. Snip snip and that's it. Nothing fancy. I was unaware that I had stumbled upon the oracles of beauty and hair care products. The girl hadn't even pulled out the scissors yet before she starts sagaciously lecturing me with her knowledge undoubtedly founded through her long hours of toil with her hands fully immersed in some poor victim's hair while the strong fumes of the dye wafted to her brain. Evidently this young lady was abused with thinning shears at some point (by the looks of her hair she has been abused by multiple objects - both sharp and blunt - in her short life time) as she then began listing the evils of such things to me. I have naturally curly hair which if not thinned and is anywhere near the short side will give me an afro which Dolomite would turn gumby green in envy over. When I used this as my reasoning, she starts enumerating the benefits of gels and moose. Usually, I counter with the fact that I don't like the way it makes me hair feel but looking at her helmet hair - I knew this would fall upon deaf ears. If not deaf, at least well padded. (Plus, that's a lie. I'm actually just too lazy for such things. My hair is lucky if it gets brushed.) Besides verbal abuse, there is another thing which happens with regularity each time I get my hair cut. It is about the time when the hairdresser has started to section off my hair, twirl it up, and then snap a clip on it. I don't know the reasoning for it so don't ask me why. She has now meandered off into other tangents of conversations and I'm thankful for the respite. At some point, something comes up which leads to how old I am (in this case she asked me when I had graduated from high school). They stop what they're doing and look at me via the medium of the mirror. (That's another pet peeve. If anyone is going to be talking to my face in the mirror it is should be ME with my standard mantra of telling a wrinkle or blemish which is threatening to mar my face that I really do not offer the best climate for vacationing and it really doesn't want to become a permanent resident. My sister however - ooh her face is a veritable club med! Here's her address.) Helmet Head: "You're how old?" Me: *gulps & mutters* 23 Helmet Head: *stops and stares at me in the mirror* No, you don't look that old. I'm sitting there with tufts of hair sprouting all of my head like a Chia Pet (La-La-Laura). I DON'T even look human! However, I usually just confess to lying and being whatever age the hairdresser deems me and consider myself lucky to escape. Then, I talk my hair out of a stiff drink on the rocks. Laura PS - I just dare someone to randomly mention their car troubles in their otherwise content filled post. Mine just broke down and lemme just tell you about these money sucking grease thirsty mechanics.... _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+